Page 67 of The Hitman

We both turn when the front door wrenches open. Alfonso raises his gun on instinct, and she freezes.

“Put your gun down, deficiente,” I yell at him. “I told you to wait until I came to get you.”

“I heard you on the phone. And don’t yell at me, you fucking prick,” she yells at me and then rushes into my arms. She wraps her arms and legs around me, just like she did in the shower.

I know what the phrase “the hammer drops” means in that moment because having her in my arms after everything that just happens feels right. And I know it shouldn’t.

“I thought she’d be taller,” I hear Alfonso say.

“Sta’ zitto,” I breathe into Zahra’s neck, squeezing her tighter than ever.

21Zahra

I don’t knowhow I fall asleep after everything that happened, but I do.

Okay, that’s a lie, and I really need to stop lying to myself after all this, if nothing else.

Giulio carries me into the house and tells me not to look into the kitchen. I’ve already seen the body, but I do as he says because I don’t want to see it again. He lays me on the bed and tells me that everything will be okay. It’s not a lie, technically, so I don’t push him on it. Besides, the only thing I care about is the request I make.

“Sleep in the bed with me tonight,” I tell him.

“I have to clean up,” he says. It’s not a bad euphemism for what I can only guess he’s about to do.

I know,” I say, “but after.”

He nods and brushes a curl from my face. I crawl under the covers. He sits with me for a few minutes. I’m not sure if he stays to calm me down or to calm himself, but I appreciate it, nonetheless. I wake up in the middle of the night because I’m thirsty. I think about going into the kitchen, but I remember that body on the floor and the pool of blood. I decide to wait until the morning. Besides, Giulio is in bed beside me, his arm thrown over my waist holding on tight enough that I know it won’t be easy to move anyway.

I drift contentedly back to sleep.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, the room is painfully bright. I’m groggy and a little sore from all of the action yesterday — and not just the hit squad that apparently showed up to kill Giulio — but I feel rested. How fucked up is that?

I’m in bed alone, and that sucks. I turn onto my back and look up at the ceiling.

My mother believes that the best kind of clarity comes first thing in the morning. Well, this morning, I’m wondering what the hell my life has become, and not just because, you know, the aforementioned hit squad, but like everything. The Not Quite Wedding Day, the sister I need to make amends to, and the memory of my time in the cupboard, when the only coherent thought I had was,What if something happens to Giulio?

It didn’t make sense last night, and it sure doesn’t make sense today. Unfortunately, staring at the ceiling doesn’t give me any answers.

I hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen.

When I finally get out of bed, I realize that I’m still naked, wrapped in a towel. I move across the room to my bag. I sit on the floor and rummage inside for a t-shirt that I throw over my head. Thankfully, I remember that Giulio’s big, kind of terrifying friend showed up last night at the last minute and pull a pair of shorts on as well. I’m not sure if he’s still around. Giulio seems like the kind of man who’d have a friend show up, beat a man to death apparently, and then disappear before breakfast. But just in case, it’s better to be clothed than sorry.

When I walk into the kitchen, my eyes move immediately to the spot on the floor where I’d seen the man last night. There’s no one there and no trace of blood. In fact, besides the jagged shards of broken glass around the door and windows, everything looks just as it had the night before, when we’d eaten Giulio’s mother’s pesto and drank the best wine I’ve ever had in my life.

Giulio and his scary friend are sitting at the table, sipping what look like espressos. They look normal, even kind of sexy, which probably says more about me than them. This whole fucking morning is surreal.

I’m so caught up staring at them and wondering what’s happened to me in less than a week that I don’t immediately realize that they’ve turned to me.

The scary one sees me first. “Buongiorno, bella,” he calls.

My smile is tight. I nod and mumble, “Buongiorno” in return.

He grimaces. “Let’s stick to English.”

I frown.

Giulio laughs. “She’s still learning,” he says. I wonder if he’s thinking about all the Italian words he whispered against my lips. Or maybe remembering all of the times he’s been so overcome with parts of him inside of parts of me that he forgets his English. If he’s not, I am.

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