Carmen knelt in front of Matteo, her hands gripping his small shoulders tightly.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest, her fingers trembling against the soft fabric of his pajama shirt.
“Baby,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice calm, though panic clawed at her throat. “Where were you?”
Matteo tilted his head, blinking up at her innocently.
“I told you, Mama,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I was with Nanny’s friend.”
Carmen’s stomach dropped.
She shot a look at Marco, who was already standing stiff, his eyes dark with barely controlled fury.
“What friend?” Marco demanded, his voice low, dangerous.
Matteo fidgeted slightly, but his smile never faded.
“Nanny’s friend,” he repeated, his little voice too casual, too relaxed.
Carmen swallowed hard.
“Sweetheart, who is Nanny’s friend?” she pressed, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Where did you go?”
Matteo giggled, bouncing slightly on his feet.
“It’s a secret.”
Carmen’s breath hitched.
“Matteo,” Marco growled, stepping closer. “This is serious. Tell us where you went.”
But Matteo only shook his head, his curls bouncing.
“I can’t,” he said, smiling mischievously. “Nanny says secrets are special.”
Carmen felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
She turned, slowly, her eyes locking onto Ella.
The nanny stood a few feet away, her expression unreadable, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t worried. She was just… watching. Marco took a slow, threatening step toward her.
“Who was the friend?” he demanded.
Ella tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a soft, patient smile. “There was no friend,” she said smoothly.
Silence. Marco’s jaw tightened. “Matteo just said—”
“Oh, Mr. Venetti,” Ella interrupted, chuckling softly, shaking her head as if this were all some silly misunderstanding. “Children have wild imaginations. They create stories. Sometimes, they believe them.”
Carmen felt sick.
“Are you saying he made this up?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ella placed a gentle hand on Matteo’s back, stroking it comfortingly.
“Of course,” she said lightly. “Matteo loves stories, don’t you, darling?”
Matteo nodded eagerly, as if suddenly agreeing with Ella.
“Yeah!” he chirped. “It was just a story.”
Carmen felt her world tilt. Matteo had never lied to her before. But now? He was changing his story. He was siding with Ella. He was hiding something.
Marco’s fists clenched at his sides.
“You’re lying,” he bit out, his voice low with restrained rage.
Ella’s expression didn’t change. “Mr. Venetti,” she said softly, as if she were speaking to an impatient child, “I adore Matteo. I would never let him come to harm.”
Marco exhaled sharply, turning away, his entire body tense with fury.
Carmen felt exhausted, drained from the fear, the confusion, the helplessness.
She watched as Matteo skipped over to Ella, his tiny hands reaching up for her.
“Nanny, can I have a hug?”
Ella smiled warmly, bending down to embrace him. Carmen watched, her chest aching as Matteo buried his face against Ella’s shoulder, holding onto her tightly.
“I love you, Nanny,” Matteo whispered.
Carmen’s breath hitched. Ella stroked his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.
“I love you too, my darling boy,” she murmured.
Tears burned behind Carmen’s eyes.
Matteo had never whispered those words to her like that. She couldn’t look away as Matteo leaned in closer, his lips moving near Ella’s ear.
He whispered something—something Carmen couldn’t hear.
But whatever it was—
Ella smiled.