LXXVIII. Signora Serra’s orders

LXXVIII. Signora Serra’s orders
⋄ MARINA ARELLANO ⋄
When morning arrives, my head hurts like I drank until I passed out the night before. But it wasn’t alcohol that made me intoxicated.
Matteo’s presence in Milan haunts me. The memories of last night come back to my mind, even when I try to distract myself, and I often catch myself grimacing without realizing it.
I don’t know what’s harder—being natural around Luigi, who has no idea what happened in his apartment thirty minutes before he arrived, or getting up before sunrise to work as a maid for the enemy family.
“What are you doing just standing there?” Signora Serra’s voice startles me, making my sleepy eyes snap open wide. The birds are singing happily outside, but the mood inside is completely different.
There’s something strange. The staff seems more intimidated, with their heads lowered more and their eyes cast down. It’s not like they were especially friendly to begin with, but there’s a sense of urgency and restlessness in the air that sharpens my senses…
Actually, it seems they’re avoiding making eye contact with me, and I wonder if that’s because of what happened with the kettles yesterday.
“Why haven’t you put on your uniform yet?” she presses, and my brain takes a few seconds to process her words. I blink once, twice, trying to shake off the sleep from a badly spent night.
Damn Romano.
“It’s in your locker. Number 89. Hurry up!”
“Oh.” That’s all I can say at first. But Signora Serra’s eyes narrow, and I can see the anger she’s struggling to hold back in her tight lips. “Yes. I’m going to get dressed.”
I turn around, already trying to clear my mind and remember the way to the locker room she showed me yesterday. There’s no way I’m asking Signora anything, especially when she seems even more impatient today—if that’s even possible.
“Wait.” Signora Serra’s voice makes my feet stop abruptly, following her command like it’s second nature. “Stella will accompany you in your duties. At least until you’re... fit to handle them on your own.”
I force a smile that clearly doesn’t reach my eyes.
She definitely knows about me serving the damn coffee—and now she thinks I’m incompetent because someone tried to sabotage me. Even so, I have to bite my tongue. It’s not like I can say anything anyway. Nothing good ever comes from being a snitch…
And once again, here I am, trying to win Enzo’s heart and trust, only to betray him in the end.
Maybe Matteo is right after all.
Maybe this is a stupid idea.
“I understand it might be hard to get used to the routine of a grand family like the Bianchis, signorina, but I need you to focus on the details.”
I force myself not to take a deep breath and to keep the smile on my face. “Understood.”
“Stella is waiting for you in the locker room. Go now… You only have fifteen minutes before your work begins.”
I leave before she finds another reason to doubt me, with my jaw clenched hard and the bitter taste of swallowed words heavy on my tongue.
The hallway feels colder than it did yesterday, even though the heat is set to a comfortable temperature, and each step echoes across the polished marble, sounding too dry, too elegant, hostile. It’s almost as if the mansion has realized that I don’t belong here. That I’m a threat. And that alone makes my head throb a little more.
In the locker room, the metal lockers are lined up perfectly against pristine white walls, and a beige carpet, probably worth more than all of our salaries combined, stretches beneath our feet, giving us a false sense of privilege.
Two women hurriedly stash their belongings in the lockers, as if any second wasted could work against them. And, honestly, maybe it does. They notice me but quickly look away, probably just focusing on their own stuff. Or maybe they’re afraid to get involved in mine.
My mind, however, compels me to observe my surroundings—the objects around me that could serve as weapons, such as the bent metal hanger tossed on the narrow bench in the center of the locker room, and the small red fire extinguisher in the corner near one of the emergency exits. It’s an old reflex, ugly and automatic, but necessary.
I walk slowly, counting the locker numbers in my head, while noticing out of the corner of my eye a girl shutting the locker in the back a little too loudly in this uncomfortable silence. Then, she comes toward me with a smile so big it lights up the room more than the discreet lamps do, also wearing the usual uniform, but on her, it doesn’t look nearly as boring.
She’s a pretty girl, short, with brown hair and delicate features, maybe around my age. Her eyes, also brown, are so bright that I momentarily think they’re full of tears. But when she stops in front of me, making me stop too, I realize it’s just their natural shine... the kind that comes from an innocence I lost a long time ago and that you don’t see in places like this.
“You’re Marina.” It wasn’t a question. “I’m Stella. I believe my mother already told you I’d be joining you until you get familiar with the surroundings?”
“Your mother?” I repeat, raising my eyebrows in surprise. “Signora Serra?”
“You couldn’t tell, could you?” She gives me a knowing smile, maybe a little mischievous. “Believe me, you’re not the first person to think that. We’re not exactly... alike.”
That is definitely true.
Stella tilts slightly to the side and gestures with her chin toward the row of lockers.
“Your locker is right over there. If you’re late on your second day, my mother will act like it’s a personal insult to the Bianchi family name, the Pope, and the natural order of the universe.”
A faint sound escapes me—half a laugh, half surprise—and it’s so unexpected that it almost irritates me. I don’t like how easily she bends the stiffness I’ve spent my whole life learning to maintain. Stella notices but only offers a faint smile, signaling me to follow her with light, soft steps.
Up close, she appears even smaller. The top of her head lines up with my chin, and everything about her seems tiny and delicate, like a porcelain doll. I wonder what kind of work she does here.
“I appreciate you being here,” I murmur, trying to sound honest. The truth is, it really annoys me that someone is following my every step for who knows how long, especially when I don’t have the luxury of time. “It must be boring having to act like a babysitter.”
I open the locker, pulling out that awful uniform and putting on my most innocent expression, hoping she’ll let her guard down. But instead, she only crosses her arms, amused.
“Not at all... actually, I’m curious. After all… you’re already pretty popular around here.”