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“My woman is well connected.”
Okay. And that’s helpful, how?
“If you are looking for a job that pays well, she has something for you.” He almost puffed out his chest when he said that. “She gave me this card to give to you.” He pushed a card into my hands. It was a simple black card with Casa Capizzi written in embossed red letters. “They need a nanny and will pay well. Easy money.” He clicks his fingers together like money would just come falling from the ceiling.
I turned the card over. There was a phone number on the back. The whole thing looked posh and out-of-place coming from him. He was already moving away when I looked up again. “Thanks!” I yelled out.
His head popped up again on top of the bannister. “No problem. Call them. Capizzi will pay well.”
“Hey, what’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“No bother,” he yelled back before shutting his door.
Ugh? That’s not what I asked. I should get her name. It might help me to get in if I was referred by someone. Although I didn’t know them. They had only moved in like a month before, and they knew me from my fights with Adam. Nothing good about that.
I went back inside and touched the card in my hands. It was soft to the touch like it was made of velvet. Posh and Italian? I had to google these people, and come Monday, I would call Casa Capizzi for a job.
I didn’t care who gave me the card. A job was a job.
CHAPTER FOUR
DIVYA
Tuesday morning found me in front of the steps leading up to an imposing townhouse with a beautiful matte black door and brass knob. I was way out of my comfort zone in this neighbourhood, close to the waterfront and opposite a park on Beacon Street. The street was lined with perfectly manicured trees and expensive cars. I wasn’t very familiar with the neighbourhoods and properties in Boston, but this had to be one of the most expensive ones, if not the most. There was no way they were going to hire me. It was also a Tuesday. I was beginning to become superstitious now.
I rubbed my trembling hands on my pencil skirt before ringing the doorbell.
One day at a time.
I adjusted the red choker around my neck.
I need to get through today.
I fiddled with my hair, which I had put into a neat bun.
I’ve got this.
The door was opened after a few minutes by an older Mediterranean-looking gentleman in a black suit.
“Good morning. Miss Praan, is it?” His heavy Italian accent threw me off.
“Yes. Good morning. I have an appointment with Mr Capizzi.” Crap. My voice sounded croaky.
Was this Mr Capizzi? He must be in his mid-fifties with more grey in his hair than black. He could have had a child at a later stage in his life.
“I am Armando. Please do come in. Signor Capizzi will see you in the library.” He smiled reassuringly.
So, who was Armando then?
I tried not to gawk as I looked around the entrance hall while Armando closed the door. It was massive but tastefully done. More in a European style than American. The floors were a soft, warm white marble. The curtains next to the floor-to-ceiling windows were a soft, natural kind of fabric in a cream colour. Probably linen. I could tell from how it hung and gently touched the floors. The woodwork everywhere was warm walnut, including around the bannisters leading up the stairs.
“Follow me, Signorina.” He led the way to a double door on the left, next to the staircase.
It was a study, beautifully decorated with a touch of modern and a whole lot of vintage. Everything in the room spoke of a story. Nothing in here was a purchase from a thrift store.
“Signor Capizzi will be with you in a minute. Would you like to have something to drink? Some coffee, perhaps?”
“Just some water will be fine.”
