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 this.”
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.