The Don's One Night Mistake

Dante Moretti didn't believe in love.

He believed in ownership. Power. Control.

To him, love was a weakness-an emotion for fools who didn't understand the rules of survival.

And Dante had no time for fools.

He wasn't just rich.

He was dangerously rich.

The kind of man whose last name opened doors... and buried bodies.

He built his empire with blood and smoke. Everyone in the city knew not to cross him. He didn't do second chances. He didn't negotiate. He didn't say "let's talk."

He just... ended you. Quietly. Cleanly.

Even in the so-called "clean" world of business, people tiptoed around his name like it was cursed. Because no matter how sharp the suit, Dante Moretti was still a monster wearing it.

Arrogant. Cold. Narcissistic as hell.

He didn't just walk into rooms-he owned them.

And God help you if he ever decided you belonged to him.

Because Dante didn't share his toys.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, I was burning pasta and crying over an empty wallet.

I'm Elena Marquez.

Nobody special.

Just a girl trying to survive in a city that wouldn't even blink if I disappeared tomorrow.

I was raised by my mom. A woman with cracked hands and a laugh that faded the older we got. She worked double shifts at a bakery just to keep the lights on.

My dad? Gone. He left when I was barely one. No note. No explanation. Just... vanished. I used to wonder what happened to him. Eventually, I decided he must've died. It was easier than believing he just didn't care.

My mom never spoke about him. Not once. Like saying his name would rip her open all over again.

I had a younger sister-Sofie. Fifteen. Beautiful, mouthy, and always ready to throw hands if someone at school called her broke.

(We were. But still.)

I tried to be strong for them.

But lately... I was drowning.

I'd just lost my job at a daycare after a kid broke his arm on the playground and the parents blamed me. Rent was two weeks late. The lightbulbs were dimming. My mom's arthritis was flaring again. And Sofie? She'd started skipping class.

I felt like a sinking boat trying to save a drowning family.

That's when I saw the ad:

"Live-in Nanny. Must be discreet. Good with children. Experience preferred. Paid weekly. Cash. Immediate start."

No name. No company. Just an address.

Sketchy as hell.

But desperate girls make dumb decisions.

So I emailed. I waited. I prayed.

Then came the reply:

"Interview tomorrow. 9AM. Come alone."

Any sane girl would've noped out. But me?

I didn't even hesitate.

The next morning, I stood outside a tall black gate, shaking in my worn-out sweater, hands white with cold, teeth chattering from the wind slicing across my face.

I was nervous-and I sucked at hiding it.

I'd only ever seen estates like this in movies. Standing in front of one? It felt unreal. Like I was on the set of a crime drama.

Cold. Massive. Silent. Like the house itself was watching me.

The gate opened on its own.

I stepped inside.

And that's when I saw him.

Dante Moretti.

In the flesh.

I recognized him immediately. Who wouldn't? His face had been all over the news last year after his company "accidentally" bought out two competitors on the same day their CEOs both "resigned for personal reasons."

He stood by the front steps, leaning slightly on a cane-which somehow made him look even more dangerous. His black coat flared behind him like he'd walked straight out of a video game.

Cold eyes. No smile. Nothing soft.

He looked straight at me. Like he wanted to punch a hole through my skull with just his stare.

"Name?" he asked.

I stammered. "E-Elena. Elena Marquez."

His eyes narrowed. He looked me up and down like I was a Craigslist listing he didn't remember clicking on.

"You look young."

"I'm twenty-three," I said.

"That's young."

I didn't know what to say. So I just nodded. Like an idiot.

"Follow me."

No "please." No handshake. Just commands.

So I followed.

I should've walked away.

Every nerve in my body screamed turn around.

But I didn't.

The house was modern and cold. No family photos. No warmth. Just white walls, expensive floors, and silence that echoed.

It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a place owned by a man who didn't like people.

Then, somewhere in the distance... I heard a laugh.

A child's laugh.

A little boy darted down the hallway, all curls and energy. His cheeks were red, his eyes wide and bright. He looked about four or five. Innocent.

Untouched by the darkness surrounding him.

"Luca," Dante said, voice sharp.

The boy stopped instantly and turned toward me. Smiling.

"Are you my new nanny?" he asked.

I blinked. I hadn't even said yes yet.

Dante didn't care.

"You'll start tomorrow. 7AM. Don't be late."

"Wait-what? That's it? You don't want references or background checks or... anything?"

He turned to me, slowly.

"If I needed to know your past," he said, "I'd already know."

Then he walked away, leaving me frozen in the hallway like some rejected movie extra.

I wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or cry.

Instead, I just stood there. Completely numb.

Until I saw it.

A photo frame.

Old, dusty, half-buried behind a stack of books on a shelf.

Something about it pulled me closer. Like a whisper I couldn't ignore.

And then I saw the man in it.

My heart stopped.

Because the man in the photo looked familiar.

Older now. But I knew that face.

My father.

Standing beside a man I didn't recognize-but I knew it wasn't Dante.

I backed away slowly, goosebumps covering every inch of my skin.

What the hell had I just walked into?