by A. Zavarelli
Once I’m settled inside, Luca takes his position at the driver’s seat and smoothly pulls back into the flow of traffic without a word. He doesn’t speak to me the entirety of the drive, and at first, I find that I’m okay with that. Alessio must have made him aware that I can’t answer verbally. As we exit the city altogether and put more distance behind us than I’d care for, my hands tangle nervously in my lap. I stare out the window at the passing scenery as a bead of sweat tickles my neck. We drive for what feels like hours, but I know it can’t be. It’s just that time always slows when those innate fears start to trickle into my consciousness.
Finally, Luca pulls off the freeway and into a town I’ve never been to: Desolation, New York. It seems like a strange place, too far removed to have an interview, and I can’t seem to quell this sinking feeling in my gut. Alessio suspected there was more to my story yesterday, and he was right. Did my lies betray me? Could he sense them beneath my assertions of truth?
Luca navigates the streets easily, directing us past the broken-down buildings and boarded-up windows, completely unaware of my small panic attack in the backseat. I suck in tiny breaths of air, pinching my fingers together to distract myself. Then I repeat the only truth Alessio needs to know, the one I will tell him if he insists on questioning me further. I lost my last nanny position when my employers moved abroad, and I’m living out of a hotel, siphoning off the savings I’ve worked so hard to maintain. I have no family and no purpose, and this is it for me. I need this job as much as I need air to breathe.
“I’ll get your door,” Luca says gruffly, pulling me from my thoughts.
When I glance outside, I see that we’re parked in front of an old warehouse called Butcher and Son. Panic surges inside me again, but I swallow it down, beat it into submission, and plaster a neutral expression on my face when Luca opens the door. I’m used to pretending, and often, I feel like a Jack in the box. I’m wound up so tight, I could explode at any moment, but not today. Not right now.
I force myself to move, erasing the thoughts from my mind as Luca opens the creaky door and gestures me inside. I stop and stare at the space, nearly choking on the smell of dust and decay that still lingers. Dried blood has seeped into the floor, staining it with the evidence of violent ends. Large sheets of plastic crinkle beneath Luca’s feet as he moves along, telling me to follow.
Robotically, I do.
He leads me into a backroom with a butcher table, and I try not to breathe in the pungent aroma that’s curdling my stomach. We find Alessio waiting in a chair, casually sipping from a mug of coffee as he stares directly at me.
“You came.”
The observation sounds almost taunting, as if he expected I wouldn’t show. I’m sure he thought I was weak somehow. Maybe he assumed I’d be too afraid, perhaps. Sure, both qualities can be true at times, but I have no intention of ever allowing him to see that.
He gestures to a metal chair across from him, and I lower myself into it, hoping he doesn’t notice the stiffness in my body. Luca disappears without a word, and then we are left alone. I wait for him to speak, letting the silence fill the space between us because I suspect this is a test too.
“You seem like a reasonable woman.” Alessio sets his mug onto the table beside him. “I’m sure you have deduced by now that I’m not an ordinary man. The job requirements demanded discretion, loyalty, and dedication. Qualities you obviously must possess since you are here.”
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees as his stark blue eyes stare through me. From this close, I can smell the scent of his clean, woodsy cologne. It’s a welcome reprieve from the environment around us. I notice the other details of his features too. The angular jaw. The five o’clock shadow. The scar on his chin. His posture, though relaxed, is still somehow rigid too. His smooth lyrical voice lulls me into a false sense of safety. I’m certain he’s used it to his advantage many times before.
I don’t know what he does professionally, but I know I won’t forget that bloodstain on his cuff. It was in my thoughts all day as I sat in my hotel room, and I allowed my imagination to get the best of me. Does he hurt people? Kill them? I suspect he does, and yet here I am.
The truth is, I can only speculate what I’m getting myself into. I know when I look into his eyes, I can see something damaged in him too. Something he has shuttered away from the people around him. He hides behind his intimidating gaze and sharp tongue.
“I have considered your application all night,” he tells me. “And I must ask you, Miss Cabrera. Understanding the facts as you do, why do you want this position?”
Cautiously, I allow the slightest hint of vulnerability to leak through the cracks of my carefully crafted armor.
Truthfully? I need this position. As I explained in my application, I’ve been left without employment rather abruptly. I’m living out of a hotel, and I have no purpose if I’m not working.
He reads my response and challenges it. “Surely, with your qualifications, you’d have no problem finding a position locally. Why respond to my ad? What was it in particular that made you want to interview?”
I tap my finger against the edge of my phone before responding.
I need a change. Your ad specified the position wasn’t local. I’ve wanted to leave New York for some time now, and this seemed like the opportunity to do so.
He leans back and considers me, seemingly satisfied with my answers. Then he jumps to the next question.
“What caused the scars on your arms?”
Irritation bubbles up my throat, forcing me to lock my jaw in place. Calmly, I stuff it back down and type, sticking to my original declaration.
I told you. A car accident.
“Yes, that’s what you said,” he says. “But I don’t believe you.”
I incline my head, fingers moving rapidly as I formulate my retort.
Well, I would let you interrogate my parents, but they have both passed on. Cancer took my mother, and my father died from a heart condition. I have no siblings to speak of, and I’m quite certain the deer who witnessed the entire event is long gone, so there is little I can do to change your mind, short of performing a séance.
He doesn’t reply. His eyes move over me so sharply, they feel like a physical caress, and I find myself shivering in response. It’s the strangest reaction, and he doesn’t miss it, but he doesn’t respond to it either.
“You are willing to move wherever I require?” he asks.
I nod.
“This isn’t a job you can quit easily,” he threatens.
I have no intentions of quitting.
His lip tips slightly at the corner like my bravery amuses him. Then, abruptly, he rises to his feet, glancing at me dismissively.
“Luca will return you to your hotel. Pack your things. We have an early morning flight.”
4
Natalia
“Hello?”
I listen to Lynn’s crackled voice playing over my messages as I stare at the rain outside my hotel window. It’s the last voicemail I had from her.
“Hello, Natalia? I think we have a bad connection. I don’t know if you picked up, but Michael and I are bringing home dinner tonight, so don’t worry about cooking. We’ll be home in a few hours. See you soon. Love ya, bye.”
My breath hitches, and a tear leaks from my eye and slides down my cheek. This is all I have left of my friend, but sometimes, I imagine how our conversation would go if she were still here.
I would tell her it was me, and she’d ask if I was okay. I would tell her that I am, but it would be a lie. She’d ask me where I was, and I’d ignore the question. If she knew I was close, she would want to see me, and it isn’t safe for her. I know that now, but it’s too late to save her.
In my imagination, I’d tell her that I was leaving, and I didn’t know if or when I’d be able to call again. That really, all I wanted to do was say goodbye. There would be a long, drawn-out pause before she’d answer, her voice hoarse. “Please, don’t do th
is.”
My grip would tighten on the phone as I told her I had to. The line would fall silent, and we’d both know there’s nothing else to say, really. She doesn’t want me to die, and I don’t want her to either. In my reality, I can’t go back and make that choice. I have to live with the guilt of what happened. Her willingness to help cost her and her husband their lives, and not just them. There was a doctor that turned up dead too. There could be more I don’t even know about, realistically.
I have to live with those wounds. Asking for help from anyone else is out of the question. What I’m about to do, I have to do on my own.
I close my eyes and listen to her message one more time, wishing she could say something else. Hoping that wherever her soul is, she will understand this is goodbye. She’s my oldest friend. Someone who knows me better than anyone. More than anything, I hope she’s forgiven me for the things I can’t go back and change.
The line disconnects, and I watch the rain fall, a raw wave of grief washing over my soul. My bags are packed. The car will be here in ten minutes. I know that there is a ray of hope somewhere on the other side of that rain, because I’m getting on a plane today. I’m going to begin the journey I’ve spent years preparing for. It can only end one of two ways. Now it’s time to do what I must. To leave this city behind and prove my worth to Alessio, clinging to the hope that none of my skeletons come tumbling out of my closet.
I pocket my phone and stand up, brushing my fingers over my clothes to smooth away any wrinkles. I do the same with my face, adopting a neutral expression as I grab the handles of my suitcases and usher them to the door. With one last glance over the space, I accept that this chapter of my life has closed, and the real one begins today.
Downstairs, Luca meets me outside once again, loading my suitcases into the trunk and opening the door to secure me inside. Alessio is absent, and I wonder how he’s getting to the airport, but I decide it’s best not to overthink the situation. Instead, I watch the city streets pass us by one last time during the journey, taking note of the honking horns and pedestrians. The hot dog vendors. The familiar cracked sidewalks and loud, crowded restaurants. I have no love for any of it, I decide, and I’m not sad to leave it behind.
Luca delivers me to a secluded runway, and I’m not surprised to see that Alessio uses a private jet. By the way he dressed, I could tell he had money, but the salary was a good indication too.
“You may board the plane, Miss Cabrera,” Luca tells me. “I’ll ensure your suitcases are stowed.”
I nod at him and exit the car, pausing briefly at the short set of stairs leading to the jet. Luca gave me permission, but I need to stop for a breath, my anxiety catching me off guard. There’s still a part of me that doesn’t believe this is real. It’s as if I dreamed it up somehow. Touching the railing grounds me and brings me back to reality. I’m here. This is really happening.
I take the steps cautiously, and once I’m onboard, a flight attendant is there to greet me. She welcomes me with a smile and directs me to a seat at the front. As I sit, I notice Alessio in the seat closest to the rear of the jet, paper in hand. He glances up briefly to meet my gaze but doesn’t acknowledge me. The attendant sets a folder and a pen onto the table in front of me, and by the time I redirect my gaze, Alessio has returned his attention to the paper.
“This is from Mr. Scarcello,” the attendant informs me. “My name is Jennifer, and I’ll be here to assist you on today’s flight. Would you care for a glass of champagne or anything else?”
I shake my head, and she strides back to the galley. My gaze moves down to the folder and then back to Alessio, but he doesn’t look at me again. With a quiet sigh, I lean back, buckle my seatbelt, and then open the folder. It doesn’t surprise me to find a contract inside. As I look it over, I would consider much of it to be standard, particularly for high-paying clients in New York. There’s the run-of-the-mill non-disclosure agreement, requirements for privacy and discretion, and a carefully detailed plan of the child’s schedule, which I set aside. The last document is the one that makes me freeze, my blood pounding in my ears as I read it over. It’s a written agreement that I will not disclose my location to friends, family, or acquaintances under any circumstances, emergency or otherwise. I never had plans on doing so, but this only confirms my suspicions about Alessio, and I find it difficult to control my trembling hand as I force a signature onto the paper.
When I set the pen aside and glance up, I find him watching me with a carefully controlled expression and an intensity in his gaze that sends a shiver up my spine again. I offer him a stiff smile, closing the folder and watching him as he rises and comes to retrieve it personally. He does so without a word, briefly disappearing into the galley where he speaks to the attendant. She pops into the cockpit a moment later, and within seconds, the pilot’s voice comes over the speakers, informing us we are ready for takeoff and his instructions to remain seated.
I find the entire sequence of events very odd, and I have to wonder if Alessio waited to clear the pilot for takeoff until after I signed the contract. He acted as if I might back out. As if I might run. Perhaps a smarter woman would, but Alessio Scarcello can’t terrify me. After all, I’ve already met the Devil himself.
I lean my head back against the leather cushion and close my eyes, focusing on my breathing as the engines rumble to life and we take to the sky. The whole process is much faster than a commercial flight, but it still depletes my sensory threshold as I force myself to tune out the loud noises and shaking before we reach flying altitude. Once we do, the attendant returns to offer me a fresh fruit plate with some pastries, but I’m distracted by Alessio rising from his seat. He glances at me momentarily, locks his gaze with mine, and I find something disturbing in his eyes. Not that I’m disturbed, rather that he seems to be. His brows pinch slightly, and the vein in his neck pulses as he reaches up to adjust his tie. Then, as if it never happened, he disappears into the bedroom door at the rear of the jet and remains there for the duration of the journey.
Seattle, Washington. That’s where I find myself when we step off the plane, and a different driver appears with another Rolls Royce. He introduces himself as Manuel as he whisks us to the car, securing us before he returns for the luggage. It’s all so efficient and quiet. I’m not entirely certain what to make of any of it, but it seems Alessio prefers it this way, so I don’t bother him as we set off toward the undisclosed location he calls home.
The drive is tense and silent. He sits back against his seat and does not glance at me or speak to me. He doesn’t check his phone, or make small talk with Manuel, or even stare at the passing scenery. He just sits there like a statue beside me, his hands resting on his thighs, his back rigid and straight, his face unmoving.
I occupy myself by watching the scenery. Seattle is a beautiful city, although it has a reputation for being rainy and gray. I suppose the same can be said about any location, depending on who you ask.
I can see a large expanse of the city from the freeway, and it looks about the same as any other place. Only, the vegetation is greener. Thicker. Brighter, perhaps. I accredit that to the rain and wonder which places Nino likes to visit here. During the trip, I had a chance to look over his schedule, which was filled with enriching activities as I suspected it would be. There are piano lessons, Italian studies with a tutor, martial arts, scouting, swimming, chess club, and those are just the weekly activities. There is also a revolving schedule with special events that occur monthly or bi-monthly. I felt overwhelmed just looking at it, and I can only imagine how Nino must feel. I do have to wonder if it’s Alessio’s goal to tire him out by piling on all those activities in addition to his regular schooling, or if he is like many of the upper crust parents in New York, determined to raise the brightest children who excel at everything.
A frown tugs at my lips, but I school my expression as Manuel navigates the car off the freeway and into what can only be described as an opulent neighborhood. The houses are gated, grand
iose, and incredibly private. As I’m taking everything in, Manuel pulls up to a gate, rolls down his window, and stares directly into a camera that seems to scan his face before a buzzer signals the mechanism unlocking. It’s a high-tech form of biosecurity, and I can only wonder why the man next to me would require such measures. I’m not entirely certain I want to know the answer to that question either.
Manuel drives down the winding road through a thicket of trees on either side of the driveway before he rounds what appears to be an Italian-style villa. The structure is more beautiful than I could have anticipated, with a natural stone exterior and classic Mediterranean-style arches throughout. But it’s the waterfront view that captures my attention, along with the accompanying Seattle skyline across the bay. When Manuel opens the door for me, I have a few brief moments to notice the dock and the boat house near the shoreline.
“Come.” Alessio gestures for me. “I’ll show you to your room.”
I follow him across the well-manicured lawn, past a large pergola, and through a stone courtyard to the front door. There is another camera there, which Alessio uses himself to gain entry into the house. I swallow down my nerves as we step inside, and the details become background to what I’ve been anxiously waiting for.
“I’ll give you the evening to get settled in,” he tells me. “You can unpack, and my housekeeper will give you a tour before Manuel goes over the security measures with you.”
I tap him on the shoulder to stop him, trying my best to contain the noticeable disappointment on my face. He seems eager to rid himself of me as I write out my question for him.
Am I not going to meet Nino?
“He’s not here.” Alessio stares back at me, his face devoid of any sign of emotion. “I have to pick him up later. You can meet him in the morning.”
He continues his brisk pace when I don’t reply, ushering me up a long staircase with black and white marbled tiles. The blow of disappointment weighs heavy on my shoulders, but I try to absorb the details because I know they are important. I need to familiarize myself with every inch of this house, particularly the doors and windows. I take in as much as I can from my vantage point before Alessio reaches the landing and turns down a long hallway.