Page 27 of The Hitman

11Giulio

The sun is brighterwhen I open my eyes this morning.

That’s just the orgasms, I know, but when I stand in front of the bedroom window, looking out at the canopy of trees down the side of the mountain, I’m naked and in the best mood of my life. The sun feels brighter, the air is cleaner, and my dick is definitely harder. That’s a great morning if you ask me.

And it’s ruined as soon as I see my mobile phone blinking with a new message. There are only two people with this number. I grab the phone from the bedside table and see Alfonso’s number. Salvo’s would have meant the world was falling apart. Alfonso’s means there’s probably still time to stop it. I exhale slowly and then laugh. The text message is ridiculous.

Took mama to the sea. It’s dry, but I heard there might be a storm soon. Hope you packed your umbrella.

I roll my eyes and laugh. Alfonso’s always been shit at these hidden messages, but he’s still better than me. I prefer obvious and clear to poetic and gets me killed. I’m still laughing as I walk to the bathroom to get ready for the day while trying to decipher his warning. It could be something; it could just be chatter. Who knows? A real warning in my line of work is rare. All that matters is that I don’t let my guard down, and I never do that anyway.

Well, rarely. Last night, I absolutely let my guard down with Zahra. Had it been worth it? Absolutely? Should I do it again? No. Will I do it again?

“Non si può avere la botte piena e la moglie ubriaca,” I whisper to myself.

Last night was last night. Today is a new day, with a too-bright sun and the possibility of danger in the air. The best kind of day, in my opinion. I get dressed and add my favorite accessory to my outfit for the first time since I arrived. I strap my holster onto my body under my shirt and shove my Sig Sauer into it at my back.

I look at myself in the mirror. What I see is a rich man, not a dangerous one. Well… Not any more dangerous than most rich men.

I’m ready for an espresso or two and maybe even a few laps in the pool later. There’s a lightness in my steps as I walk toward the door. A soft knock against the wood slows my steps. Danger only announces itself with a bang in the movies. I’ve known a lot of dangerous men in my life — too many, to be honest — and the deadliest have always been eerily quiet.I’meerily quiet when I need to be. This knock could be housekeeping or the storm Alfonso said might be coming.

This knock is faint, tentative even. My left hand goes to my back, and the smooth steel in my palm calms me.

I inch forward, brushing the soles of my shoes across the thick carpet to muffle my steps.

There’s another knock.

I should have grabbed another clip.

“Chi’e?” I call out from a distance. There’s no answer. I pull the gun from my holster. “Chi’e?”

There’s a sound of muffled movement from the hallway, and my thumb goes to the gun safety.

“Um. Non parlo Italiano,” a small voice says in halting, terrible Italian that makes my dick hard in an instant.

“Who is it?” I translate for her, even though I know exactly who’s on the other side of my door now. I huff out a breath and reholster my gun. I’m not running, but I reach the door in half a breath. I pull the door open so fast she jumps away.

The sun is brighter. The air smells cleaner. My dick is harder. And Zahra is fucking beautiful.

Zahra

I sleep soundly for the first time in days. I wake up feeling refreshed. No sore, puffy eyes, or wracking sobs, making my throat feel like a desert. Even the heavy weight of grief has lessened. It’s still there, but it feels lighter. I feel almost like myself again.

My good mood is abruptly interrupted by the hotel phone ringing. A feeling of dread washes over me.

I pick up the receiver. “H-hello.”

“Yes, hello, Mrs. Fuller—”

That hurts. That’s not my name, legal or otherwise. I clench my left fist and dig my broken nails into my palm. “Yes?” I whisper.

“Hello, this is the front desk.”

“Yes?”

“We’re calling about your reservation to tour the vineyard today.”

“Um…yes?”

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