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I angled toward him, my muscles tight in readiness. “While this existential conversation is riveting, I want to know how long you’ve been following me. Were you responsible for what happened in Belgium?”
“I am not responsible for the death of your ragazzo.”
“And I’m supposed to take your word for it?”
His top lip curled derisively. “I don’t use bombs. Too public. Too messy. The work of an amateur.”
I actually believed him.
“Many people wish to kill you, it seems,” Alessio continued. “You are very popular, no?”
I let that go. “Why haven't you killed me yet?”
“Are you so eager to die?”
I clenched my jaw, anger at both him and myself flooding my veins. “I left the ’Ndrangheta behind. They refuse to let me go because I am gay.”
“Not everything is about your sexual preference.”
“Cazzata. It’s the only reason someone would hire you to kill me.”
“You are more foolish than I thought if you believe that.”
Was he implying another reason? “If it’s to strike at my father, they must not have heard he disowned me.” This was the public story, the one Fausto spread to keep me safe.
Alessio finished his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar. “Anyone familiar with Ravazzani knows he would never let you go.”
“Then they would be wrong. I gave up the right to his throne the minute I left Siderno.”
“As you like to say, cazzata.” He showed no emotion, his voice remaining flat and even, his face impassive. If there was a heart beating in his chest, I couldn’t tell.
Except for the night of the club. From his knees he had glanced up at me with such fire and longing it singed my skin. He’d been anything but cold and remote then.
I didn’t want to think about that night. Not now, not ever.
“It’s true, whether you want to believe it or not,” I snapped.
“We will see, no?”
I threw back the rest of my cocktail. “I suppose we will.” I stood and tossed more money on the bar. “I’m walking out. Unless you plan on shooting me in a few seconds, know that I’m coming after you next, Ricci.”
A flicker of a smile flashed before he masked it. “I look forward to it, il bel principe.”
Handsome prince.
Clenching my fists, I hurried out into the cold Scottish wind.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alessio
Mrs. Campbell returned to clean up and offered me another drink, but I declined. I didn’t often drink and never excessively. The single cocktail was enough for now.
I didn’t move from the bar, staring at the rows of bottles on display. Giulio’s reaction, anger and disbelief, had been expected. It was my own reaction to him that troubled me.
It had taken almost six weeks to track Giulio here. In Santorini he ditched his phone and identification, which made it more difficult to find him. He hadn’t touched his bank accounts or his email. By pure luck I learned a man fitting his description boarded a plane to Edinburgh. The flight attendant confirmed it, and from there it was easy. A man as good looking as Giulio Ravazzani did not blend into the fair Highlands.
I slapped the pieces of my gun together, so familiar with the procedure that my fingers moved automatically. I didn’t like the heat in my belly, the way I couldn’t stop thinking about his mouth, his hands. The night in Málaga he was rough with me. Selfish and demanding, exactly what I liked.
