by A. Zavarelli
I never thought of myself as a loud walker, but as I hurry to keep up with Alessio’s pace, I realize that I must be. I seem to be the only one making noise as my flats make contact with the well-polished floors. I’m not entirely certain how he does it, but Alessio seems to glide right over the marble like an apparition, making little to no noise at all. It’s a detail that affirms his deadly nature, and a lump forms in my throat as my hypervigilance kicks into overdrive. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to relax around him, but that’s for the best. Letting my guard down isn’t an option. Not with anyone.
We come to a stop outside an ornate wooden door, and Alessio turns slightly, pointing to the next door along the hall. “That is Nino’s room. This will be yours.”
My eyes are still on the other door as he opens mine, and I linger for a moment too long in the hall when he steps inside, waiting for me to follow. He watches me carefully as I join him to take in my surroundings. The bedroom is much larger than I expected, with beautiful wood flooring, an intricately carved ivory-colored bed frame, and windows complete with a sitting area and a waterfront view.
I turn to look at him, and he seems to be waiting for a response, so I offer him one.
This room is really just for me?
He nods, and his shoulders seem to relax a fraction as if he’s pleased that I’m pleased. I find it strange, but I write a thank you in the phone app. He acknowledges it with a dip of his head, his expression neutral as he heads for the door.
“Manuel will be along shortly with your bags. Angelina will give you a tour when you’re ready, and then you can go through security measures.”
Manuel has delivered my bags, and I’ve successfully unpacked the contents of them in the closet. I don’t own many clothes, but I have several variations of what I would consider my uniform. Skirt suits, tights, and flats. I have a pair of jeans and a few colors of plain tee shirts and sweaters for the rare days I'm not working. The clothes are what I could afford while I shuttled away every penny I could manage from my salary over the last five years. They served well as far as being functional, but in this house, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel out of place.
While I wait for the housekeeper, I examine my room, pull out drawers, check the windows' locks, and pick up the decorative items to inspect them. I have a strong suspicion there are probably many cameras in this house, and I’m anxious to know if there’s one in this room as well. Upon close examination, I can’t seem to find any, which is a relief. Though I know from experience, cameras and listening devices aren’t always obvious.
A knock sounds at the door, startling me slightly, and I move to open it, but there isn’t time. A young woman steps inside, glancing at me like a frumpy interloper who doesn’t belong here. She is stunningly beautiful, with long, sleek black hair styled like she just stepped out of a salon. Her features are modelesque, with angular cheeks and bold red lips. She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress that accentuates her every curve and heels to match. I wonder who she could possibly be, but she takes it upon herself to inform me rather coolly.
“I’m Angelina.” Her eyes cut over me sharply. “I’m in charge of Mr. Scarcello’s household, and I’m here to give you a tour.”
I nod at her, my stomach slightly uneasy over the cold greeting. I follow her into the corridor, and I tell myself her opinion doesn’t matter. I’m not here to make friends.
She walks as briskly as Alessio, her hips swaying as her heels clip across the floor. She doesn’t pause to let me look at anything as she points in each direction, listing off the areas of the home in rapid-fire succession.
“Guest bedroom, guest bedroom, bathroom, supply closet, library.” She pauses when we reach the landing, pointing up the staircase as she turns to narrow her eyes at me in warning. “The third level is Mr. Scarcello’s. You are never to go up there for any reason. Understand?”
I find my own eyes narrowing slightly in response to her attitude but decide she’s not worth the battle. She means nothing in the grand scheme of things, and I refuse to show her that she can get to me.
“Did you hear me?” she sneers. “Or are you deaf as well?”
My hands clench into fists as I force a stiff nod and then type out a message, cranking up the volume so there can be no doubt.
I heard you just fine.
She turns in a huff, continuing with the tour, and I try to listen, but my thoughts are elsewhere as I take in the details as quickly as I can. I don’t know if I’m free to explore the house on my own or not, but I decide that will be a question better saved for Manuel.
“There’s a playroom down there on the left,” Angelina says. “And the rest are guest rooms.”
I don’t get to see any of them because she leads me down the stairs back to the ground level, where she briefly shows me the parlor room, an indoor pool, a sunroom, the gym, and a wine cellar, which she tells me is also off-limits.
At the conclusion of the tour, she informs me somewhat reluctantly there are chef-prepared meals available in the kitchen when I want them. She also notifies me I’m expected to attend breakfast in the formal dining room every morning. With that, she points at a chair in the hall and barks out a command for me to sit like I’m a dog.
Reluctantly, I do, and I’m relieved when she disappears, leaving me to the silence of my thoughts. A few moments later, like a well-oiled machine, Manuel appears, and I’ve never been so relieved to see such a neutral expression.
“Miss Cabrera, if you’ll come with me, we’ll get your security access set up.”
I follow him down the hall to an office that Angelina didn’t mention. He gestures me inside and pulls out my chair for me before he takes a seat across from me at the desk.
“Mr. Scarcello uses facial recognition software for anyone who requires access to the property,” he tells me. “So, we’re going to set that up today.”
My nerves fray as I squeeze my hands together in my lap. I suspected security would be tight here, but I was hoping for a simple code for my access. Scanning my face means they’ll have that information stored in a database later. It will only make it that much easier to find me.
Manuel sets up the camera and gives me feedback as he has me position my face in different angles, explaining that the technology is designed to work in a range of lighting with various hairstyles, hats, etc. When he’s finished, I take a deep, quiet breath and watch him input some of my information into the computer.
“Okay.” He stabs a sequence of keys on the computer and then shuts it off. “There are a few things I need to go over with you.”
I meet his gaze, hoping he can’t sense my nerves.
“Angelina should have already told you, but the third level of the home is off-limits. If there is ever a situation that arises where you believe you need access, come to me first.”
I nod in acknowledgment, and he continues.
“The neighboring property line outside is well established with a stone privacy wall. You’ll see it if you’re in the garden. If Nino is not at his scheduled activities outside the home, he is to be within these walls at all times, unless you have express permission from Mr. Scarcello for a planned outing.”
My heart sinks as all the notions I had about day trips to explore the area slip away, but I don’t let it show.
“When you and Nino leave the house for any occasion of any nature, you will be attended by myself or Mr. Scarcello. There are no exceptions.”
Again, I nod, tension seeping into my body as the walls of this beautiful home start to feel more like a prison.
“As expressed in your contract, there are to be no visitors to the home. Your friends or family are not permitted to know where you work or reside. Again, there are no exceptions.”
I pull up my app to respond.
That won’t be an issue.
He studies me, his expression all business. “Do you have any questions for me?”
Am I free to roam the house, other than the third
level? And the grounds as well?
“Yes,” he answers. “You can make use of the house and the grounds as needed, so long as it’s not disruptive. Anything else?”
I shake my head, and he rises from his seat, moving around to open the door for me. “Then you’re free to get settled in, Miss Cabrera. Have a good evening.”
5
Natalia
After helping myself to a prepared salad from the fridge for dinner, I take the opportunity to wander the house some more, hoping I don’t bump into Angelina. To my relief, I don’t. I study the layout, examining the exits closely. It occurs to me there are multiple options in this house, but upon closer inspection, it looks as if the windows are thicker than normal, and I suspect they may be shatterproof. That familiar sensation of being trapped threatens to suffocate the air from my lungs, but I choose to use the tools I’ve learned to ground myself and use logic rather than fear to cope.
It doesn’t matter if the windows are shatterproof. There are doors I could use to leave, should the need ever arise. That’s the mantra I play on repeat as I walk out onto the grounds, noting how much crisper and cleaner the air feels here. I inhale it greedily, making my way through the garden and to the perimeter where the stone wall lies, just as Manuel said. It’s so thick and tall you can’t see the neighbors. There is no mistaking the cameras lining the property. They seem to be everywhere. The more I look, the more I find.
I know very little about Alessio Scarcello. My research on him produced almost nothing useful, and it was only by a sheer stroke of luck that I discovered him in the first place. Between what I do know and my imagination filling in the gaps, it’s confirmation that he’s involved in a criminal syndicate. That’s the only logical conclusion for all the secrecy. The cameras. The bizarre contract. His rigidness. The quiet way he moves. The almost inhuman blankness I’ve seen in his gaze. They are all bigger pieces of the puzzle, and it’s difficult to ignore the dread taking shape deep in my gut.
I knew when I went to that interview I was walking into the eye of the storm. Despite what he may believe, I didn’t sign that contract because I’m a stupid woman. I knew exactly what I was doing, and in the end, my only hope is that I will complete the job I came here to do.
As the breeze picks up, a chill moves over me, blowing across the water and settling over me like a damp blanket. It’s still fairly early, but tomorrow is a big day, so I decide it’s best to turn in. Back inside the security of my room, I slip into a pair of sweatpants, a tee-shirt, my night scarf, and my running shoes. Then I stand beside the light switch, agonizing for minutes as I stare at the dresser. Normally, I would barricade myself inside with a piece of furniture. It’s the only way I can feel safe, but I have a sneaking suspicion that if Alessio were to show up at my door and find it in such a state, he might very well decide I’m better locked up in an asylum.
Anxiously, I turn off the light switch and traipse over to the bed, settling onto the side farthest from the door and securing my butterfly knife beneath my pillow. It’s always a difficult task to sleep with running shoes on, but it’s made even more difficult with such a heavy comforter, so I drag it up over my feet and stare at the ceiling. I go through the motions of a few breathing exercises to calm my nervous system, and then I close my eyes and imagine the same scenario I have played on repeat for years. It settles me, bringing a soft smile to my face and a warmth to my aching chest.
To my surprise, sleep does come for me that night. I don’t know when or how, only that in the morning, I’m startled awake by the sharp rapping on my door.
I bolt upright, my heart pounding as sweat trickles down my brow. My hand reaches for the knife beneath the pillow when the door swings open, and Alessio appears. His eyes move over me, his features tightening when he sees the shoes on my feet. I try to cover them with the comforter, but it’s too late. Shame and humiliation wash over me as I realize he already thinks I’m insane. Of course, he’s wearing a perfectly pressed suit, ready to greet the day at six am.
“I’ll need you earlier than I anticipated,” he clips out. “Something has come up that I need to attend to. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
I nod, and he lingers near the door, his eyes moving back to my neck. It’s impossible to miss the irritation on his face.
“Do you always wear a scarf?”
It’s slower this time, but again, I nod. His eyes lock with mine, and I have the oddest sensation that he’s stealing my breath from my lungs. I wonder if he can feel this strange tension between us too. Is it just an adrenaline response?
“We’ll be waiting for you in the dining room,” he says abruptly, and before I can respond, he’s gone.
I drag myself out of bed and hurry along to the closet, grabbing my clothes for the day. My nerves feel like they are unraveling as I go through the routine of showering, brushing my teeth, and applying a light touch of mascara and powder. When I glance at my reflection in the mirror, I almost don’t recognize myself. In some ways, it feels like no time has passed because my life came to an abrupt halt when I was only twenty years old. Back then, I had a short hairstyle. I spent time on my makeup, carefully choosing colors that complimented my skin tone. I wore clothes that made me feel cute or pretty. I was introverted but didn’t mind the occasional attention. I could still smile, laugh, and go on with my day, knowing that there was pain in the world but never truly aware of the depths of it. Not until the devil himself came to my door.
A solitary tear slides down my cheek, and I swipe it away, squaring my shoulders and blowing out a breath. None of that matters. I’m here now. I’ve made it this far. Everything is going to be okay.
I leave my room and head downstairs. Upon entering the kitchen, I wince a little when I see Angelina at the counter, but my attention drifts from her completely when I hear a child’s voice in the dining room. Ignoring her gaze on me, I move toward the sound of conversation and turn the corner to find Alessio sitting at the head of the table while the boy is to his left. From my viewpoint, I can only see a head of brown hair and a downcast gaze as he stares at his plate of food. He appears to be upset, but I can’t be sure until I glance at Alessio, who also seems to be equally annoyed.
He stands up and gestures for the boy. “Nino, come here. It’s time to meet Miss Cabrera.”
My breath catches in my throat as the small boy turns to look at me, and I’m met with the sweetest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He sniffles, wiping away tears as he tries to hold back his shuttered breaths. His distress pains me, and I find myself angry with Alessio, even though I don’t know what the issue is.
I kneel to Nino’s level, pointing at my phone screen and writing out a short greeting that the app reads to him.
Hello, Nino. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Natalia.
He peeks up at me from beneath his long dark lashes, and then he looks to Alessio for approval.
“He can be … a bit shy,” Alessio says.
I swallow the lump in my throat and write a new message, this time flashing it toward the man in question.
Is everything okay?
“It’s fine,” he answers dismissively. “Breakfast is always a battle. The chef prepared him an omelet. He doesn’t want to eat it.”
I glance at Nino’s full plate. There’s enough food on there to feed a grown man. It appears to be some sort of truffle omelet with fresh herbs. On the side, there are segments of grapefruit and a slice of rye toast. I glance at the spread in the center of the table and then at Alessio’s plate, where there are fresh pastries, fruit, and eggs.
May I ask why he’s not eating what you’re eating?
He frowns as if the thought never occurred to him. “Angelina says this is what children should eat. It’s healthy.”
My lips pinch together in distaste, and I hope it’s not too obvious.
May I talk to him? I ask.
He stares at me for a long moment before conceding. I write out a message for Nino and play it for him.
I can see that you have some big emotions right now. Sometimes I have big emotions too, and that’s okay. Do you know what I like to do when I’m feeling sad or mad or upset?
“What?” He wipes his eyes.
I ask what I can do to feel better. Maybe I’ll take a few breaths, or ask for a hug, or talk to a friend about what I’m feeling. And if I want, I might even roar like a lion or jump up and down and shake it off.
A small smile appears on his face at the idea, and I can see some of his anxiety ebbing away already.
We could try it now, I suggest. What do you think? Would you like to take a few breaths with me?
He nods.
Okay, let’s go on the count of three. Breathe in with your nose and blow it out through your mouth.
I hold up my fingers to count, and he mirrors me, doing the same as we inhale and exhale together. I’m quite certain Alessio is staring at me like I’m a lunatic, but my focus is on Nino. After the first breath, I hold up one finger and count down again. We take a few more breaths, and once he’s relaxed, I return to my phone.
That was a great job, Nino. Do you feel better?
“Yes.” He glances back at his plate. “But I don’t want to eat that.”
I rise and write a note for Alessio. Can he try some of the other food at the table?
Alessio stares at me, his gaze so intense it’s burning into my skin, but I have no idea what he’s thinking.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” he says.
I move to the space beside Nino’s seat, grab the extra plate meant for me, and then hold out my other hand for him. Nino stares at it for a long time, his eyes moving over my face uncertainly before he gently places his fingers in mine. I give them a soft squeeze, trying my best to reassure him.
