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But it shouldn’t matter. I should have killed him by now.
I lied about being bored while watching him. Nothing could be further from the truth. Giulio fascinated me, even while he was sitting still. He was pretty, like a magazine model, but there was strength and anger inside him. So much anger. I recognized it because I often felt that anger, too.
But he was bad luck for me. I could feel it in my bones.
Giulio would be wary now, on guard at all times, but there was nowhere to go. The ferries ran sporadically and the island was isolated. I actually liked it here, but then I was used to being alone. Canna had to be torture for a man like Giulio, one who craved people and attention. He liked cities and crowds, parties and alcohol.
Mrs. Campbell slid a glass of water over the bar. “Drink,” she told me in Gaelic. “You look thin and tired.”
I’d been staying in the apartment over the saloon ever since I arrived. The older woman had an air and attitude about her that I recognized as former military. I could spot them wherever I went. Not that I’d asked her about it, but I suspected her time in the service was the reason she was on this remote island in the middle of nowhere.
To please her, I drank the water. “Happy?” I asked in Gaelic.
“What do you want with that poor Mr. Drakos? He keeps to himself, never bothers anybody.”
Only because there were no night clubs here. “Maybe I am his boyfriend.”
“That would explain why he is angry with you. Did you break his heart?”
“Why do you assume I am in the wrong?”
Leaning on the bar, she gestured to my face. “Because you don’t let your feelings show. You are closed up. Locked tight. Anyone who tried to love you would end up frustrated and angry.”
I didn’t like that she read me so well. “Two men together, this doesn’t bother you?”
Mrs. Campbell rolled her eyes. “Och, I have a satellite dish. I’m not ignorant of what goes on in the world. I’ve seen Modern Family.”
“What happened to Mr. Campbell?”
“Divorced him thirteen years ago and moved here. Last I heard he was remarried and living in London.”
“Regrets?”
“About my divorce?” When I nodded, she straightened and began wiping down the bar. “Not about Hamish, no. We married young and he wasn’t a good husband.”
“But?”
She considered this for a moment. “I wish I had kids when I had the chance. Now it’s too late.”
It wasn’t what I expected her to say, considering where she lived. The residents of Canna were loners, like me. In Gaelic the Outer Hebrides were called Na h-Innse Gall, which meant “islands of the strangers.” It sounded like a perfect place.
My phone buzzed. I excused myself and went outside. It was Sasha. “Pronto.”
“Is it done yet?”
I didn’t answer, instead letting the silence speak for me.
“Zhizn’ ebet meya!” A Russian expression that meant something similar to, life is fucking me.
“Was there anything else? Or did you call just to berate me?”
“Do you know how much money you are losing? How many jobs I have passed up for you?”
I hung up on her. Though Sasha was a great assistant, she was impatient. Some days it felt as if she cared more about my reputation than I did. She remembered every hit I had carried out.
And she didn’t understand my obsession with Giulio Ravazzani.
Fair, as I hardly understood it myself. But I would not be rushed. I would complete the job on my terms, when I decided it was time. He wasn’t going anywhere, not from here.
