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“I can shoot left-handed.”
“Accurately?” He didn’t answer, so I stated the obvious. “They broke your arm and your ribs.”
He just stood there, breathing. Madre di dio. I didn’t know how badly he had been injured. I hadn’t asked, either. “I didn’t think they would hurt you like that.”
A tiny shake of his head. “I would endure a hundred beatings—a thousand—for you. There is no amount of pain or suffering I wouldn’t take in your name.”
Cristo. I didn’t want to feel anything at his declaration, but I softened the tiniest bit. “Damn it, Alessio.”
“It’s true. I’m sorry, principe.”
Alone in the hills, we stood in the Sicilian sun and tried to catch our breath. I was angry, but I was also sad, too. I missed him. I missed what we had, the heat and explosive chemistry, before he ruined it.
I gave him the truth. “I can’t forgive you.”
“Can’t—or won’t?”
“Both. So if you came here hoping to win me over, it’s a waste of time.”
“I didn’t know you were coming.” Wincing, he straightened and stretched his obliques. “I called Marco Ravazzani and told him so they would keep you home. Not send you here.”
“My father was against me coming to Palermo.”
“He was right. It’s foolish of you.”
“I can look out for myself. I don’t need you—or him—protecting me.”
“It’s not a bad thing to let others help you. Are you so proud and stubborn that you risk your own safety?”
“Says the man who always works alone.”
“Not always,” he said quietly. “I miss working with you. We made a good team with Nino.”
Cazzo, these things coming out of Alessio’s mouth. “Stop talking like this. I don’t want to hear it. You made a fool of me, lying to me the whole time.”
“Giulio,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “I agreed to kill you and that didn’t bother you. Yet you can’t forgive me for not telling you about your father?”
“I don’t like secrets, Alessio. And do not pretend like what you did was no big deal.”
“I know it is a big deal. I just hoped that you loved me enough to get past it. But you don’t even want to try. You won’t even hear me out.”
“Do not put this on me, stronzo. It’s your fuck up.”
“And so that’s it? I’m dead to you?”
I snorted, shocked that he even had to ask. “Do you think I will keep fucking the man who almost murdered my father and lied to me about it? Ma dai, sniper.”
The misery and pain in his gray eyes doubled, a haunted look I would never forget. We stood there for a long moment, neither of us saying anything. Finally, he reached for his pack. Gingerly, he eased it over his shoulders. “Let’s go kill Don Buscetta. Then you never have to see me again.”
Without waiting to see what I would do, he began walking down the ridge to the other side.
* * *
Alessio
The hope in my chest withered and died as I hiked down the ridge. When I first saw him today I thought it was a sign. The saints were looking out for me, giving me another chance with the man I loved.
But the hate, the revulsion in his expression . . . . It was clear that hope had been wishful thinking on my part. I’d lost him for good. Somehow I had to accept it. I had to let go of these stupid feelings. Go back to how things were before.
