Chapter 6 - The Garden Incident
The afternoon brought a temporary truce, followed swiftly by a tactical escalation.
After surviving a lunch consisting of slightly burnt grilled cheese and a surprisingly decent cup of coffee made by Mason under my direct supervision, the triplets decided to take the war outside.
The rain had stopped around 2:00 PM, leaving the sprawling rear gardens of the Moretti estate slick, muddy, and smelling of damp earth.
I was sitting on a wrought-iron patio bench near the greenhouse, reading a paperback thriller while keeping one eye on the three boys, who were currently digging a trench near the perimeter rosebushes with a pair of oversized garden shovels.
“Miss Donovan!” Dominic’s voice carried across the lawn.
I looked up. Dominic was standing waist-deep in the hole they had dug, holding up a muddy, wriggling object that looked remarkably like a rather large garden toad.
“What is that?” I called out, closing my book.
“We found a prisoner of war!” Leo shouted, marching over with a plastic bucket. “We’re going to sentence him to life imprisonment in the terrarium!”
“That toad has rights,” I replied, standing up and dusting off my jeans. I walked across the damp grass toward them. “Put him back in the flowerbed before he dies of stress. Amphibians have delicate nervous systems, boys.”
Mason rolled his eyes, dropping his shovel with a wet thud. “You’re no fun. Nanny number four cried when we put a frog in her apron pocket.”
“Nanny number four lacked basic zoological empathy,” I said, stopping a few feet away from the trench. I looked down at the muddy hole. It was nearly three feet deep and dangerously close to the brick foundation of the greenhouse. “Also, if your father sees you destroying his prize-winning hybrid roses to build a moat, he’s going to turn you all into lawn ornaments.”
Before the boys could argue, a loud, sharp snap echoed from the treeline bordering the dense private woods behind the estate.
Instantly, the atmosphere shifted.
The playful defiance drained from the triplets’ faces. Mason dropped into a protective crouch in front of Dominic, his gray eyes widening with sudden, genuine fear.
“Get back to the house,” Mason hissed, his voice dropping an octave.
“What?” I frowned, looking toward the dark treeline where the ancient oak trees cast long, menacing shadows across the lawn. “What’s going on?”
“Someone’s out there,” Leo whispered, pointing a trembling finger toward the bushes. “They were watching us yesterday too. Uncle Vincent said... Uncle Vincent said bad men come for people who work for Dad.”
A cold spike of adrenaline pierced my chest.
Uncle Vincent. Adrian’s younger brother—a man whose name had come up in hushed, nervous whispers among the household staff as the reckless, volatile black sheep of the Moretti family.
Before I could process the warning, the brush parted.
A man stepped out from the shadows of the woods. He wore an expensive tailored suit identical in cut to Adrian’s, but his posture was loose, arrogant, and swaggering. A jagged, faded scar cut through his left eyebrow down to his cheekbone, giving his handsome face a permanently twisted, cruel expression.
Vincent Moretti.
“Well, well, well,” Vincent drawled, clapping his hands together slowly as he walked across the wet grass toward us. His silver-topped cane tapped a rhythmic beat against the pavement. “The new nanny. I heard rumors that Adrian had hired a civilian to babysit his little heirs, but I didn't believe the gossip.”
The triplets backed away until they were nearly pressed against my legs. Mason’s hand was gripping the hem of my sweater so tightly his knuckles were white.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, stepping forward slightly to place myself between the boys and Vincent. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but I forced my voice to remain cold and level. “Private property. You need to turn around and leave before I call security.”
Vincent stopped a few yards away, a mocking smile playing across his lips. He tilted his head, his dark eyes—so similar to Adrian’s, yet entirely devoid of soul—raking over me from head to toe.
“Security?” Vincent chuckled, a dry, grating sound. “Sweetheart, my brother owns the security company that patrols these gates. I come and go as I please.” He shifted his gaze down to the three cowering boys. “Well, look at the little wolves. Still hiding behind skirts, just like their pathetic father.”
“Get away from them,” I snapped, my protective instincts flaring up with a terrifying, primal intensity that surprised even me.
Vincent’s smile vanished. His face darkened into something ugly. He took a sharp step forward, raising his silver-topped cane like a weapon. “You don't know who you’re talking to, bitch. Tell Adrian that his little game of domestic house is coming to an end. The board meeting on Monday is going to strip him of everything—his shipping lines, his properties, and eventually, these little brats.”
“Leave!” I screamed, stepping directly into his path, my voice carrying across the lawn with enough force to shatter glass.
For a terrifying second, I thought Vincent was going to strike me with the cane. His arm twitched, his fingers tightening around the silver handle.
Then, the heavy roar of a high-performance engine ripped through the air.
A black Mercedes SUV came tearing around the gravel driveway at breakneck speed, showering mud and gravel across the flowerbeds as it slammed to a halt barely ten feet from where we stood.
The driver’s door flew open before the vehicle had even fully settled.
Adrian Moretti emerged from the car like a hurricane unleashed.
His suit jacket was flying open, his tie askew, his dark eyes locked onto Vincent with a look of pure, unadulterated murder.
“Vincent,” Adrian said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the afternoon air like a razor blade.
Vincent froze, his hand dropping away from his cane. The arrogant smirk faltered, replaced by a sudden, nervous twitch of his jaw. “Adrian. Just dropping by to... check on my nephews.”
Adrian didn't answer with words. He crossed the lawn in four massive, terrifying strides, grabbed Vincent by the lapels of his designer suit, and slammed him against the side of the Mercedes with enough force to dent the door panel.
“If you ever,” Adrian snarled, his face inches from his brother’s, “step foot on my property again—if you ever look at my sons, or anyone in my house—I won't just throw you off the board. I will bury you in an unmarked grave where the tide won't even reach your bones.”
Vincent gasped for air, his hands clawing uselessly at Adrian’s wrists. “You’re... you’re losing your mind, Adrian... the board will—!”
“Get out!” Adrian roared, shoving Vincent backward onto the grass.
Vincent stumbled, scrambled to his feet, and cast one venomous glare at me and the triplets before turning and sprinting back toward the dark treeline, disappearing into the woods as fast as his legs could carry him.
The garden fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Adrian stood chest-heaving against the side of his car, his knuckles white, his eyes wild and dark. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the three boys, who were still clinging to my jacket.
May you like
Then, his gaze locked onto me.
Without a word, Adrian walked over, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward the house, dragging me away from the garden before the children could even process what had just happened.
