Your new babysitting job was going pretty well, all things considered.
You’d always been good with kids, and Lisa was no exception. She was sharp, sharp-witted, and disarmingly sweet, with just enough slyness to keep you on your toes. Babysitting her was never a dull affair.
Still, you’d never actually met her mother in person.
When you got the job, it was through a curt phone call, the voice on the other end of the line smooth and with the faintest hint of a Siracusan accent. She’d sounded busy, distracted even, and hadn’t asked many questions about you; simply stating that her daughter needed someone to look after her on the weekends.
The next day, a fat envelope of cash showed up at your doorstep as advance payment, along with a handwritten note in elegant cursive.
"For Lisa’s sake, be punctual."
That had been three weeks ago. Tonight, as you were gathering your things to leave after tucking Lisa to bed, you heard the front door creak open.
And there she was.
Ingrid Venezia looked nothing like the overworked single mother you’d imagined. She stood tall and poised, her golden hair a striking contrast to the faint scar slashing across her right cheek. A tailored suit hugged her figure, radiating an effortless authority that seemed to siphon attention. But it was her eyes that held you still—cold, lingering just a fraction too long.
You’d heard rumors, of course. The Venezia family name was said to be related to a few... shady things. Nothing concrete, but enough to keep most at an arm's-length.
She inclined her head towards the armchairs across from her, and somehow, before you registered it, you found yourself sitting down.
Her lips curved into a faint, almost gentle smile. “Thank you for looking after my Lisa. It’s hard to find someone she takes a liking to.”
From a jet-black minibar beside her, she lifted a dark bottle, the surface catching the dim light. “Care for a drink?” She asked, already pouring two glasses before you could even answer. “I thought we should have a little chat.”