Page 40 of The Hitman

“And what do I get if I do what you say?”

“Are you still in shock?” I ask her.

She bites her bottom lip, and it is the most erotic thing I’ve seen since I was looking down the front of her dress at the vineyard. “I think so,” she admits. “But I think I’m running on pure adrenaline now that everything has set in.”

“Eventually, the adrenaline will wear off,” I remind her.

“True, but until then, what do I get if I do what you say?”

I straighten my legs and bend at the waist to hunch over her. I brush my mouth over her cheek and kiss a soft path up to her ear. My nostrils fill with the scent of her soap. “If you stay here and don’t speak to anyone and don’t move, I’ll make this the best train journey of your life.”

She shivers. “Okay,” she says. That settles something wild in my chest, comforting me in a way it shouldn’t.

I stand straight, wink at her, and turn away. I choose the shortest and fastest queue. I don’t want to be away from Zahra any longer than I need to. While I wait, I finally reach out. I pull my mobile phone from my pocket and type a quick text message to Salvo, telling him in code that I’m leaving San Marco. I don’t give him any more information, because I know he’ll be able to find me if he needs me.

When I make it to the ticket counter, I buy four tickets to Rome.

I step out of line and walk to the closest trash can. I pull the dead man’s wallet from my pocket and open it. I don’t recognize the picture on the identification card, but it’s the surname that matters. I shake my head and dial Alfonso’s burner phone. He picks up on the second ring.

“Si,” he says by way of greeting.

“Tell Mama that it didn’t rain, but I found a little shop with the neccio she loves.”

“Si,” he says before disconnecting the line.

I toss the wallet and my phone into the trash can and cut through all the human traffic to get back to Zahra as quickly as I can. I haven’t been gone for more than twenty minutes, and there’s probably no need to move with such singular focus. I should be monitoring my surroundings closely, but all I can see is Zahra, sitting exactly where I left her, her long legs crossed and delicate fingers laced in her lap. The only difference between now and when I left her is the worry on her face and the frantic gnawing at her bottom lip.

I imagine the adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and the shock can’t be far behind it.

I don’t know if she’s the kind of woman who believes in therapy, I don’t even know her surname, but I do know that she can only keep herself together for so long without getting some kind of help. And I am not help. I’m trouble, I’m danger, I’m a weapon, and she wouldn’t be in this predicament if she’d never met me. If I were a better man, I would walk away or put her on a train to Rome with enough money to buy a plane ticket home, but she already knows that I’m not better, so why bother thinking about that? Especially not when she lifts her head. The light filtering through the stained-glass windows hits her curly brown hair, and we make eye contact. Her wet lip is red and slightly swollen. She smiles. At me.

For me.

I pick up all of our bags in one hand and offer her the other. “Andiamo.”

She grabs onto me much too quickly for a woman who should know better. I’m happy she doesn’t know better.

Vaguely, I realize that now my left hand is occupied, and I’ll waste crucial moments, letting her hand go to grab my weapon, but I don’t care. It’s been barely a full day since our mutual masturbation session in her room, and I’m already getting used to throwing caution to the wind just to touch her. A mistake.

She tightens her hold on my hand and leans into my side. There are so many tactical reasons why I should not walk with her in this way, but I don’t want to walk with her any other way. I imagine what we might look like to strangers, and I wish it were true.

“Where are we going?” she asks, whispering the question directly into my ear. The scent of her fills my nostrils again.

“Somewhere where I can keep you safe.”

“That’s not an actual answer,” she says. “But that’s okay, I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

The smile on her face is too bright, too trusting, too beautiful, too perfect.

“I know,” she says. “If you told me I could trust you, I wouldn’t. I’ve made that mistake before, and I never want to do it again. But while I was waiting for you, I thought of something.”

“I’m listening.”

“I spent nearly seven years with a man who told me I could trust him and who said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I believed him, even though he was an actor, and maybe in hindsight, that was the biggest red flag. But while you were gone, I thought of every minute I spent with you. There weren’t many.” Her laugh is an airy, fragile exhalation. The sound is as seductive as it is wounded. Or maybe it is seductive because she sounds wounded. I don’t smile with her, but I do stare at her for too long. I like the flash of her white teeth, her bruised lips, and the delicate column of her neck. I more than like all of those things, and all of her.

“I was thinking that every time I’ve met you, and every minute I’ve spent with you, you haven’t lied to me. You were a cocky bastard by the pool. You were a whore through the wall. You were a jerk yelling at my door. You were a horny jerk sitting on my couch. And you kept me safe at the vineyard. You want to fuck me and protect me,” she says while looking deep into my eyes. “I can trust a man who wants to protect me so he can fuck me. Your motives are clear.”

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