Page 1 of The Billionaire's Distraction

Chapter 1

Theyweretyrants.Pint-sizedones.Proof that evil can, sometimes, appear in juice-box form.

Tony Mancini stood at the wide window on the second floor of his house, muscular arms crossed as he watched the backyard drama unfold below.The late-spring breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the clean scent of freshly cut grass and blooming lilacs from the manicured park across the street.Children’s laughter filled the air, mingling with the distant splash of a fountain and the rhythmic squeak of a swing set.It should have smelled like money—order, privilege, safety.

But the reality?Chaos.

The Peterson boys—mean little children, in Tony’s estimation—were at it again.He’d watched as the pair lured a younger girl into their circle, pretending to play nice.Their laughter had been shrill and convincing enough to trick her into believing she belonged.For a good ten minutes, it almost looked sweet, the little girl with her pigtails bent seriously over the beginnings of a sandcastle.She worked with surprising precision, smoothing and patting with small hands, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Tony knew better.

He recognized the shift the instant it happened—the sudden lean forward of the older boy, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitch of his shoulders like a predator testing its pounce.Tony’s spine went rigid.He’d seen that exact body language too many times in grown men who thought they were untouchable.

Sure enough, the boy’s grubby hand scooped up a fistful of sand.His face split into a grin that was all cruelty, no innocence.A little psychopath in training.

The nanny moved fast.One moment the boy’s fist was cocked back, the next she grabbed his wrist, halting the swing.Sand sifted uselessly between his chubby fingers and spilled harmlessly back into the box.She bent low, her eyes blazing with a steely fire as she spoke quietly—sharp, firm words that Tony couldn’t hear through the soundproof glass but felt all the same.He chuckled softly, dark amusement tugging at his mouth.The woman wasn’t just a nanny; she was a damn gladiator in yoga pants.

The little girl looked up, wide-eyed but unhurt, her castle still intact, the turrets surprisingly symmetrical.That kid had real skill, Tony thought.No wonder the boys were jealous.

The younger one—who was three years old, maybe four—was slower to catch on, but after a hesitant glance at his brother’s captured hand, he opened his fist too, letting his own “weapon” spill back into the sandbox.

The nanny didn’t waste time.Straightening, she dusted her palms, then lifted both boys by their skinny arms with deceptive strength and marched them off to the swings.Her dark hair sparkled in the sunshine, swaying against the curve of her back.That backside—yeah, he’d noticed it before—was just one more reason his gaze lingered whenever she moved about the playground.

She said something to them then, her lips moving with calm authority.Tony still couldn’t hear the words, not with his home’s thick glass and security-grade insulation blocking out all sound, but he didn’t need to.He recognized the tone.Whatever quiet threat she’d delivered would hold the little monsters in check for—at best—twenty-four hours.

Tony exhaled slowly, the glass faintly fogging with his breath.His instincts whispered that the boys were only a small glimpse of the real rot inside those minds.And the woman?The one standing firm in the sunlight with two devils at her side—she might just be the only thing keeping them in check.

He knew the type.Those boys would grow up to be criminals.Maybe the mild kind—the sort who cheated on taxes and “forgot” to tip the wait staff.Or maybe they’d grow into the dangerous kind—corporate leaders who bilked every penny they could from their customers, laughing as they strapped on a hundred-thousand-dollar watch while some single mother scraped the sides of her dented can of beans for one more spoonful, so her kids wouldn’t go hungry.

Tony shifted his weight, broad shoulders filling the space.At six foot three, with muscle layered on top of muscle, he looked like a man carved to intimidate.His eyes—dark and sharp, never soft enough to be called chocolate—tracked every movement outside.He didn’t need sound to understand what was happening.Trouble announced itself in the tilt of a head, the twitch of a shoulder, the tightening of a jaw.He had always excelled at reading those signals, a predator who could sense danger before it arrived.

Okay, so he wasn’t the best example of a “good” citizen.He was second-in-command of a sprawling mafia organization.Salvatore Romano was the mastermind—brilliant with strategy, ruthless with numbers.But Sal was also fair, unlike the CEOs Tony enjoyed tormenting on slow days.Just for fun.

Because Tony had recognized Sal’s genius years ago, he was now a billionaire several times over.He could walk away from the violence and control if he wanted to.But he didn’t want to.He liked it.He loved bending corrupt politicians until they snapped straight, enjoyed working with the police commissioners to fix and maintain the neighborhoods.Bad things had been done, sure—but the balance sheet leaned toward making the world better, safer.Because of his actions, more mothers were able to keep their lights on.More kids had food.And more small business owners weren’t crushed under the boot of crooked bankers.That’s what Tony fought for.That was why he could sleep at night.

And if he’d needed another reason, he had Sal.The man had pulled Tony out of the gutter.When they were younger, it had been Sal’s strategy and Tony’s fists that had kept them alive.That kind of history forged loyalty deeper than blood.

“She’s beautiful,” Sal murmured, cradling his infant daughter in his arms.

Tony barely glanced at his boss and best friend, his gaze still locked on the scene outside.The pretty nanny had intercepted the Peterson boys again, this time dragging them away from the playground after they’d tried to push a smaller child off the “fort”.Her grip was firm around their wrists, her expression a mixture of grim determination and worry.

“You going to help her out?”Sal asked, absently patting his daughter’s diapered backside.

Tony pulled his gaze away from the window.“No.”

Sal chuckled, amused, and turned toward his favorite leather chair.“Right.What’s her name?”

For a long moment, Tony didn’t answer.He watched as the nanny marched the boys back to their house a block away, her back straight, her steps brisk.When Sal arched one eyebrow, a silent challenge not to lie, Tony finally exhaled.His best friend knew him too damn well.

“Naomi Cross,” he blurted out, frowning as he turned back to the window, just in time to watch three other kids slide down the wide, plastic slide—on top of each other.They tumbled into a heap at the bottom, shrieking with laughter, limbs tangled.Every time one of them tried to stand, another dissolved into giggles and toppled the pile over again.

That was something he’d never have.Didn’t deserve, either.He’d been a bastard all his life.He’d done things.Bad things.Manipulated the world to carve out a profitable, comfortable life for himself and the people in the organization.

“Sal?”a soft, feminine voice called from the hallway.

Immediately, Tony’s best friend turned away from the window.“She just got home from the doctor’s office,” Sal explained, easing his infant daughter in Tony’s arms.“Watch Gianna while I go talk to Cata.I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest but Sal was already walking out the door.Tony was stunned that Sal would trust anyone with his precious child.But he trusted…him?Hold a six-week-old baby?What if Tony damaged her?Hell, he might corrupt her just by breathing on her.