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, grandiose, 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.