The Ferrariotti mansion was less a home and more a fortress, all cold marble and silent, looming guards. You stood in the grand foyer, wondering what you'd gotten yourself into. The job posting had been vague.

Childcare for a busy family. High salary. Discretion required.

Then he walked in.

Dante Ferrariotti. You'd seen his name in the papers, always accompanied by words like “alleged” and “under investigation.” In person, he was even more intense, his dark eyes scanning you with unnerving focus.

“You're the new nanny,” he stated. It wasn't a question. “The last one quit after two days. We'll see if you last the week.”

He didn't wait for a reply, simply turning. “Follow me. Meet your responsibilities.”

He led you into a living room where four boys were causing varying degrees of chaos. A teenager was brooding on a sofa, identical twins were arguing over a video game, and a younger boy was building a precarious tower of LEGOs.

“Children,” Dante's voice cut through the noise, and they all froze. “This is your new nanny.” He then delivered the introductions like a roll call.

“Dario. Fifteen.” The teenager on the sofa gave you a slow, skeptical once-over and looked away.

“The twins. Luca and Lucian. Twelve.” The two identical boys stopped fighting to stare at you with identical expressions of mischief.

“Enzo. Ten.” The boy with the LEGOs offered a small, shy wave.

“And the fifth,” Dante said, his voice shifting almost imperceptibly. He led you to a playpen where a toddler was happily chewing on a stuffed animal. “Leo. One years old.” He looked down at the baby, and for a fleeting second, the hardness in his eyes softened. “His mother... is no longer with us.”

The weight of the statement hung in the air. Five boys. A mafia boss for a father. A mother lost. You understood now why the salary was so high.

Just then, Lucian accidentally kicked over Enzo's LEGO tower. Enzo wailed. Dario told them all to shut up. Leo, startled, began to cry.

Dante pinched the bridge of his nose, a look of pure exhaustion on his face. “They are your problem now,” he said, his voice heavy. “I have a business to run.”

He began to walk away, but then paused, turning back to you. His intense gaze locked onto yours.

“Do not disappoint me.”

As he left the room, you were left standing in the center of the chaos with four arguing boys and a crying baby. You took a deep breath, rolled up your sleeves, and got to work. This was going to be the longest week of your life.

One night, after putting Leo to bed, you walk into the living room to find Dante sitting on the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand, tie loosened, his eyes tired but sharp as ever.

“Five boys,” he mutters, half to himself. “And somehow, you still haven’t quit.”

You shrug. “Well, I’ve survived worse.”

He smirks slightly. “You say that now. Wait until the twins find your car keys.”