11. Victoria
VICTORIA
The first time I went to work as a teacher, I was twenty-two years old and convinced the university had made a mistake.
I remember sitting in the passenger seat of Francesco’s Mercedes outside the gates, staring at the faculty building and wondering how long it would take for somebody to realise I didn’t belong there.
Most professors had spent decades building their careers.
I had barely started mine.
The appointment letter had felt unreal from the moment it arrived.
Francesco never seemed to understand why.
“You earned it.”
That had always been his answer.
Because no matter what else Francesco was, he had driven me to that campus and left me standing in front of those gates with my future waiting inside.
He pulled up directly in front of the main entrance, drawing enough attention to make me want to sink into the leather seat.
“You are fine,” he’d said simply.
Before I could argue, he had cupped my face and kissed me.
Not a sweet goodbye kiss.
A colonising one.
The kind that made it abundantly clear who I belonged to.
Several students had openly stared.
Francesco hadn’t cared.
If anything, he had looked pleased.
A statement, not a farewell.
Nobody jokes around my girl.
Then he’d climbed back into the driver’s seat, flashed me a grin, and driven away in a blur of black Mercedes-Benz and arrogance.
I had walked through those gates terrified.
But I had walked through them free.
The memory feels impossibly distant now.
Here, the air itself feels heavier.
A thick weight presses against the windows of my room.
I stare at the grey uniform hanging from my shoulders.
Every button is fastened.
Every inch of me covered.
The collar scratches against my throat. A proper, modest shroud that makes me feel less like an employee and more like an inmate.
A knock rattles the door.
A prisoner in a gilded cage waiting for a sentence I haven’t been explicitly read yet.
Knock, knock.
I stiffen, then walk over, take a breath to steady myself.
Another knock.
I open the door.
A lady stands on the threshold, a whirlwind of vibrant, chaotic energy that instantly clashes with the sterile hallway.
She looks young, blindingly confident, and entirely unbothered by the quiet gravity of the estate.
She isn’t Italian. Her loud, brassy American drawl sounds completely out of place here.
She doesn’t wait for an invitation.
She pops her gum and smirks.
You’re fucking gorgeous, but this goddamn uniform is hiding everything you’ve got going on.”
I blink, momentarily speechless.
Partly because of her.
She’s wearing the standard grey uniform, but only in the loosest sense.
Her shorts are cut high into cheeky bum shorts, and her shirt is tied above her belly button, exposing her midriff.
With the top four buttons undone, the plunging neckline gives off the vibe of a provocative high-end bartender rather than a production worker.
A leather bag strap crosses her torso, cutting deep between her cleavage and prominently exposing her chest through the thin fabric.
From here, the place feels different, less rigid than it first appeared.
I don’t answer quickly enough.
She nods as though she’d expected exactly that.
“Yeah. That checks out. They didn’t exaggerate.”
Pushing off the doorframe, she steps forward and extends a hand decorated with long neon-pink acrylic nails.
“Elena,” she says. “Botany. I keep plants alive and try not to get murdered by people who think ‘botany’ means flower arrangement. Basically, I play in the dirt and make sure the green stuff doesn’t die.”
I take her hand.
“Victoria.”
Her grip is surprisingly firm.
“Nice to meet you.”
Her gum snaps between her teeth.
Then her gaze drifts over me again, slower this time.
“Fuck, girl,” she mutters with a low laugh. “They really did dress you like that on purpose.”
I glance down at my uniform.
“Is this a standard issue?”
“Yeah,” she says immediately. “Standard issue bullshit.”
“We’ll see about that,” Elena chuckles, turning on her heel and gesturing for me to follow. “Come on, honey. We’re on a clock, and if we’re late, the supervisors get their panties in a bunch. Though honestly, most of them need a good dick to calm their fucking nerves anyway.”
I step out, pulling my door shut behind me.
Elena walks ahead.
I follow her into the hallway.
Unlike everyone else I’ve seen here, Elena doesn’t move carefully.
She doesn’t lower her voice or keep her eyes down.
The complete lack of fear in her demeanour is jarring.
Elena keeps walking.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask.
“Long enough to know everybody’s business.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
She flashes me a grin.
“That’s why it’s fun.”
We pass through a security door.
A pair of workers immediately look away when they notice me.
Elena notices too.
“See that?”
“What?”
“They’re staring.”
“They weren’t.”
“They absolutely were.”
She points at me.
“You’re the reason.”
I groan.
“Why?”
Elena gives me a look.
Suddenly, she stops, spins around on one heel. Begins walking backwards, eyes locked onto mine. She leans in close, dropping her voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper just not to allow anyone else to hear it.
“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, babe,” Elena says. “Don Lorenzo personally carried you through the front gates.”
The answer hits harder than I expect.
“He brought me to a clinic.”
“He brought you to his clinic.”
She emphasises the word.
“Big difference.”
I stay silent.
Elena studies me.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You genuinely don’t know.”
“Know what?”
She stops walking.
“Do you know how many girls have worked here for years without ever meeting him?”
I don’t answer.
“Most of them.”
The hallway suddenly feels quieter.
“He doesn’t come here often?”
Elena laughs.
“Often?”
She starts walking again.
“Honey, some people would throw a parade if he visited twice in one year.”
My thoughts drift back to the clinic.
The doctors.
The security.
The way everyone moved when Lorenzo entered.
Elena catches my expression.
“There it is.”
“What?”
She points a finger at me.
“That’s real confusion.”
“I’m not confused.”
“You are.”
She nods confidently.
“Either way, you’ve got the whole house talking. Half the bitches in the pool are ready to poison your morning coffee out of pure jealousy.”
“Good to know I should bring a food tester,” I mutter, a small, involuntary smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
Despite the language, there is a strange, grounding comfort in her bluntness. She isn’t hiding behind the terrifying reverence I perceive everyone else uses when speaking of Lorenzo.
“Don’t worry, I like you,” Elena says, winking as she turns back around to face forward, leading me through a set of heavy double doors. “You’ve got that quiet, smart-girl vibe, but I can tell you’re a little bit of a freak underneath. You have to be to survive around here.”
I laugh despite myself.
“You’re impossible.”
We step outside into the courtyard.
The industrial buildings stretch across the property.
Security cameras watch every entrance.
Steel fences divide sections of the compound.
Nothing about the place feels temporary.
This isn’t a hideout.
It’s an ecosystem.
“You’re not telling me everything,” I say.
“Of course not.”
Elena points toward the largest building.
“You haven’t earned the good gossip yet.”
“The good gossip?”
“The fun stuff.”
She lowers her voice.
“Like, which girls are trying to figure out whether you’re fucking him.”
I nearly choke.
“What?”
“Oh, come on.”
She waves dismissively.
“You get carried around by the Don, disappear into his clinic, and suddenly you’re working in a section nobody gets access to.”
My feet slow.
“What section?”
Elena smiles.
“There she is.”
“There who is?”
“The nervous part.”
A security door slides open ahead of us.
Elena flashes her badge.
“You should’ve seen the supervisors when your clearance came through.”
“What clearance?”
She gives me a sideways look.
“Nobody told you?”
My pulse kicks.
“Told me what?”
The smile fades from her face.
For the first time, she looks serious.
“The Don authorised full access.”
I stare at her, confused.
“Full access to what?”
Elena pushes open the door.
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
She presses the elevator button. The doors slide open with a hiss.
“The stuff up here? This is for the public.
She pushes away from the rail and closes the distance between us, the scent of artificial bubble gum lingering in the confined space.
The elevator doors seal us inside a pocket of silence as the car descends deeper beneath the estate, leaving the legitimate face of Nero Logistics far above.
The descent eases.
White light floods the carriage.
Cold air rolls in at once, carrying the unmistakable bite of chemicals.
Elena’s badge clicks against the scanner.
The door glides open into a space that completely erases the corporate lie upstairs.
Cold air hits me before I see the room. Sterile, and heavy with the chemical sting of acetone and anhydrous ammonia.
It catches in my lungs, a scent I recognise from university supply rooms, but amplified to a suffocating scale.
Elena walks in.
I follow.
Rows of stainless-steel tables stretch across a brightly lit floor. Women stand shoulder to shoulder beneath the lights, gloved hands moving steadily. Plastic packets slide across metal. Scales blink. Sealers hiss.
No one talks unless they have to.
No one wastes movement.
Upstairs had been paperwork and shipping records.
This is what those records were hiding.
A woman at the nearest table glances up. Her eyes are red around the edges.
“First time?”
“Elena pops her gum. “Be nice, Nadia. She’s fresh.”
“Fresh doesn’t last long down here.”
Nadia’s gaze drifts over my uniform.
“They dressed you proper.”
I look around.
Most of the women have altered theirs. Sleeves rolled. Shirts tied higher. Buttons undone, displaying cleavages.
Elena follows my stare.
“Don’t judge us, Professor. Some girls do it because it’s hot. Some do it because the guards tip better when they’re distracted. Some do it because it’s the only thing around here they get to choose.”
Nadia snorts.