by A. Zavarelli
“I like it better this way.”
My breath catches, and when I turn into him, I’m at eye level with his chest. I always knew he was tall, but I have to crane my neck to look up at him when we're close like this. My only hope is that he can’t hear my heart beating violently. When his eyes dip to my pulse, I know he knows.
I study his face, cataloging his brutal handsomeness, memorizing his curves and lines. I want to believe in this strange new feeling. I want to exist in this space where I’m safe with him. I know it’s an illusion. He’s not my savior. He’s my enemy.
“I can’t figure you out.” He releases my hair, his fingers hovering like he wants to touch my face. “What are you hiding from me?”
I swallow, and he drops his hand, taking a step back and shaking his head like he’s annoyed with himself. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to communicate with you.”
I reach for my phone and reply. My ears work just fine. We’re communicating now, aren’t we?
His frustration ebbs away, but I’m learning that Alessio rarely means what he says. It’s only surface level, and there’s always something lurking deeper beneath the veneer. While it’s true that people tend to tire of communicating with me in a slower fashion than they are accustomed to, I don’t think that’s his problem at all. He seems frustrated because he wants something more from our conversation, but he can’t bring himself to admit exactly what it is. I don’t know why I feel like I should bridge this gap, but I do.
You’re very tall, I write. I didn’t realize it until now.
His eyes soften slightly as he looks down at me. “You are very … short.”
Despite my mind screaming at me not to be stupid, I smile. I can’t help it. He is so awkward at times, completely at odds with the persona he gives off. I don’t doubt for a second that he’s a dangerous man, but it’s easy to forget during moments like these.
Alessio’s eyes move over my face, and something changes in his expression. I can’t tell for certain, but I think he seems to relax slightly.
“You don’t smile very often,” he remarks.
I suppose I don’t. But I take my job seriously.
“Yes, well, Nino seems happy in your care.”
Nino seems to be a safe topic for both of us. In a way, right now, he almost feels like a safe word. A reminder that we can’t fuck this up for him.
He’s an amazing child. I don’t know how you’ve managed so long on your own, but you’ve done a wonderful job with him.
Alessio frowns. “I wasn’t completely alone. He had a nanny before, but she was elderly and passed on six months ago.”
I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.
I wonder why Nino never mentions her, or why Alessio never thought to mention this. There’s a chance Nino is still grieving her loss, and I had no idea.
“He told you I’m not his father,” Alessio says.
I stiffen at the observation, wondering how he could possibly know that. I thought we had been so careful with our conversations, but I can see that I was right about my suspicions. There must be cameras in Nino’s room. There must be some way Alessio has deciphered our sign language.
Suddenly, I find myself questioning everything. Nino is down for a nap, and I’m out on a boat with him in the open water. Did he bring me out here to kill me? Does he think I’m a threat now that I know the truth?
“That information will need to stay between us.” His voice is calm, but his eyes tell me everything I need to know. This is a warning. “As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I am his father. It’s my job to protect Nino, and it’s important nothing gets in the way of that.”
I swallow, forcing myself to nod. I understand.
His gaze dips to my lips, and in turn, mine drifts to his. My heart beats a little harder. I wonder if his is too, or if I’m just crazy.
“We have to get back,” he says abruptly, taking a step back. “Nino and I have somewhere to be.”
I study him for a second, confused. There’s nothing on the schedule for today.
“This appointment isn’t on the schedule.” He turns away and takes a seat at the wheel, his intention clear. He doesn’t want to be challenged or questioned on this.
I’m not in a place that I could challenge him, but I can’t understand where he would need to take Nino. Did he have something else planned that he didn’t want me to know about?
“You should go downstairs,” he tells me coldly. “In case Nino needs you.”
11
Natalia
I spend the rest of the afternoon and into the evening wondering where they could possibly be. Alessio always takes Nino out on Sundays, but until today, I had just assumed it was his attempt at spending time together. Then Alessio told me they had somewhere to be, and the wheels in my mind started to turn. Where exactly is he taking him every Sunday without fail?
Today, they left after four, and it’s already past eight. They are usually home by now, and Nino should be getting ready for bed. Concern eats at me as I consider all the different possibilities. Were they in an accident? Are they okay? Is it something else? Something more sinister?
I’m an anxious mess when I finally hear Nino’s voice downstairs, and I rush to meet him. Instead of seeing Alessio there, I find it's just Manuel. He glances at me and nods to Nino.
“Go upstairs. Natalia will help you get ready for bed.”
Nino does as he’s instructed, and I can’t help noticing how much his demeanor has changed from this afternoon. There is a sullen, anxious child in place of the quiet, happy boy out on the boat. He takes the hand that I offer, and I lead him upstairs to his room, waiting until we’re in the bathroom before I ask him any questions.
How was your day with Alessio? I wet a cloth and use it to wipe his face.
Nino shrugs, casting his eyes toward the floor. It bothers me, and I don’t want to push him, but I need to know he’s okay. I tip his chin up to meet my gaze, using my hands to sign the words he knows.
Did you eat dinner?
He nods.
What did you have?
Another shrug. “Some gross stuff.”
I let him brush his teeth and then help him into his pajamas, hoping he’ll open up more with some time between tasks. When I tuck him into bed, it’s apparent that won’t be happening.
Did Alessio come home with you?
He shakes his head. The only thing that makes sense is they must have had some sort of disagreement. I can’t imagine what else it would be.
Where did you go tonight?
He dips his head like he knows he’s not supposed to tell me. I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to when he signs three letters.
I.V.I.
My brows draw together in confusion, thinking he must be too tired to comprehend what he’s saying. I can’t in good conscience push him any further, so I drop it and stroke the hair back from his forehead.
Sleep well, sweetheart.
“Natalia?” He calls out for me as I head for the door.
I turn to find tears hovering on the edges of his eyes, and I rush back to him. What is it?
“I don’t want you to go.”
I’m right here, I assure him. It’s okay. Can you tell me why you’re upset?
He shakes his head. “Just stay with me until I go to sleep.”
I will, I answer. You’re safe now, okay?
He nods, releases a quiet sigh, and closes his eyes.
When I’m certain Nino is asleep, I go back to my room and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Something is off. Alessio is keeping a secret, and I have a terrible gut feeling I might know what it is. Without confirmation, there’s no way to know for certain. I came here with very little information about Alessio and the current circumstances. I don’t know why Nino is with him or how it came to be that way. I only know what Nino told me about his father, along with the warning from Alessio about his duty to protect Nino.
Tonight, he took him somewh
ere he didn’t want me to know about. I’ve tried to rationalize it, but no matter how I look at it, I keep coming back to the same conclusion.
My paranoia is fraying every last nerve, and I don’t know how much longer I can do this. If Alessio doesn’t know already, if he’s not just toying with me somehow, it’s only a matter of time until he figures out the truth. I already have my exit strategy. There’s no reason for me to wait any longer. I saw him take the keys to the boathouse to the office on the first floor tonight. I know that door is locked, but there must be a key somewhere. I suspect he’ll have it on him.
My eyes dart to my pillow as the idea begins to cement in my mind. It has to be now. There will never be a perfect time to carry this out. I’m already getting too wrapped up in this situation. I can’t feel guilty for what I have to do, not when I know Alessio would do the same if the roles were reversed.
I don’t know where the cameras are hidden in my room, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Discretion isn’t going to help me, not after tonight. It will either be him or me.
I go into the closet first, packing up my clothing as an idea comes to me. There’s an advantage I haven’t considered. Alessio will be surprised when he sees me, so I can disarm him. I can lure him into a false sense of safety and tempt him with the thing he really wants, the hunger I see in his eyes when he looks at me.
My fingers hover over the black silk nightgown I never really wear but bought because it felt good against my skin. It’s beautiful, with intricate lace detailing and a hem that skims my mid-thigh. I didn’t buy it for anyone else. I just wanted to know what it felt like. I wore it once for ten minutes in bed before my fears got the best of me. It went back into the closet, and I returned to the safety of my routine. Sensible pajamas and sneakers, so I could run any time I needed to.
Tonight, I will run. It will be barefoot, and in silk and lace. I will have to come back to my bedroom with the hopes that Manuel won’t have awoken by the noise upstairs. If I do it right, the way I imagine it in my head, it will be quiet. Not even Alessio will see it coming.
A wave of nausea rolls through me as I undress and slip into the chemise. I can’t think about him as the man I’ve come to know in my time here, so instead, I think about him as my enemy. That’s how I’ll do this. That’s how I’ll harness the necessary rage to end his life.
With the nightgown secure on my body, I glance in the mirror, unraveling my hair and combing through it once more. Just the way he said he likes it.
There’s a pit in my stomach as I head for the bed, grabbing the knife from beneath the pillow and slipping it into my palm, tucking it discreetly against my body. It’s already past midnight, and I suspect I don’t have much time to get upstairs and settle in.
Quietly, I shut my bedroom door behind me and creep down the hall, the marble cold against my bare feet. There’s a maniacal part of me that half expects Angelina to jump out of the shadows as I turn toward the banister, parroting her favorite line.
The third level is off-limits.
Tonight, it’s not. I grab the iron railing with my free hand, cautiously working my way up into the darkness. When my feet hit the landing, my eyes are already darting around nervously, seeking out traps. It appears much like the second floor. There’s a hall leading to Alessio’s suite, and the only noticeable difference I find along the way is a series of paintings hung on display. I pause to look at them, noting the details I’m able to distinguish in the dim light. It appears to be a woman and two children. His family, perhaps?
I’m not sure what to make of it, but I don’t linger. Looking for too long will only humanize him. It will make this harder than it needs to be.
As I approach the suite with large, solid French doors, it occurs to me that they could be locked. But to my relief, I find that they aren’t. When I open them, the first thing that hits me is Alessio’s scent. It’s clean and masculine, and admittedly, I could see how women might find it intoxicating. I try to forget how to breathe as I examine the room.
I think I was expecting some type of dark lair, but surprisingly, the space is light and clean. The curtains, walls, and area rug are all shades of white and soft gray. The massive bed in the center is cloaked in the same luxurious bedding I have in my room. So white and fluffy, it looks like a cloud. The room consists of the basics, much like all the others in the house, and I doubt he’s hiding anything important here. I do my due diligence regardless, snooping through his drawers and peeking into his closet, touching everything I can get my hands on. I’m not worried about leaving evidence. There won’t be any way to hide that it was me regardless.
After twenty minutes, I’ve concluded whatever secrets Alessio may have, they aren’t hidden in here. With nothing else to do, I try to determine which side of the bed he sleeps on by checking all three sets of pillows. There is no indication anyone has ever slept in this bed. I opt for the middle ground, carefully tucking my knife under that set of pillows, hoping I’ll be able to reach it when the time comes. Then I make myself comfortable in a plush gray chair near his bed. My eyes drift to the clock periodically, watching as the minutes pass. Those minutes soon turn into an hour and then two. By the third, I’m irritated. Where the hell is he?
The first thought that comes to mind is the most obvious. It’s the middle of the night, and he hasn’t come home. He must be out fucking someone. It’s an idea that stirs an unrecognizable emotion in me. I don’t want to believe it’s jealousy, but the bitterness on my tongue makes me think it must be. Imagining him looking at someone else the way he looks at me is bothersome, to say the least.
I’m not completely emotionally bankrupt. I can recognize feelings when I have them, and I know suppressing them only gives them more power over me. I can admit if I had met Alessio under different circumstances, I wouldn’t be so opposed to his uncivilized charm. But acknowledging that feeling and accepting it are two different things. I’m not supposed to like the bad guy, and if I do, it means there is something deeply wrong with me.
He should repulse me. I should hate him with a passion that leaves no room for any sympathy, but I have witnessed him struggle with his humanity. I have seen the way he looks at Nino, the way he wants to protect him and do right by him. That alone has softened me toward him. The way he looks at me … like he never wants to stop, it has softened me too.
Frustration overtakes me as I reconsider my entire plan. Can I really do this? Can I kiss him, touch him, and give him my body as I stab him in the neck? My eyes burn as I consider it, and I hate that this is what my life has turned into. I didn’t choose to be this way. I didn’t choose any of this, and I can’t lose sight of the catalyst that brought me here or the reality I want more than anything.
I check the clock again. It’s past four a.m. now, and I’m beginning to question if he’s even coming home. If he has been with another woman, then what? How can I possibly explain my reason for being here in the face of his rejection?
The tumultuous thoughts are giving me a headache, so I do the only logical thing I can. I climb onto his bed and lay my head on the pillow with the intention of clearing my mind and not thinking about anything. Then I smell his scent there, and I realize he does have a side, and this is it. I snuggle deeper, feeling oddly calm as I settle into his space. It’s peaceful here, and I can understand why he wants to keep it that way.
My eyes feel heavy, and I try to keep them open at any cost. I count from one to a hundred and back again. I slip my palm beneath the pillow in the middle to touch the blade of my weapon. I roll onto my side and then onto my back, stretching my limbs and breathing deeply. The exhaustion is becoming too much. It’s pulling me under, and I think if I can just close my eyes for a second, it will be okay.
A sound startles me awake, and at first, I don’t know where I am. Then all at once, a massive surge of adrenaline floods my veins as I bolt upright, squinting into the bright morning light. I glance around the room, unable to see what woke me, but I was certain I heard something
.
A muffled grunt reverberates against the door, and I move quickly, tossing the covers off me, preparing for the unknown. I’m standing beside the bed, waiting to see who comes through, but it’s taking too long. Someone is still out there, wiggling the doorknob with muttered curses.
Logically, I know it must be Alessio, but the door isn’t locked, and I don’t understand why he’s having such a difficult time opening it. Several more moments pass before I tiptoe toward the door, listening closely for anything else. When I press my ear against the wood, I hear someone breathing on the other side, but it doesn’t sound like they are moving anymore. I slip my trembling fingers onto the handle, pulling down slowly and opening it to reveal a sight straight out of a horror film.
Alessio is standing there in a tattered button-down shirt that was once probably white, but now it’s soaked in blood. I can’t tell if it’s his or someone else’s, but it’s … everywhere. My eyes move over him rapidly, taking in the details as quickly as I can. There’s a cut above his eyebrow and bruising on his jaw. Dried blood is smeared across his throat, and his entire sleeve is soaked in fresh blood. There’s so much that it’s dripping down his palm and onto the marble floor. I can see now why he wasn’t able to open the door.
He lifts his head slowly, clearly exhausted, and his gaze meets mine. “What are you doing here?”
His tone is unmistakably annoyed, and I suspect it’s because he didn’t anticipate anyone would see him like this, least of all me. When his eyes travel down the length of my body, noting the lace chemise, something changes. His nostrils flare, and then his brows pinch together.
“Were you in my bed?”
That question is a landmine I’d rather avoid right now, so I do the only rational thing I can. I reach for his hand and pull him inside, directing him to the gray chair I was in earlier. I hold up a finger to indicate that he should wait there.