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I knew what I wanted. My ribs were begging me to reconsider, but I knew this opportunity might not ever come around again. I needed to try. Every cell in my body was straining toward this man, aching for him. Desperate. Hungry.
Mouth dry with nerves, I licked my lips. “If I kiss you, will you punch me again?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“Then I’ll just have to risk it.”
I dropped my rifle on the ground and moved in to cup his jaw with my good hand. My injured hand rested on his hip. He was warm and solid and right here. Fuck, I’d missed him. I moved my face closer, giving him plenty of time to stop me.
He didn’t.
My stomach was in my throat, nerves popping and fizzing in my veins, as I gently brushed my mouth over his. He didn’t move, but his breath gusted over my skin. I couldn’t decipher the swirling emotion in his gaze, so I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the joy of kissing him once again.
I increased the pressure, molding our lips together. I went carefully, slowly, needing to soak in every moment. Every second. If this was truly the last time, then I wanted to make this kiss a memorable one.
And then . . . he began to kiss me back. The tiniest bit at first, his lips shifting, testing, like he was still deciding what to do. My world tilted. I pressed in, encouraging him with my mouth, sealing us together more tightly. More, principe. Keep going.
His fingers wrapped around the nape of my neck, holding me, before he inched closer and tilted his head, angling us to fit better. The kiss turned deeper, urgent. Our lips pulled and sucked, and then his tongue was in my mouth. I groaned, my entire body going up in flames. I could taste the aggression in him, and I drank it in like a fine wine.
“Goddamn it, assassino,” he broke off to whisper before attacking my mouth again. This time I shoved inside his mouth and got a hint of the familiar toothpaste, but also something new.
I eased back. “You’re smoking again.”
With a huff, he pulled me back toward his lips. “Shut up.”
I didn’t like this, but I couldn’t complain. And honestly? I didn’t care what he tasted like as long as he kept tongue fucking my mouth.
We kept going, waging our own battle for dominance in the Sicilian woods. Then I lost track of time altogether when he brought his hips flush with mine. He was hard for me, and my knees actually trembled. “Giulio,” I breathed against his lips.
And then it was over. He shoved me away and stumbled back. “Figlio di puttana!” He turned away like he couldn’t stand to see me. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
My mouth felt swollen from his kisses, the best kind of souvenir. I didn’t regret it at all. “I am glad it did.”
“Minchia!” He threaded his fingers through his hair and grabbed onto the strands. “You’re a pain in my ass, sniper.”
Back to “sniper” instead of “assassino.” My stomach twisted up like a pretzel. “It can be good between us again. We can work through this, amore.”
“Do not call me that.” He spun toward me, and his eyes were wild as he grabbed my rifle off the ground. “Give me this fucking gun.”
I was too shocked to react at first. “What are you doing?” I asked as he got into position on his stomach near the edge of the woods.
“What does it look like? I’m going to end all of this right now.”
“Do you know how to use a rifle like this?” Not everyone did, and I wasn’t sure how familiar Giulio was with any firearm other than a pistol.
“I’ll be fine. How hard can it be?” He put his cheek in the well, spreading his legs to stabilize his body. Keeping both eyes open, he adjusted the scope toward the farmhouse. It showed a basic level of knowledge, and I was relieved.
“I can do it,” I said. I wasn’t as accurate left handed, but I could still kill a slow old man like Buscetta.
Giulio picked up a bullet and loaded the rifle. “I want this done now.”
And he thought I would, what? Procrastinate?
Like I did before, when I was supposed to kill him.
Nothing had changed. He still hated me and wanted to get away from me as quickly as possible.
As I stood there, numb with my failure, Giulio murmured, “There you are, stronzo.”
