The Mafia Boss Rewound the Nanny Cam Twice — The Curvy Nanny Taught His Sons to Break a Hold...

The rain had stopped by 8:30 AM, replaced by a thick, suffocating fog that rolled off the river and wrapped around the granite skyscrapers of Downtown Washington.

Roman’s armored Maybach glided silently down K Street, stopping two blocks away from the Tierney Building—a fifty-story tower of black glass and chrome that served as the heart of his global empire.

I sat in the passenger seat wearing a sleek black trench coat, my hair pulled back into a tight bun, my dark eyes scanning every rooftop, alleyway, and parked van. In my coat pocket rested a compact 9mm pistol Roman had given me before we left the penthouse.

"Remember the plan," Roman said smoothly, idling the heavy engine. "Clayton thinks I’m coming alone. He expects me to take the private executive elevator straight to the penthouse office. He has two shooters stationed on the adjacent parking garage roof looking through the north windows."

"And where will you be?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"I’ll be in the basement control room, taking over the building's environmental systems," Roman replied. "You are going to walk into the main lobby through the public entrance."

I turned to look at him, incredulous. "You want me to act as bait?"

"I want you to make Clayton think he’s won," Roman corrected, his large hand reaching out to cup the back of my neck, pulling me toward him until our foreheads touched. His breath was warm against my lips. "The moment Clayton sees you, his greed will take over. He won't shoot; he’ll try to secure you to claim Moreno's eight million dollars. The second he steps away from his guards, I lock the building down and blow his cover."

He pressed a firm, lingering kiss against my cheek, his stubble scraping pleasantly against my skin. "Don't get hit, Maya. I have plans for us tonight."

"Promises, promises," I whispered, my lips brushing his jaw before I pulled back, opened the door, and stepped out into the damp morning air.

I pulled my collar up, took a deep breath, and walked briskly toward the grand glass entrance of the Tierney Building.

The lobby was vast—a soaring atrium of white marble, polished bronze, and massive indoor palm trees. A few early-morning executives were milling around the security turnstiles, sipping coffee and reading newspapers.

Standing near the central fountain, wearing his signature dark trench coat, was Clayton Hayes.

He was holding a leather briefcase, his eyes fixed on the private elevator bank.

I walked straight past the security desk, intentionally letting my coat swing open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of my face.

Clayton’s head snapped toward me.

I saw the exact moment his brain registered my presence. shock flashed across his features, followed immediately by a dark, triumphant surge of predatory joy.

He touched his earpiece. "Team two, hold fire. The target just walked into the lobby. I repeat, Maya Vance is in the lobby. Secure the exits."

I turned around, pretending to suddenly notice him, and froze in fake panic.

"Clayton?" I gasped, taking a sharp step backward toward the glass doors.

"Hello, Josephine," Clayton said smoothly, stepping toward me, his hand slipping inside his coat toward his shoulder holster. "Or should I say, Miss Vance? You're a hard woman to find."

"Stay back," I threatened, pulling my hand out of my pocket, showing him the dark grip of my gun.

Clayton laughed—a dry, mocking sound. "Put the toy away, Maya. There are six men with submachine guns sitting in that delivery van outside. You walk out those doors, and they tear this lobby apart."

He took another step closer, his eyes glowing with malice. "Did you really think Roman Tierney could protect you? The man couldn't even keep his own wife alive."