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I meet his gaze, hoping he can’t sense my nerves.
“Angelina should have already told you, but the third level of the home is off-limits. If there is ever a situation that arises where you believe you need access, come to me first.”
I nod in acknowledgment, and he continues.
“The neighboring property line outside is well established with a stone privacy wall. You’ll see it if you’re in the garden. If Nino is not at his scheduled activities outside the home, he is to be within these walls at all times, unless you have express permission from Mr. Scarcello for a planned outing.”
My heart sinks as all the notions I had about day trips to explore the area slip away, but I don’t let it show.
“When you and Nino leave the house for any occasion of any nature, you will be attended by myself or Mr. Scarcello. There are no exceptions.”
Again, I nod, tension seeping into my body as the walls of this beautiful home start to feel more like a prison.
“As expressed in your contract, there are to be no visitors to the home. Your friends or family are not permitted to know where you work or reside. Again, there are no exceptions.”
I pull up my app to respond.
That won’t be an issue.
He studies me, his expression all business. “Do you have any questions for me?”
Am I free to roam the house, other than the third level? And the grounds as well?
“Yes,” he answers. “You can make use of the house and the grounds as needed, so long as it’s not disruptive. Anything else?”
I shake my head, and he rises from his seat, moving around to open the door for me. “Then you’re free to get settled in, Miss Cabrera. Have a good evening.”
5
Natalia
After helping myself to a prepared salad from the fridge for dinner, I take the opportunity to wander the house some more, hoping I don’t bump into Angelina. To my relief, I don’t. I study the layout, examining the exits closely. It occurs to me there are multiple options in this house, but upon closer inspection, it looks as if the windows are thicker than normal, and I suspect they may be shatterproof. That familiar sensation of being trapped threatens to suffocate the air from my lungs, but I choose to use the tools I’ve learned to ground myself and use logic rather than fear to cope.
It doesn’t matter if the windows are shatterproof. There are doors I could use to leave, should the need ever arise. That’s the mantra I play on repeat as I walk out onto the grounds, noting how much crisper and cleaner the air feels here. I inhale it greedily, making my way through the garden and to the perimeter where the stone wall lies, just as Manuel said. It’s so thick and tall you can’t see the neighbors. There is no mistaking the cameras lining the property. They seem to be everywhere. The more I look, the more I find.
I know very little about Alessio Scarcello. My research on him produced almost nothing useful, and it was only by a sheer stroke of luck that I discovered him in the first place. Between what I do know and my imagination filling in the gaps, it’s confirmation that he’s involved in a criminal syndicate. That’s the only logical conclusion for all the secrecy. The cameras. The bizarre contract. His rigidness. The quiet way he moves. The almost inhuman blankness I’ve seen in his gaze. They are all bigger pieces of the puzzle, and it’s difficult to ignore the dread taking shape deep in my gut.
I knew when I went to that interview I was walking into the eye of the storm. Despite what he may believe, I didn’t sign that contract because I’m a stupid woman. I knew exactly what I was doing, and in the end, my only hope is that I will complete the job I came here to do.
As the breeze picks up, a chill moves over me, blowing across the water and settling over me like a damp blanket. It’s still fairly early, but tomorrow is a big day, so I decide it’s best to turn in. Back inside the security of my room, I slip into a pair of sweatpants, a tee-shirt, my night scarf, and my running shoes. Then I stand beside the light switch, agonizing for minutes as I stare at the dresser. Normally, I would barricade myself inside with a piece of furniture. It’s the only way I can feel safe, but I have a sneaking suspicion that if Alessio were to show up at my door and find it in such a state, he might very well decide I’m better locked up in an asylum.
Anxiously, I turn off the light switch and traipse over to the bed, settling onto the side farthest from the door and securing my butterfly knife beneath my pillow. It’s always a difficult task to sleep with running shoes on, but it’s made even more difficult with such a heavy comforter, so I drag it up over my feet and stare at the ceiling. I go through the motions of a few breathing exercises to calm my nervous system, and then I close my eyes and imagine the same scenario I have played on repeat for years. It settles me, bringing a soft smile to my face and a warmth to my aching chest.
