The First Spark
1028 Words
Later that night, I carried folded linens down the servants hall. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows and I almost dropped the sheets when I saw him.
Alessandro. Standing in the corridor, silent. I jumped and let out a loud gasp. The linens dropped to the ground and my throat went dry. “S..Signor De Niro…” I stuttered.
“Alessandro,” he corrected, voice smooth, deep, laced with something dangerous. He stepped closer and his cologne clean, sharp and intoxicating…wrapped around me.
He bent down to pick up the clothes.
“No no signor…” I attempted to stop him from picking them up as I dropped fast on my knees to pick them all up and we both got back up on our feet.
I clutched the linens tighter, heart pounding.
He looked deep into my eyes for a few seconds that felt like an hour. He gazed like he could tell a lot about people just from looking into their eyes, like a lot was going through his mind. He’s so handsome I thought to myself. His energy was powerful yet I couldn’t help but get the feeling something was bothering him, he looked like he was tired and stressed about something serious.
“Careful, Ruth Sanchez. This house has eyes everywhere.” He said in a stern but low voice as he handed the last piece of linen to me.
I just froze.
He knew my name.
The next morning, By the time the sky had turned gray with morning, servants were already moving like shadows through the halls, polishing, sweeping and preparing for the day. Ruth’s hands had a burning sensation from scrubbing marble floors but she forced herself not to slow down.
“Faster, ragazza!” Rosalia barked from the end of the corridor.
Her silver hair was pulled tight, her apron spotless despite hours of work. She had the sharp eyes of someone who had seen everything. Even after decades in this house, Rosalia still lowered her head, still kept her voice clipped and careful.
It unsettled Ruth. If someone like Rosalia was afraid of the De Niros… what chance did she have?
“I’m trying,” Ruth whispered under her breath, scrubbing harder.
Rosalia’s footsteps clicked closer. She crouched down beside Ruth, her tone softening just slightly. “Don’t backtalk the mistress when you get there . Don’t wander where you shouldn’t and don’t think they don’t see you. Understood?”
Confused, Ruth nodded quickly.
“Good.” Rosalia straightened, her voice loud again. “Now go fetch tea for the mistress. Quickly.”
[Ruth’s POV]
I’d been dreading this moment since yesterday.
Maria De Niro’s chambers smelled of roses and powder, every inch of the room carefully staged, not a wrinkle in the curtains, not a single hair out of place. Maria herself sat before a golden mirror, silk robe draped around her like it had been poured onto her skin.
When she saw me, her lips curved. Not in welcome. In judgment.
“The new maid,” she said, her voice smooth as glass. “Bring it here.”
I set the tray on her vanity, keeping my eyes lowered.
“Look at me,” she ordered.
My stomach knotted, but I obeyed.
She studied me openly, like I was a horse she might or might not purchase. Her gaze lingered on my curls, my skin, the curve of my jaw. “Brooklyn girl, hm? Pretty for a maid. Be careful.
Her tone was calm, but there was a warning buried inside it. “Pretty things don’t last long in this house.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. Did she mean her other son or Alessandro? Or was this simply her way of reminding me where I stood? Nothing more than a maid, disposable if I stepped out of line.
“Yes, signora,” I whispered.
She turned back to the mirror, dismissing me without another word.
As I stepped out of the room, closing the door ever so lightly, I bumped into Sandra. Grinning as she balanced a stack of linens. “Well? Survive your first audience with the queen?”
I exhaled shakily. “Barely.”
Sandra laughed softly. “Don’t worry. She’s terrifying to all of us.
I almost smiled, but then Rosalia appeared, her face tight. “Enough chitchat. Ruth, help with the sheets.”
Sandra winked at me as she hurried off. Helping Rosalia with the linens, her voice dropped to a whisper. “The mistress has sharp teeth, but it’s the sons you should fear most. Massimo the second son has had some serious situations with some maids in the past, he’s a playboy and Alessandro is just dangerous so don’t stay in his way.”
I blinked. “Alessandro?”
Her eyes flickered. For a moment, she looked as if she regretted speaking. She pushed the linens into my arms and left before I could ask more.
Alessandro should’ve been in the study room. Contracts for the hotels needed signing, calls from Sicily awaited so he walked down into the garden to make them. He was on calls for over an hour, one hand pressed the phone to his ear while the other rubs his temple.
Ruth was struggling under a pile of tools, she was taking them into a shed in the garden, curls falling in her face, moving too quickly in her nervousness. Everyone else in this house knew the rhythm, the silence, the performance of servitude. She didn’t and somehow, that made her more visible.
Alessandro stepped forward before he could even think about it.
“Is she even strong enough to be carrying all these things” Alexandro thought to himself.
“Leave it,” he said.
She startled, nearly dropping everything. Her wide eyes lifted to his, glowing even in the dim light.
“S-signore,” she stammered.
He plucked the bundle of equipments from her arms with ease. “You’ll strain your back.”
“I can manage,” she said quickly, reaching for them again.
“I didn’t ask if you could.” Alessandro replied. The words came out harder than intended. Old habits.
- Writer
