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This is a power play by my future employer. A test. It was evident in his eyes as he considered me yesterday, measuring me up like one might examine their produce. He was looking for bruises and weak spots. Signs of malignant decay just beneath the surface. I couldn’t hide the obvious flaws on my skin, or my inability to converse with him as he would probably prefer, but I am well acquainted with hiding the deepest rot. The type I can’t cut out.
Alessio Scarcello is a dangerous man. If my gut didn’t already know it, my research was confirmation enough. There is nothing to be found in his name. Not an address. A phone number. A social media page. He may as well be a phantom. I would be naïve to believe he’s not involved in a deeper criminal network. That’s why he demands secrecy. A private car to whisk me off to an undisclosed location, just as the job placement required a willingness to work anywhere in the world. New York is not his home, and if I do get this position, I will be working in another undisclosed location. Any sane person would run, but I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity in exchange for what I desire.
A black Rolls Royce pulls up to the front entrance, and a driver gets out, his gaze immediately moving to mine.
“Miss Cabrera, my name is Luca. I am here to drive you to your interview.”
I swallow and nod, doing a quick once over of the man. He’s an older man, fifties perhaps, but he’s very large and visibly strong, a detail I can never miss. A detail that always sets off those alarm bells in my mind that warn me to flee, to survive. I have learned to ignore them, so instead, I put one foot stiffly in front of the other as he opens the back door for me.
Once I’m settled inside, Luca takes his position at the driver’s seat and smoothly pulls back into the flow of traffic without a word. He doesn’t speak to me the entirety of the drive, and at first, I find that I’m okay with that. Alessio must have made him aware that I can’t answer verbally. As we exit the city altogether and put more distance behind us than I’d care for, my hands tangle nervously in my lap. I stare out the window at the passing scenery as a bead of sweat tickles my neck. We drive for what feels like hours, but I know it can’t be. It’s just that time always slows when those innate fears start to trickle into my consciousness.
Finally, Luca pulls off the freeway and into a town I’ve never been to: Desolation, New York. It seems like a strange place, too far removed to have an interview, and I can’t seem to quell this sinking feeling in my gut. Alessio suspected there was more to my story yesterday, and he was right. Did my lies betray me? Could he sense them beneath my assertions of truth?
Luca navigates the streets easily, directing us past the broken-down buildings and boarded-up windows, completely unaware of my small panic attack in the backseat. I suck in tiny breaths of air, pinching my fingers together to distract myself. Then I repeat the only truth Alessio needs to know, the one I will tell him if he insists on questioning me further. I lost my last nanny position when my employers moved abroad, and I’m living out of a hotel, siphoning off the savings I’ve worked so hard to maintain. I have no family and no purpose, and this is it for me. I need this job as much as I need air to breathe.
“I’ll get your door,” Luca says gruffly, pulling me from my thoughts.
When I glance outside, I see that we’re parked in front of an old warehouse called Butcher and Son. Panic surges inside me again, but I swallow it down, beat it into submission, and plaster a neutral expression on my face when Luca opens the door. I’m used to pretending, and often, I feel like a Jack in the box. I’m wound up so tight, I could explode at any moment, but not today. Not right now.
I force myself to move, erasing the thoughts from my mind as Luca opens the creaky door and gestures me inside. I stop and stare at the space, nearly choking on the smell of dust and decay that still lingers. Dried blood has seeped into the floor, staining it with the evidence of violent ends. Large sheets of plastic crinkle beneath Luca’s feet as he moves along, telling me to follow.
Robotically, I do.
He leads me into a backroom with a butcher table, and I try not to breathe in the pungent aroma that’s curdling my stomach. We find Alessio waiting in a chair, casually sipping from a mug of coffee as he stares directly at me.
