Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
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.
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.