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Too bad. With proper training, he might have eluded me. As it was, he left breadcrumbs in his wake everywhere he went. Giulio was like a brilliant sky, full of color and life. He was impossible to miss.
He eyed me suspiciously. “Do you have a gun on you?”
I held out my arms. “No, I don’t. Other than puffins and eagles, there isn’t anything around at this time of day.” I paused mid-stretch. “But I don’t need a gun to kill you, Giulio.”
It was a fact. His neck still bore faint bruises from my fingers.
“I’m not as weak as you think,” he said.
“I don’t think you are weak.” Far from it. The ’Ndrangheta did not raise weak men, and Ravazzani would have ensured his heir was strong enough to take over when the time came.
But I was a killer, a soulless monster. Trained to take down an enemy quickly and quietly. He was no match for me.
I suddenly had a lot of questions rolling around in my head. “What is your favorite way to kill a man?”
He frowned, his eyebrows lowering. “Ma dai, what the fuck kind of a question is that?”
I lifted a shoulder and concentrated on the ground as I stretched. “It is the one thing we have in common, no?” This, and an intimate knowledge of Giulio’s dick.
“Except I’m not an assassin.”
I snorted, unable to hold it in. “Cazzata. You were your father’s soldato. You carried out murders.”
“I didn’t do much wet work.”
“Much,” I repeated. “But you did some. So tell me. What is your favorite way to kill?”
“Why the fuck do you want to know? Wondering how I will kill you?”
As if he could. But it was clear he found offense in my question, so I wouldn’t push it. If he could not see who he really was, the man underneath the designer clothes and good looks, then who was I to point it out?
I motioned with my hand. “Andiamo. Break’s over.”
His lips flattened, wariness and unhappiness etched on his handsome face. “How much farther?”
“We are not yet halfway.” He glared at me, and I could see his indecision. For some reason I wanted him to stick it out. “Come. You can keep up.”
“Fuck off, Alessio,” he grumbled as he stood. “I’m only doing this to get stronger so I can kill you.”
“Va bene, uccisore. Let’s go.”
Giulio clearly didn’t like being called a killer, but he followed when I set off again, his footfalls crunching behind mine.
We ran for several minutes before he spoke. “What is your favorite way to kill?”
The truth escaped before I could stop it. “With my hands.” I grimaced and tried not to think about how crazy that made me sound. It was why I preferred my rifle. The gun was cold and unsatisfying, leaving a distance between me and the victim that made it easier to justify, easier to carry out. Easier to keep my demons at bay.
Killing with my hands was a rush unlike anything else. Intimate, personal. A challenge that felt elemental, more animalistic than human. In the moment I felt nothing other than the desperate need to survive over my opponent. And when I succeeded I felt exhilarated.
“He’s not normal.”
Sì, certo.
I touched the cornicello on the chain around my neck and kept running.
Giulio mumbled something behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. “Che cosa?”
“I said mine is a knife.”
