A Private Interview with the Devil
1151 Words
The heavy double doors clicked shut behind the last candidate.
The silence left in the room wasn’t empty. It was a trap.
Alysia remained standing, her hands relaxed at her sides, her chin held high, and her expression a mask of perfect indifference. Inside, her heart was hammering violently enough to crack her ribs, but she would die before she let Domenico see it.
Domenico D’Aurelio leaned back against the edge of his massive executive desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His tailored black suit looked as though it had been stitched directly onto his towering, dangerously powerful frame.
He watched her like a predator inspecting a creature it hadn’t yet decided whether to tear apart or keep caged.
“Sit, Miss Rossi.”
Alysia glanced at the leather chair in front of the desk, then locked her eyes back onto his. “Of course.”
She took her seat without rushing, deliberately spinning her obedience into an aura of calm professionalism. She couldn’t look afraid. But she also couldn’t look too defiant.
One corner of his mouth twitched, though it was impossible to tell if it was the beginning of a smirk or a threat.
Domenico slowly uncrossed his arms. “You hesitated.”
Alysia rested her handbag on her lap. “I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“In an interview setting, I prefer to calculate my movements.”
He smiled. There was absolutely no warmth in it. Only interest—a dark, cold, razor-sharp interest.
“Cautious,” he murmured, walking around the desk to light a sleek, dark cigar. “Prudence is usually far more useful than blind courage.”
Alysia maintained her rigid, professional posture, ignoring the thick tension wrapping around the room. “I suppose that depends on the position.”
With the cigar between his lips, he shot her a slow, assessing look. “It depends on who is doing the assessing.”
Domenico picked up a manila folder from his desk and flipped it open.
Alysia knew exactly what was written on those pages. Ava Rossi. Twenty-eight years old. Degree in luxury hospitality management from Milan. Extensive experience in crisis management, internal auditing, financial restructuring, and executive relations for high-end European firms.
An impeccable woman. A woman who didn’t exist.
Domenico turned the pages, but his eyes weren’t actually scanning the text. They were entirely fixed on her.
“Your resume is impressive,” he said, his gravelly voice dropping an octave. “Too impressive, perhaps. Remind me, how old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” Alysia answered without a second of hesitation.
“Milan, Paris, Zurich...” he murmured. “Remarkable experience for someone so young.”
“I was given excellent opportunities.”
“And an abundance of luck?”
Alysia offered a tight, controlled smile. “Luck plays its part, Mr. D’Aurelio. But it’s no substitute for being prepared.”
Domenico snapped his gaze up, his dark eyes boring into hers. “You really believe that?”
No.
Alysia believed in forged identities, offshore accounts, bought judges, and powerful monsters who destroyed lives for their own convenience. But Ava Rossi didn’t know anything about that. Ava Rossi just wanted a job.
“I believe that being prepared simply ensures you don’t waste the opportunity when it finally presents itself,” she replied smoothly.
Domenico closed the folder with a soft thud. “Good answer.”
“Was it an interview question?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then I hope I didn’t disappoint.”
His gaze lingered on her for a beat too long. “You know damn well you didn’t.”
Alysia dropped her gaze for a split second—a small, calculated show of demure vulnerability. But when she looked back up, she caught him watching her with an intense, narrow focus. It was as if he knew that brief moment of submission didn’t belong to her.
“Tell me about yourself, Ava. Why should I choose you for my company?”
Alysia took a measured breath, instantly launching into her carefully rehearsed speech. “My extensive background in corporate forensics and strategic auditing has allowed me to develop a unique skill set that—”
Domenico held up a single finger.
The interruption was quiet. Absolute.
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
Alysia stopped mid-sentence.
“I’m sorry?”
“Save the textbook answers for a cheap HR consultant. I asked why I should hire you. Not why your resume thinks it deserves a paycheck.”
Alysia swallowed the sharp spike of irritation coating her throat.
A challenge.
She had seen this side of him a thousand times before. She knew exactly how he operated when he wanted to corner someone. But Ava Rossi couldn’t react the way Alysia wanted to. Ava had to be competent, controlled, and indispensable.
Alysia adjusted her posture in the leather chair.
“I see,” she said, her tone dipping into something bolder. “Then you should hire me because I observe everything before I make a move. I don’t panic when things get complicated, and I thrive under pressure. From what I’ve read about the D’Aurelio Group, those are exactly the traits you need right now.”
Domenico’s smirk returned, and this time, the dark curiosity in his eyes was unmistakable. “You don’t talk like the others.”
Alysia felt the first real wire of tension tighten at the base of her neck.
“I try to be direct.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She forced her polite smile to remain intact, though every instinct screamed at her to look away from his suffocating stare.
“Then I hope I’ve left a good impression.”
He stepped away from his desk and began to pace around her chair. His movements were slow, rhythmic, and perfectly calculated, as if he were deliberately testing every single one of her nerves.
Alysia sat entirely still, but with every step he took, a fresh memory threatened to claw its way to the surface.
The courtroom.
The blinding flash of media cameras.
Domenico’s icy voice declaring her guilty.
The prison sentence. The cell. The terrifying cold of that first night.
No.
She dug her fingernails hard into the palms of her hands, hidden beneath the bag on her lap. Not now.
Domenico stopped directly behind her. His shadow fell over her shoulders, and his scent completely invaded her senses—that same intoxicating, cursed blend of dark wood and tobacco that had haunted her worst nightmares for half a decade.
“Ava Rossi,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the silence close to her ear. “Strangely enough, I couldn’t find a single digital footprint of you prior to the last two years.”
Alysia’s heart stopped.
For one terrible second, she knew exactly what it felt like to be caught.
- Writer
