The Don’s maid of secrets

Job interview

Amanda POV

I can take down a killer

Or at least I think that I can.

The cold air hits me hard in the face as I step down from my car, my eyes taking in the area, the evening settling quietly over the sky.

My fingers curl into a fist on their own accord as I walk towards the motel. The plaque on top of the building that had clearly seen better days read “The Mote” instead of “The Motel” and for a second, hope fills my heart.

Maybe, I got the address wrong.

I take a quick glance at the address on my phone that I got at the pawn shop a while ago, and my stomach rumbles badly.

With Shaky feet and sweaty hands, I advance forward towards the entrance, my eyes moving rapidly at the street and back at the entrance, my heart beat drowns out the noisy street.

For a second, the world narrows.

Just me and that door with a cracked knob.

Yet, the thought of sleeping at the back seat of my old truck that I had to kickstart to make it here, pushes me onward as I turn the knob.

When I got out of prison, I imagined my parents would be overjoyed, greeting me with open arms and apologizing for abandoning me all those years, but that was just a wish.

In reality, they threw me out. When I asked about my car, they barely hesitated before saying I could take it.

“I can do this”, I whisper, the shiver in my voice obvious as my eyes turn towards the flight of stairs, and back at empty reception.

I knew it was going to be empty, the text had clearly said so but like a fool, I still held hope.

My body tenses as I finally take a step towards the stairs, a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my throat, the footprint on dusty stairs relaxes me a little bit.

Heels, she is wearing heels.

She is a woman.

I could easily take down a woman.

Okay, not easily

but it is something I could die trying.

My stomach rumbles yet again and this time, it certainly isn’t from anxiety anymore, this time, it’s from the sheer emptiness, the stale burger I ate not enough to last the whole day.

Each steps creaks underneath me as the sound replaces the thumping sound located at the left side of my chest.

“Room 107”, I mutter quietly, as my feet come to a standstill in front of the room.

I am here now, no turning back.

“Dear God, please help me”, I say, a low chuckle leaving my throat at the irony. I didn’t pray when I was thrown into jail fifteen years ago, I didn’t pray when I was beaten to a pulp by my Swanky

Yet, here I am.

I am getting soft and if there was one thing that I learnt in prison is that…

“The soft gets softer until they disappear”

I wasn’t a soft girl,

I never was.

“Hello Alicia, please come in”,

A low voice drifts through the door and suddenly, all my fear is out the window.

She believed exactly what I told her. My name was Alicia and that was all that matters.

“Hello Ma’am”, I say, my eyes sweeping the entire room.

It’s awfully empty, save for the table she sits behind.

And a chair, that I’m guessing belongs to me, in the front.

“I was worried, you won’t show up, my understanding is that this isn’t the very scene for an interview”, she mutters and that’s when I actually take her in.

Mrs Dexter comes from wealth, she was sure.

With a suit like that, she didn’t have to bother where her next meal came from and she certainly wasn’t worried about freezing to death in her car.

Two months outside jail and sometimes I wish I was still there, at least meals were served three times in a day and I didn’t have to worry about freezing to death.

My search for a job ever since I lost the last one has been extremely futile, apparently I’m not so employable because of my records.

So when I saw that online ad for a stay-in maid, I knew I had to apply immediately, and the previous night when a text came in, I knew what I had to do.

I couldn’t dare use “Amanda Moore”, that name had certainly gained a few fan base after that incident that night.

And so I lied.

But it was only one little lie.

“Alicia Monet”, I typed quickly when I was asked my name and just like that, I had an interview slated for today.

“It’s no problem, I’m sorry that I made you worry, I had trouble locating here”, my words rush out in a breathless stream.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry about that”, she muses, her hand to her chest and I can’t help but think…”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize”,

“Alicia, this job isn’t like the regular ones you have done in the past”, she starts, then pauses like she is weighing her words, choosing them carefully.

“My son isn’t the easiest person to handle”, she concludes, her hand on her forehead, dragging on the wrinkle there.

“Sometimes toddlers can be like that but I’m good with children, it’s no problem at all ma”, I say, rubbing my hand on the blue skirt that I bought last night, specifically for this interview.

“Oh Alicia, unfortunately he is no toddler, my Dante is 35 and has a condition”, she says, a sad smile making its way to her lips.

“I’m so sorry ma, I thought…”, apologies blurt out rapidly from my mouth as I watch her closely.

“It’s not your fault, please don’t apologize. God, Dante will hate it so much if you apologized every so often”

“I’m sorry ma”, I repeat, my left hand slapping around my mouth.

“what did I say about apologizes? Anyways, do you have a salary in mind ?”, a small smile playing on her face and that’s when I see it.

This woman was desperate and willing to pay whatever for anyone ready to take care of her dear Dante.

“Three thousand dollars, a month ”, I rush, the audacity of it making my heart beat hard against my rib.

With Three thousand dollars, I could start saving for rent and also establish myself in a few months.

For a second, she just looks at me.

Maybe that was too outrageous? I could totally accept a thousand dollars?

“I will give 30,000 dollars, a month”, she says, flat, no hesitation, no emotion.

My eyes darting back to hers as I stare at her widely.