Page 41 of The Hitman

I want to refute what she’s said, but I can’t. It sounds ridiculous, but there is a logic to it if you squint. I squeeze her hand and lead her toward the train platforms with a nod.

“Andiamo,” she whispers.

Her accent is terrible, but still, somehow, incredibly sexy.

* * *

Zahra

I snag a rail map from a stand on the train platform. I don’t know anything about Italy. I vaguely understand that Milan is in the North, and San Marco is in the mountains…somewhere. Besides that, I don’t have a clear picture of the rest of the country, and I study the map, using it to distract myself from the strangeness of what I’m doing and Giulio’s strong, silent presence beside me.

The map works for a while, but not nearly long enough.

We’re sitting at the end of a busy car in two seats. If given a choice, I might have chosen a quieter car, and that would have been a mistake. The sound of metal slapping against metal as the train moves, the commotion from the family on the other side of the car arguing about who didn’t set the alarm last night, and the juvenile teasing from a youth sports team are the real distraction. I need sound. I need to stop my brain from wandering to all the things I don’t want to think about. There are so many things I don’t want to think about.

Giulio isn’t having any problems focusing. We’re partially hidden by the seat in front of us, and Giulio takes advantage of our position to monitor the rest of the car. I watch him watch the train out of the corner of my eye. He’s looking left and right, up and down the center aisle.

I should let him do his job — both of our lives depend on it — but I need more of a distraction than sound. We haven’t been on the train long, but I can feel my body beginning to settle. I don’t want to go back to Milan, but I don’t think I want to feel the enormity of this day — of the last few days — just yet.

“So, what’s my reward?” I lean into his side and ask.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but I see his jaw tick. He’s heard me. When he does turn to me, his pupils are dark and dilated. His jaw is clenched. “What would you like?”

In a different scenario, that would be a perfect question. A question I don’t think Ryan has asked me in years, because he assumed he knew me so well. But I barely know myself well enough to know what I want — especially not right now — and I don’t want to give an answer any thought.

That’s what I like about Giulio; why I wanted to come with him. I shake my head and press my breasts against his arm. His jaw ticks again.

“That wasn’t the question,” I say. It hasn’t escaped my notice that he has a knack for skirting around direct answers. I believe him when he says that he doesn’t lie, and now I can see how he avoids it. I file that tidbit of useful information away.

“What if you do not like my reward?”

There’s no one in the aisle seat in front of Giulio. I move my right hand to the seat back in front of him and unlock the tray table. It’s not enough cover, but it’ll do for the moment. I move my hand to his right thigh and feel him jump under my touch.

“Tesora,” he says in a playful warning.

“Why do you think I won’t like my reward?”

He shifts toward me, and his hand slides over my leg. His fingertips are rough as they move from my knee up my thigh. “You might not think it’s a reward.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“That is an excellent point. Sit on my lap.” His words come out in a desperate, relieved rush.

I turn to look at the crowded car on instinct.

“No. Look at me.”

I sink into those words. I let myself go knowing that I don’t have to hold myself together right now; that I don’t have to decide. I nod and stand, smoothing the skirt of my dress into place, even though it doesn’t cover much.

“Wait,” he says and stands, stepping into the aisle. “Come.”

I follow him into the aisle. There’s a woman napping in the seat in front of the one I’d just vacated. Giulio doesn’t care. We trade seats. He presses his back against the wall and spread his legs in invitation.

“Maybe we should switch back,” I suggest in a whisper.

“Sit, tesora,” he tells me again. He’s enjoying this.

My eyes flit to the woman in the seat in front of us. She’s snoring lightly. I shimmy onto his lap carefully, trying not to sit directly on the hard mound in his pants and using my skirt to cover more of my legs than the bit of fabric will allow, but Giulio’s not interested in that. He pulls me firmly onto his erection and juts his hips up into me, almost as a reflex. He sighs softly, and I realize that he likes the weight of me on top of him. I do too.

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