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Except my former existence seemed so pathetic now. I hadn’t realized how lonely, how lost in my own head I was until Giulio came along. I wasn’t certain I could go back to being that same person again.
How could I have everything I wanted, then be happy when it was taken away?
“I don’t need you and I don’t love you. Just like your parents.”
I rubbed the cornicello around my neck. I wished I could stop hurting. I was a fool to think I could have something lasting, a real relationship with another person. And Giulio deserved better than me. He would’ve come to that realization eventually. I just hurried the matter along by lying to him.
I heard his footsteps behind me, but didn’t turn around. Don Buscetta was holed up in a farmhouse about a fifteen minute walk from here. Giulio was just due east of the location before climbing the ridge. I’d found the farmhouse during the night, confirmed Buscetta was living inside it. As soon as daylight broke I went into a small nearby village market, which was where I saw Giulio.
The thunderbolt hit me as soon as I recognized that profile, those shoulders. Colpo di fulmine. And I couldn’t help but follow him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I kept quiet as we walked. What else more could I say? I focused on my feet. I kept my breathing shallow to spare my ribs. I didn’t bother with slowing down or wondering if Giulio could keep up. Killing Buscetta would be easy for me, even with a broken hand. I didn’t need Giulio’s help.
The farmhouse was well-situated. It was tucked into the side of the hill, surrounded by trees and vegetation. Chickens roamed the property, and a small vegetable garden sat off to the west. The house wasn’t visible from the nearby one-lane road, so someone would need to be searching diligently to find it.
I moved into the trees on the southern side, well out of sight from the farmhouse, and put down my pack. My ribs ached like a son of a bitch. For a brief second I thought I might pass out when Giulio punched me there earlier.
“You don’t need to stay,” he said behind me. “I see the farmhouse now. You can go.”
Anyone with good sense would probably listen and immediately leave. But I never had any sense when it came to this man. And I still loved him. I needed for him to be safe, even if he hated me. That meant staying here until the job was done. “I will set up.” I gestured to the ground. “I’ll shoot him as soon as he appears.”
“Did you hear me? I said you can leave.”
I knelt, wincing at the dull ache in my side, and began unpacking my rifle. There was no use arguing with him. I wasn’t leaving and he couldn’t force me to go. I was going to kill Don Buscetta and then return to London.
“Alessio? Are you listening to me, stronzo? I don’t fucking need you here.”
“Talk a little louder, no? Make sure he knows we’ve arrived.”
He lowered his voice to hiss, “What is wrong with you? Why are you being so fucking difficult?”
A question I’d been trying to answer my whole life. “Don’t worry, principe. As soon as I kill him, I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him drag a hand through his hair. “Do you think I’m so incompetent that I need you to kill him for me?”
I slid the pieces of my rifle together, thinking about this. Was this why he believed I was here? Yes, part of me hoped if I killed Buscetta, it might help win Giulio back. That he would see me as his hero instead of a villain. Clearly, this had been foolish—and not something I would ever admit to him.
I went with a simpler, less embarrassing honest answer. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. But I’ve killed hundreds of men. What’s one more dark spot on my soul? Better mine than yours.”
His expression turned into one of pure bafflement. “You’re doing this to save me from eternal damnation? You know I don’t believe in that shit.”
Yes, I knew his feelings on the church and religion. I tightened the scope into the proper position and stood. “But I believe in those things. And if I can spare you from an eternity in flames, then I will do it. With pleasure.”
Giulio put his hands on his hips and glared at the ground, his mouth flat with anger. “Porca puttana! Stop saying these things to me.”
“Why? They’re true.” I would shoulder any of his burdens, handle any of his problems, if it helped him sleep easier. “Even though you hate me, I still love you.”
I should quit talking, but this might be the last time I had the chance to say it. So I added softly, “I will love you until I draw my last breath, mio bel principe.”
“Cazzo,” he sighed. His shoulders drooped. “I very badly want to hate you and you are making it so hard.”
A tiny flare of hope sparked in my chest. Had I caused a crack in the wall of his animosity and anger?
I had to find out. With my rifle in my good hand, I eased toward him. One slow step at a time, like one might approach a wild animal. I half expected him to dart away or punch me again. But he stood still and watched my approach with those brilliant blue eyes, their color like the Mediterranean waters on a sunny day.
When I was within reach, I stopped. My heart thundered in my chest, and it felt like my lungs were squeezing all the air out of my body. I stood there, unsure what I was doing but unable to stop. He was like a magnet, pulling me closer whether I liked it or not.
