Chapter Three
Marlena
I check the address on my phone again because I’m shocked.
This can’t be the place. I’m looking up at a wrought iron gate with spikes on top.
I can’t even see a house in the distance because there’s a wall of enormous hedges blocking my view.
And those hedges are behind a brick wall, giving the place double the security any sane person would need.
The road I’m on isn’t even listed on the general GPS.
It’s just called road. If this is the place, then the guy I’m supposed to tutor has so much more money than I ever thought possible.
No wonder he didn’t even blink when he offered me four thousand dollars a month. That must be chump change for him.
I spy a call box near the gate and inhale deeply. Here goes nothing.
“Hello?” I say, pushing the button with caution.
“Hello,” someone answers.
At least there’s a person manning the gate, not just some AI security system. That seems like a step in the right direction. At least now I know that if I’m lost, someone will help me find my way.
“My name is Marlena Mancini, and I’m looking for Frankie,” I say, hoping I’ve got the address wrong.
“Come on in,” the voice commands.
I swallow, watching the gate swing open on its hinges.
It looks like I’ve got the right place, and boy, does that make me nervous.
I try not to think about my father. He was the kind of man who might need this level of security.
I wonder what kind of business Frankie’s father is in that he has such an impressive home.
I inch up the driveway at five miles an hour, my eyes darting everywhere at once. There’s a beautiful garden and a well-manicured lawn out front. The house isn’t quite as far from the street as I thought it would be. I was having visions of Downton Abbey, but it’s not that big.
It’s just far enough away from the road to be invisible, and large enough to be impressive.
But it’s clear that Frankie’s not royalty—at least not the sort that owns a piece of American history.
Still, you could fit four of my apartment buildings inside the home that’s on display in front of me.
The exterior is in peak condition, as if it’s scrubbed and painted every day by a dedicated staff.
I hope they won’t kick me out for wearing jeans and a pair of tennis shoes.
It didn’t occur to me to dress up, seeing as this is just supposed to be a tutoring session.
But now I feel out of place. I press my eyes shut, cursing my own stupidity.
Of course, Frankie is rolling in it. I should have considered his financial situation when I made my clothing selection this morning.
But there’s nothing I can do about that now, besides I’m here to tutor him, not flirt with the guy.
I park the car next to the front entrance, since I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. Getting out, I feel a cool breeze, as if Mother Nature herself is coddling the well-to-do. There isn’t even a hint of the city smog here, or any indication that we’re so close to the freeway.
I notice a beefy man standing on the porch steps and gather my courage to approach him.
He gives me the creeps because he looks like something out of my father’s world.
I try to tell myself that Frankie’s father isn’t mob connected.
This guy, who looks like hired muscle, must be a gardener or something.
“Hello?” I ask tepidly.
The man says nothing, and that makes me feel even worse. I remember being a little girl and staring up at dozens of guys just like him. They all had the same face, the same eyes, and the same dangerous aura.
But Frankie rescues me before I can go too far down the rabbit hole.
“Hello! Marlena!” he shouts, coming down the porch steps, waving his hand.
“Hi,” I say, relieved to see him. Thank goodness.
Frankie reaches out to take me by the arm, guiding me safely past the centurion.
“Who’s that guy?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
I don’t want him to think I’m being paranoid, but there’s something distinctly mafia-like about the whole situation.
“He works for my dad,” Frankie explains.
That doesn’t settle my nerves.
“Let me take you on a tour,” he offers.
“That’s really not necessary,” I say, hoping to settle down in some secluded room somewhere close to the door.
I’m not a fool. I don’t know what the guy at the door does for Frankie’s father, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t his taxes.
And suddenly I realize that getting out of this house isn’t going to be as simple as walking out the front door.
Someone is going to have to open the gate for me, which means I’d better be on my best behavior.
I just hope this isn’t what I think it is.
“What kind of business is your father in?” I ask innocently.
“It’s not that interesting,” Frankie assures me without answering the question.
He takes me on a tour through the house anyway, even though I declined the invitation.
There’s a massive parlor with overstuffed leather chairs and a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
There are flowers in vases deposited at regular intervals on pedestals and fancy wooden tables.
I bet the maids, or whoever keeps the floors shining, has to replace them every few days.
“It’s very nice,” I say.
“This is the kitchen.” Frankie shows me a galley-sized kitchen, with beautiful marble countertops and a wine rack that takes up the entire back wall.
I can imagine a series of high-class parties taking place in this mansion.
There might be women in tight black evening gowns hanging all over bankers in expensive suits.
That has to be what line of work Frankie’s father is in.
He handles other people’s money, and that makes him a fortune of his own.
I try to tell myself this convenient lie to quell the uneasiness rising in my stomach.
The man is a banker, not a mobster. I have to believe that.
“Why don’t you show me where we can get started on your coursework?” I suggest putting an end to the tour.
“Sure,” Frankie answers with a shrug. “We can go up to my study.”
“You have your own study?” I can’t mask my surprise. I know this house is big, but it never occurred to me that Frankie had his own suite.
“Upstairs,” he says, flashing a charming smile.
In another life, I might have been attracted to him.
He definitely checks all the boxes: rich, good-looking, friendly.
But I can’t shake the dread that’s nipping at my heels.
There’s something wrong with this whole setup, and I know exactly what it is.
Frankie’s father isn’t a banker. He’s involved in something illegal, and while I can’t even guess at the specifics, I know enough to be uneasy.
I follow my pupil up a winding staircase that looks like something out of Gone With the Wind. The stairs look clean enough to eat off of, and the banister shines so that it reflects the light from a massive crystal chandelier.
There’s nobody else in the house, or so it seems. Whoever is taking care of the place has got their act down pat. They must work night and day, but stay as invisible as possible. I wish I could corner one of the maids and maybe get some straight answers. But obviously, that isn’t going to happen.
At the top of the staircase, a massive hallway stretches out in two directions.
Frankie takes me to the right, and we pass a bunch of solid walnut doors.
I don’t know anything about how expensive wood is, but I can tell just by looking at the delicately carved frames I could eat for a year if I sold just one.
Frankie picks a door halfway down the hall and pushes it open. I notice there’s no lock from the outside, which is good. I’m deep in enemy territory, and the fewer locks between me and the exit, the better.
“Stop,” I whisper to myself. I’m freaking out without good reason. I don’t know that Frankie’s father is mobbed up. He could just be a titan of industry, maybe a CEO or a tech innovator. That’s probably it. I’m getting all worked up for nothing. I need to focus on my job and earn my rent money.
“What?” Frankie asks, turning on the lights.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
We’re not in a study. It’s more like a living room.
There’s a couch, a television, and a mini fridge that’s probably stocked with beer.
Two doors lead off in different directions, and Frankie picks the closest. When he opens that door, I see a more traditional office.
A large mahogany desk sits in the center of the space, complete with a laptop and a printer.
There is a floor lamp in one corner and another lamp on the desk.
Instead of landscapes on the walls, there are movie posters.
It feels like the den of a frat-boy/heir to daddy’s fortune, which I suppose is pretty accurate.
I take a seat opposite the desk, pulling up a fancy chair. Frankie walks back into the living room.
“Do you want a soda?” he calls out.
“Sure,” I agree.
He comes back with two sparkling waters instead of soda and sets one down in front of me. I give him a grateful smile and uncap mine. It tastes wonderful, the fizzy raspberry flavor washing away some of my anxiety.
“So, can I look at your books?” I ask.
“Books?” he parrots, looking at me as if he doesn’t understand the word.
“Yeah,” I insist. “Case law, course books. What are you working on?”
“Oh,” he says, sitting down and firing up his laptop. “We don’t have books. We all got a subscription to this online database and a course module.”
“Great,” I say.
“How old are you?” he asks.
I give him an incredulous stare. “You’re not supposed to ask a woman that.”
“Yeah, but when did you go to law school?” he continues, clearly trying to deduce my age by my résumé.
“I didn’t go to law school,” I corrected him. “I took the LSATs, but I never enrolled.”
“Oh,” he says, leaning back in his seat.
“Is that going to be a problem?” I ask, hoping that’s not the case. Despite all my reservations about the house and his family, I need the money.
“No,” he says quickly. “Let’s just see how it goes.”
“I got a good score,” I tell him.
“I can use all the help I can get,” Frankie responds. “It’s just that my dad is giving me a hard time.”
“He’s pretty demanding?” I guess.
“You can say that again,” Frankie agrees. “So, they don’t really do books anymore. I can give you my login information if you want to go over the course material at home.”
“That would be great,” I say, relieved.
“But I’ve got an assignment due this evening, and it would really help if we could go through it together,” he continues.
“I’m all yours,” I say, scooting my chair closer so I can see his screen.
He looks at me with one eyebrow raised, as if I’ve said something sexy.
I shake my head. He’s not a bad prospect, but this is all business.
I promised to help him with the coursework, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
I don’t have time for a fuck buddy, and I’m too much of a wreck emotionally to even consider seeing someone now.
I’ve got a whole lifetime of crap to sort out relating to my dad’s death. I wouldn’t be any good to anyone.
I watch as he maneuvers to a college app, and then opens the coursework. I read quickly, figuring out that the assignment has to do with one specific case.
“Can you look up this case?” I ask, pointing at the citation on the screen.
He flicks over to another tab and calls up Westlaw. I watch as he deftly enters the specifics in the search bar and all the literature on that case pops up. We spend a moment skimming through the titles before I select the file I want to see.
“How do you know that’s the one?” he asks.
“I’ve been through enough of these questions to know,” I say.
“So what should I look for?” he wonders.
“Just the one that says full text,” I respond.
He opens the file, and I spend the next fifteen minutes reading through it.
He splits his focus between me and the screen, which is a little irritating.
Every time I catch him looking at me, I nod back to the computer.
Finally, he gives up, apparently losing interest in what we’re supposed to be doing.
“So why didn’t you decide to go into law school?” he asks.
“It just didn’t seem like the right move,” I answer, trying to figure out how to answer the question on his assignment. I’m not putting a lot of effort into the conversation, but I’m not shutting it down either.
“Why not?” He continues. “You said you got a good score.”
“I wanted to be a teacher instead,” I explain.
“No shit,” he exclaims.
“Watch your language,” I scold him.
He gives me a funny look, and I can tell he’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or not.
I laugh, proving that curse words don’t bother me that much.
What really bothers me isn’t Frankie at all.
It’s this mansion, and all the invisible people who work in it.
I gaze out the window and see nothing but trees in the background.
They have their own little oasis here, and I know it costs a fortune.
“Do you want to take a break?” Frankie asks.
“We’ve barely gotten started,” I object. “Let’s at least finish the assignment.”
“All right,” he says with a gigantic sigh.
I can see I’ve got my work cut out for me.
Not only does he have more money than I would ever make in three lifetimes, but he’s easily distracted.
If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s never worked a day in his life.
No wonder he doesn’t get along with his dad.
Whoever the father is, his work ethic is obvious.
For someone to have amassed such a great fortune in a single lifetime, he must be driven.
I wonder who he is, and what life is like on a daily basis under his roof.
With any luck, I’ll be out of here quickly, and I’ll never have to find out.
I’m seriously starting to reconsider this side gig, no matter how well it pays.