No Nanny Lasted 48 Hours With the Mafia Triplets Until a Broke Maid Told Them to Sit Down and Eat

The following Thursday was Maeve’s day off.

She spent the morning at St. Jude’s Hospital in Providence, sitting beside Chloe’s bed. Chloe looked remarkably better; her hair was beginning to grow back, her appetite had returned, and she was laughing at a comedy show on the wall-mounted television in her private suite.

“He came by yesterday, you know,” Chloe said, taking a sip of juice.

Maeve paused, putting down her book. “Who?”

“The quiet one. Mr. Falcone.”

Maeve’s heart did a strange, sudden flip. “Roman came here?”

“Mmhmm,” Chloe nodded. “He brought a box of those fancy Italian chocolates and spoke with Dr. Harrison for half an hour in the hallway. He didn't stay long, but he asked if I needed anything else. He looked scary, Maeve... but he was nice.”

Maeve stared out the hospital window, a wave of complicated emotions washing over her. Roman wasn't just paying her salary; he was quietly overseeing her sister’s life.

At 3:00 p.m., Maeve left the hospital to catch the bus back to Falcone House. As she stepped out of the warm lobby into the cold afternoon air, a black sedan pulled up smoothly to the curb.

The rear door opened.

A middle-aged man in an expensive grey suit sat inside. He had slicked-back hair, a thin mustache, and cold, predatory eyes.

Don Dominic Moretti.

Two heavy men in leather coats stepped behind Maeve, effectively blocking her retreat back to the hospital doors.

“Miss Carter,” Moretti said, his voice like smooth silk over gravel. “Step into the car, please. Let’s have a brief conversation about your employers.”

Maeve didn't move. She kept her purse tucked tightly against her side. “I don't know you.”

“I am Dominic Moretti. And I am the man who currently controls the supply lines the Falcone family needs to survive,” Moretti replied calmly. “Get in. If you don't, my men will step inside that building and inform Dr. Harrison that Chloe’s medical coverage has been canceled.”

Maeve felt a cold spike of ice pierce her chest. She glanced at the two heavy men behind her, realized she had no tactical exit, and calmly stepped into the back seat of the sedan.

The doors locked instantly, and the car pulled away from the curb.

Moretti offered her a thin glass of sparkling water, which she refused with a simple shake of her head.

“You’re an interesting woman, Maeve,” Moretti said, lighting a thin cigar. “A broke maid who somehow tamed the Falcone monsters. You patched up Declan. You feed Roman. You ignore Gabriel’s money.”

“What do you want?” Maeve asked directly.

“Information,” Moretti said, leaning forward. “Roman is planning a takeover of the Providence docks on Saturday. I need to know which warehouse he’s using to store his shipment. Give me the location, and I will write a check for one million dollars. Your sister will have the best medical care in the world, in any country you choose, and you will never have to clean another floor again.”

Maeve looked out the tinted window at the grey buildings of Providence passing by. One million dollars. Complete freedom. An end to the endless grind of poverty.

“And if I say no?” Maeve asked quietly.

Moretti’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly, cruel sneer. “If you say no, I will make sure your sister’s life support experiences a sudden, unfortunate power failure. And then I will have my men toss you off the iron bridge into the bay.”

The car stopped at a red light two blocks from the estate gates.

Maeve looked Moretti directly in the eye.

“I’ll think about it,” she lied smoothly.

Moretti grinned, satisfied. “Smart girl. You have until midnight to call this number.” He slid a slip of paper into her purse. “Don't disappoint me, Maeve.”

The car door unlocked, and Maeve stepped out into the freezing wind.

She walked the remaining two blocks to Falcone House, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm. She didn't go to her room. She didn't call the number.

She marched straight into Roman’s second-floor study, threw the door open without knocking, and slammed Moretti’s slip of paper onto his oak desk.

Roman looked up from his papers, his pen pausing in mid-air. Declan, who was sitting on the leather sofa cleaning a firearm, froze. Gabriel, lounging near the window, turned around instantly.

“Moretti picked me up outside the hospital,” Maeve said, her voice shaking slightly with adrenaline, but holding firm. “He offered me a million dollars to give him the location of your Saturday dock shipment. He threatened Chloe if I refused.”

Silence descended upon the study—a silence so absolute and terrifying that the air pressure in the room seemed to drop.

Declan stood up slowly, the cleaning rag dropping from his hands, his eyes turning into black pools of rage.

Gabriel’s charming smile died instantly, replaced by a cold, murderous glare.

Roman slowly stood up from his leather chair. He picked up the slip of paper, looked at the phone number, and then looked at Maeve.

“He threatened your sister?” Roman asked, his voice deceptively soft—a quiet whisper that promised total annihilation.

“Yes,” Maeve said.

Roman walked around the desk until he stood directly in front of her. He reached out, his long fingers gently cupping her jaw, forcing her to look up into his dark, burning eyes.

“You came straight to me,” Roman stated.

“I told you,” Maeve whispered, her breath trembling against his palm. “I’m not a traitor. And nobody threatens my sister.”

A dark, lethal smile touched Roman’s lips—the first real smile Maeve had ever seen on his face.

“Declan,” Roman commanded softly.