Page 69 of The Hitman

“Why did you?”

“Because you have a life—”

I scoff.

He starts again, placing serious emphasis on those first five words. “Because you have a life that doesn’t have anything to do with mine. It’s normal and safe, and even though that stronzo betrayed you, whatever life you have in the States is better than getting shot because you’re too close to me.”

“I disagree,” I say. “I mean, I don’t actually know you—”

“Exactly.”

“But—”

He shakes his head and turns away from me. I watch his back as he moves to the kitchen sink to dump the rest of his espresso. He washes his cup in silence. When he turns to me, he still won’t look me in the eye. “This isn’t a discussion, Zahra. I shouldn’t have brought you here. You’re much safer as far away from me as possible. Even you have to admit that after…after last night.”

What a shit day to commit myself to telling the truth.

“Okay, I’ll give you the safer part, but the thing you need to know about my life in New York is that I was so unhappy.” I’ve never admitted that to anyone before, not even myself. I’d loved Ryan — even though I apparently didn’t know him at all — but I’m not the kind of woman who ever wanted to date an actor. I’m not the kind of woman who should have dated an actor.

I like to be behind the scenes. I don’t necessarily need a man who works a regular nine-to-five and comes home every night for dinner, but I do need a man who thinks my opinion is more important than a fan site run by a sixteen-year-old girl in Brazil. I need a man who challenges me. I need a man who looks at me as if I’m the only person in the world, not just the room. I think all of these things, but I don’t tell them to Giulio. I can’t, because he won’t look me in the eye.

And I guess on the long list of things I need in whatever relationship I end up in next — besides the obvious fidelity — what I need most is a man who’ll look me in the eye when he has something bad to tell me. I need a man who won’t push me away.

“Okay,” I tell him.

He looks me in the eye then.

I imagine that it’s hurt I’m seeing when we make eye contact, but to be fair, it could just as easily be frustration or exhaustion or, hell, constipation. I don’t know this man from Adam, and I’ve already wasted enough time on someone I think I know but don’t. I can’t make the same mistake twice.

* * *

Giulio

I wanted her to agree to this. I wanted her to agree to this. I wanted her to agree to this.

But I didn’t know that it would hurt.

She turns and rushes out of the kitchen. She slams the bathroom door. I want to follow her. I want to finish what we started in the shower yesterday, but I don’t. I walk into the garden to find Alfonso instead.

“So, do you have a girlfriend now?” he asks me. “I don’t think you ever had a girlfriend.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, you don’t have a girlfriend. I’m sorry,” he says, sounding anything but. “You have to admit that she’s out of your league.”

“Shut up,” I tell him again.

“We both know that’s not going to happen. What’s the agenda?”

“I’m taking her to the train station.”

He laughs. “I meant about all the bodies,” he clarifies.

I feel the heat of the late morning sun on the back of my neck mix with embarrassment. “I’m going to take her to the train station,” I say as if that had been the plan all along. “You take the car with the bodies to the vineyard on the other side of the yard. I know the owner. Tell him I need to use the plot at the back of his field. He’ll give you shovels and leave you alone. After I drop her off, I’ll come find you, we’ll get rid of the vans and head home.”

“Nice recovery,” he says, laughter lacing each word.

“Ti odio.”

---