I open the file before me, scanning the typewritten cover letter. She introduces herself as Natalia Cabrera, aged twenty-seven years, with a degree in early child development and education. She has experience in Montessori schooling and references from her time as a nanny. Under the list of her extensive skills, she notes that she is fluent in sign language and can learn and teach other languages as preferred. She is also certified in first aid and CPR. At the end of the cover letter, she notes that she has vocal cord paralysis from damage to the nerve. She makes a point to state that she is unable to speak verbally but can communicate with children through text-to-voice, writing, or teaching ASL if permitted. It all sounds well and good, but I am not certain how Nino might feel about this style of communication.
When I look up at her again, I catch her staring at the blood stain on my sleeve and the faintest hint of her pulse increasing. I wait a moment to see if she chooses to acknowledge it, but she doesn’t. I decide it’s better that way. I suspect some part of her already realizes this is not the typical business arrangement, and I want that cemented in her mind. If or when I allow her to enter my world, she won’t leave until I give her the option. That is if I give her the option.
“I’d like to do a second interview tomorrow.” I close the file. “I’ll send a car to pick you up.”
She shakes her head, typing out a quick reply.
I can make my own way.
I cock my head to the side. “That’s unlikely, considering it will be at an undisclosed location.”
I watch for any signs of fear, but she does not move. The only noticeable tightening is in the crease between her brows. If she were a smart woman, one who trusted any reasonable instinct, she would tell me no. But for once, I find that I don’t want a rational interaction. I want her to pass this test and every additional one I throw at her from now on. She returns to the app on her phone, her fingers moving elegantly as she writes her answer.
Very well. I’m staying at the Paramount Hotel.
“10 a.m.” I rise from my seat and peer down at her. “Don’t be late.”
3
Natalia
I step out into the cool New York morning, discreetly pausing to check my reflection in the glass behind me. The sun isn’t quite peeking through the clouds today, and it feels as overcast as my current mood. My black skirt suit is probably the nicest one I own, but somehow it still feels like a paper sack on my body. I’m a mess of nerves, but I am determined not to show it.
I can never show it.
With a mournful sigh, I decide that I look professional enough. But what does it matter? For all I know, this man could be luring me to my inevitable death. If I didn’t have everything riding on this interview, there’s no way I would have agreed to let his driver pick me up.
This is a power play by my future employer. A test. It was evident in his eyes as he considered me yesterday, measuring me up like one might examine their produce. He was looking for bruises and weak spots. Signs of malignant decay just beneath the surface. I couldn’t hide the obvious flaws on my skin, or my inability to converse with him as he would probably prefer, but I am well acquainted with hiding the deepest rot. The type I can’t cut out.
Alessio Scarcello is a dangerous man. If my gut didn’t already know it, my research was confirmation enough. There is nothing to be found in his name. Not an address. A phone number. A social media page. He may as well be a phantom. I would be naïve to believe he’s not involved in a deeper criminal network. That’s why he demands secrecy. A private car to whisk me off to an undisclosed location, just as the job placement required a willingness to work anywhere in the world. New York is not his home, and if I do get this position, I will be working in another undisclosed location. Any sane person would run, but I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity in exchange for what I desire.
A black Rolls Royce pulls up to the front entrance, and a driver gets out, his gaze immediately moving to mine.
“Miss Cabrera, my name is Luca. I am here to drive you to your interview.”
I swallow and nod, doing a quick once over of the man. He’s an older man, fifties perhaps, but he’s very large and visibly strong, a detail I can never miss. A detail that always sets off those alarm bells in my mind that warn me to flee, to survive. I have learned to ignore them, so instead, I put one foot stiffly in front of the other as he opens the back door for me.
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.