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.
I never thought of myself as a loud walker, but as I hurry to keep up with Alessio’s pace, I realize that I must be. I seem to be the only one making noise as my flats make contact with the well-polished floors. I’m not entirely certain how he does it, but Alessio seems to glide right over the marble like an apparition, making little to no noise at all. It’s a detail that affirms his deadly nature, and a lump forms in my throat as my hypervigilance kicks into overdrive. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to relax around him, but that’s for the best. Letting my guard down isn’t an option. Not with anyone.
We come to a stop outside an ornate wooden door, and Alessio turns slightly, pointing to the next door along the hall. “That is Nino’s room. This will be yours.”
My eyes are still on the other door as he opens mine, and I linger for a moment too long in the hall when he steps inside, waiting for me to follow. He watches me carefully as I join him to take in my surroundings. The bedroom is much larger than I expected, with beautiful wood flooring, an intricately carved ivory-colored bed frame, and windows complete with a sitting area and a waterfront view.
I turn to look at him, and he seems to be waiting for a response, so I offer him one.
This room is really just for me?
He nods, and his shoulders seem to relax a fraction as if he’s pleased that I’m pleased. I find it strange, but I write a thank you in the phone app. He acknowledges it with a dip of his head, his expression neutral as he heads for the door.
“Manuel will be along shortly with your bags. Angelina will give you a tour when you’re ready, and then you can go through security measures.”
Manuel has delivered my bags, and I’ve successfully unpacked the contents of them in the closet. I don’t own many clothes, but I have several variations of what I would consider my uniform. Skirt suits, tights, and flats. I have a pair of jeans and a few colors of plain tee shirts and sweaters for the rare days I'm not working. The clothes are what I could afford while I shuttled away every penny I could manage from my salary over the last five years. They served well as far as being functional, but in this house, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel out of place.
While I wait for the housekeeper, I examine my room, pull out drawers, check the windows' locks, and pick up the decorative items to inspect them. I have a strong suspicion there are probably many cameras in this house, and I’m anxious to know if there’s one in this room as well. Upon close examination, I can’t seem to find any, which is a relief. Though I know from experience, cameras and listening devices aren’t always obvious.
A knock sounds at the door, startling me slightly, and I move to open it, but there isn’t time. A young woman steps inside, glancing at me like a frumpy interloper who doesn’t belong here. She is stunningly beautiful, with long, sleek black hair styled like she just stepped out of a salon. Her features are modelesque, with angular cheeks and bold red lips. She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress that accentuates her every curve and heels to match. I wonder who she could possibly be, but she takes it upon herself to inform me rather coolly.
“I’m Angelina.” Her eyes cut over me sharply. “I’m in charge of Mr. Scarcello’s household, and I’m here to give you a tour.”
I nod at her, my stomach slightly uneasy over the cold greeting. I follow her into the corridor, and I tell myself her opinion doesn’t matter. I’m not here to make friends.
She walks as briskly as Alessio, her hips swaying as her heels clip across the floor. She doesn’t pause to let me look at anything as she points in each direction, listing off the areas of the home in rapid-fire succession.
“Guest bedroom, guest bedroom, bathroom, supply closet, library.” She pauses when we reach the landing, pointing up the staircase as she turns to narrow her eyes at me in warning. “The third level is Mr. Scarcello’s. You are never to go up there for any reason. Understand?”
I find my own eyes narrowing slightly in response to her attitude but decide she’s not worth the battle. She means nothing in the grand scheme of things, and I refuse to show her that she can get to me.
“Did you hear me?” she sneers. “Or are you deaf as well?”
My hands clench into fists as I force a stiff nod and then type out a message, cranking up the volume so there can be no doubt.
I heard you just fine.
She turns in a huff, continuing with the tour, and I try to listen, but my thoughts are elsewhere as I take in the details as quickly as I can. I don’t know if I’m free to explore the house on my own or not, but I decide that will be a question better saved for Manuel.
“There’s a playroom down there on the left,” Angelina says. “And the rest are guest rooms.”
I don’t get to see any of them because she leads me down the stairs back to the ground level, where she briefly shows me the parlor room, an indoor pool, a sunroom, the gym, and a wine cellar, which she tells me is also off-limits.
At the conclusion of the tour, she informs me somewhat reluctantly there are chef-prepared meals available in the kitchen when I want them. She also notifies me I’m expected to attend breakfast in the formal dining room every morning. With that, she points at a chair in the hall and barks out a command for me to sit like I’m a dog.
Reluctantly, I do, and I’m relieved when she disappears, leaving me to the silence of my thoughts. A few moments later, like a well-oiled machine, Manuel appears, and I’ve never been so relieved to see such a neutral expression.
“Miss Cabrera, if you’ll come with me, we’ll get your security access set up.”
I follow him down the hall to an office that Angelina didn’t mention. He gestures me inside and pulls out my chair for me before he takes a seat across from me at the desk.
“Mr. Scarcello uses facial recognition software for anyone who requires access to the property,” he tells me. “So, we’re going to set that up today.”
My nerves fray as I squeeze my hands together in my lap. I suspected security would be tight here, but I was hoping for a simple code for my access. Scanning my face means they’ll have that information stored in a database later. It will only make it that much easier to find me.
Manuel sets up the camera and gives me feedback as he has me position my face in different angles, explaining that the technology is designed to work in a range of lighting with various hairstyles, hats, etc. When he’s finished, I take a deep, quiet breath and watch him input some of my information into the computer.
“Okay.” He stabs a sequence of keys on the computer and then shuts it off. “There are a few things I need to go over with you.”