Page 26 of Killer Love

I blink. “I haven’t been avoiding Italy.”

He raises a knowing brow. “Really?”

I force a shrug. “It’s too warm there. I am but a simple Russian boy.”

“A simple Russian boy who has been framed for murder.”

“We all are at least once.”

He laughs. “That is true.”

I pat his shoulder. “Goodnight, Markov.”

“Spokoynoy, Luka.”

Three years. Is that how long it has been?

It feels much longer than that. In truth, I never planned to go back there at all. There’s no point to it. Going back to Rome would only answer questions, ones I’d much rather leave unanswered.

Life is simpler that way.

* * *

“We need to come here more often, Luka,” Yuri says, staring out the window at the bright, Italian cityscape.

I shift in my seat. The closer we get to the Zappia estate, the more I twitch. I can’t sit still no matter how hard I try, but it’s not just the possible murder charge breathing down my neck giving me the jitters.

“I prefer Moscow,” I mutter.

“Moscow this, Moscow that. Home is great, but you should travel more often, little brother,” he says, slapping my shoulder. “You can’t go by the book all the time. Live a little. Break a few rules. It’s good for you.”

“I’ve broken plenty of rules.”

He scoffs. “Like what?”

I flex my jaw. “Me living by the book has kept you alive, hasn’t it?”

“Is that really all you care about?”

“Yes.”

“If my death is what it would take for you to have a little fun, then I will throw myself on a damn sword right now.”

I laugh. “You wouldn’t know which end of a sword to hold let alone which end to throw yourself on.”

“Is it not the pointy end anymore?” he jokes.

“We can travel once I get this Petrovin business squared away.”

“I will hold you to that.”

I nod and look forward as the car pauses in front of the black gates of the Zappia estate. Traveling doesn’t sound so bad at the moment. I’d love to get as far away from this place as possible, but Markov was right about Gio. If anyone can get me out of this and clear my name, it’s the Zappias and their far-reaching influence.

The car stops and I step outside first, glancing around the grounds as I did three years ago. The wedding lanterns are gone, stripped away with all the other decorations, but more bright-colored flowers have taken their place. My eyes flick toward the back garden, drawn to the path like a magnet. I force myself to turn away from it.

The front door opens and Gio appears with a grin. “Buon giorno, Lutrovas!” he greets, throwing up his hands. “Welcome back.”

Yuri climbs the concrete stairs, but I linger behind, pretending to scan the grounds again with my head down. Avoiding Italy meant staying away from many things — especially Gio.

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