Page 81 of The Hitman

“You do.”

“You’re right. I do.”

“Then you have to go home.”

She rolls her eyes and steps back. She shakes her head and turns to Salvo. “Thanks for dinner,” she tells him.

Salvo stands and reaches for her hand. She offers it to him, and I watch as he kisses her knuckles. I squint my eyes until he lets her go. When he sees the look on my face, he chuckles, grabs his drink, and walks to the bar.

“Hey,” Zahra says, pushing at my shoulder. “Grab my bags. Let’s go.”

“To the airport?”

She rolls her eyes again. “Absolutely not. Your apartment. I’m tired.”

“Zahra—”

“That wasn’t a request,” she says, dropping her voice and leaning into me. We make eye contact, and I feel that same jolt of electricity I felt in her hotel room all those miles away. “You got to be in charge in San Gimignano.” She absolutely mangles the word gorgeously. “It’s my turn now.”

I swallow a lump in my throat.

“Tell me when to stop,” she whispers.

I don’t.

I can’t.

“Great. Let’s go,” she says and then pushes past me.

I watch her walk through the restaurant full of dread and excitement. She waves at the bar, and I turn to see Salvo and Massimo waving back.

I make eye contact with Salvo. I’m on the precipice of making the best or worst decision of my life, and I want to run into it, but I look at my boss, hoping that he’ll give me an out.

He doesn’t. He nods his head toward the door, and I sigh slowly, before snatching Zahra’s suitcases and rolling them toward the door.

“What the fuck is in these things?” I yell at her.

“Clothes. Shut up,” she yells back.

I hear Salvo and Massimo laughing at me, but I don’t care. The only person that matters in this moment is Zahra.

Correction: She’s the only person that matters at all.

25Zahra

I’m vibratingon the drive to his apartment. I can barely sit still. I want him to touch me.

When we arrive at his building, there are two armed men standing out front. They unlock and open the gate for Giulio’s car, and he drives inside. The building is small and modern and surrounded by a low retainer wall.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks after he parks. “We can still go to the airport.”

“I was just thinking,” I say, licking my lips, “that I hope the walls of your apartment are thick.” He sucks in a breath, and I turn to him. “Because we’re going to be loud.”

He mumbles something in Italian, and then his fingers are digging into my hair, massaging my scalp. He pulls my face to his, and I moan into his mouth.

“I missed you,” he whispers, biting and licking at my lips.

“Then you should have come for me,” I tell him.

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