Chapter 6 #2
My hands stilled on a glass jar full of seashells on top of a low cupboard. The collection was too imperfect to be bought from a store. Carpet and razor shells, and some more unique ones, filled the jar. When I scooped my hand in and took out a handful, tears burned the back of my eyes.
“What’re you doing?” I startled. The shells fell onto the floor and scattered underneath the cupboard. Isidora stood right behind me. She lost interest when she caught sight of what I’d dropped. “Stop wasting time and get on with it. You don’t want to be fired, do you?”
Not before I killed the puto gilipollas.
Dropping to my knees, I swept underneath the cupboard with my hands to collect the shells together.
Isidora’s warning came from across the room.
“I’d be careful if I were you. I mean, you’re not Italian.
Magda’s English is horrible. If she finds someone Italian, you’re replaced.
” She snapped her fingers together. “Just like that.”
I knew I was missing more. Stretching out, I fell completely flat on the floor and felt under the cupboard.
“Jobs like this don’t come so easily, you know. I mean, like my mom works for the family. Otherwise…”
Awareness cut into me. Somewhere in her line of advice, her voice dropped off. My survival instincts warned me. Instead of hiding, I turned my head and pulled my gaze upward.
Niccolò Martello.
He must have been adopted because he looked nothing like his father.
He was taller. At six feet something, he was closer to the ceiling than the floor.
There was no trace of a pudgy body. His was all muscle and strength.
Dressed in all black except for his white dress shirt, he’d entered the room as quietly as he had done the night before.
Black shoes that glittered like new, black suit pants, and a black coat.
His black tie, as cleanly pressed as the rest of him, ran down his shirt hiding what had to be a tight abdomen.
The only disarray was his hair. Ebony and disheveled, like he’d run his hand all over it.
Even his dark scruff was trimmed to precision, as if he’d done it with a ruler to his face.
His nose, sharp and straight, was set on his sculpted face, creating a cut of perfect symmetry.
Just like the house, the owner was magnetic.
Neat, but not too neat. He could easily have passed off as a model for a bespoke designer collection, like Brioni.
If it weren’t for his blue eyes that stared directly at me with unblinking intensity hiding something dangerous.
A fire in the center. Growing hotter and hotter until it burned at the edges.
He looked at me as if I were a past memory.
A dream that had turned into a nightmare.
I could hardly breathe captured in its intensity.
Then it unraveled slowly, and everything in his gaze brought my insides to a quivering halt.
It was as if he knew me. Through and through.
It made me question my motives and brought to light how they were unachievable as shit.
A channel of ice directed toward me. A drip of sweat ran under my hairline to the side of my cheek.
I was trapped under his gaze that clamored for my soul.
He knows it’s me. I knew it as clearly as I knew I couldn’t look away.
A bubble of frustration burst inside me.
He was going to fire me. A sigh that was more of a sob left me.
He took a step forward. I tried to remember to breathe.
The thirty-foot room shrunk to half its size.
Underneath the cupboard, my hand curled around the wall skirting.
I might as well have been hanging onto the edge of a cliff.
A second passed. Another. And another. Neither of us breathed. Isidora said something. He gave his head a slight shake. Then, as if I’d imagined it all, he was gone in one blink. As suddenly as he’d come.
Did that happen?
“Wow,” Isidora’s voice filtered in again. Slowly, I let go of the skirting and came to my knees. “Do you think he’s deaf?”
I turned my head stiffly in her direction.
“I was talking to him, and he didn’t even look at me.”
It did happen. “You were?” My voice was all cracked.
“Of course I was. I asked him if he wanted breakfast. Didn’t you hear me? Thought I’d actually hear his voice. Our hottie master of the house must have a hot voice. Right?”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
“I think you’re going to be fired.”
My hands clutched the edge of my skirt. Crunched it under my fingers. “Why?” Did he see through me? See that I wanted to stop the beating of his heart?
“I don’t know. He was intense.” She picked up the duster again. “Usually, he just walks past me like I am a statue or something.”
I suddenly wanted to know what he was thinking. The night before, he’d hidden his appearance and emotions in the dark. In the bright sunlight, he showed me his appearance, and emotions I couldn’t quite understand.
Niccolò Martello was a dangerous man. Far more than I’d imagined him to be.
He didn’t make an appearance again. An hour later, Magda informed us that he’d gone out for the day.
She didn’t fire me. I dusted things that reminded me of home while my mind ran wild with chaos.
Fear, real and tangible, trickled into my veins.
I’d come into this house with big plans, but seeing him had highlighted my weakness.
I wasn’t an assassin with a well-laid-out plan.
I was relying on luck and my search results.
Hoping it would play a part, as it did the last time.
I wasn’t a coward. Giving up wasn’t an option. But it didn’t stop me from rushing to his bedroom at the first opportunity. Strangely, the bath was still filled with water, and the scent of teak and cedar still clung to the air. But my discarded clothes were nowhere to be found.
That night I wrote in my diary, No es nada como su padre. A él me asusta. Hay algo en él... Tengo miedo... ?Y si no puedo hacer el trabajo?
He's nothing like his father. He scares me. There's something about him... I am scared... what if I can't do the job?