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“It’s hardly the same. And the car bombers are not the only ones trying to kill you.”
“Let’s forget about you for a moment.”
“As if you could,” he threw back, sounding offended.
“I’m serious. Someone is after you. What do you do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only been on the other side of it and most of what I do is research. I learn everything I can about my target.”
I gaped at his back. “This is why you were stalking me in Málaga and Santorini.”
“Yes.”
I blurted, “What did you learn?”
“Principe.” He drew to a halt and shoved his sweaty hair out of his face.
I stopped, rested my hands on my knees, and sucked in air. “I want to know. What did you learn about me?”
“Why? So you can try to change your patterns when I need to kill you?”
“Would that even work?”
“No. So, why do you want to know?”
I couldn’t explain it, but I needed to know. I was curious what he’d learned in those months observing me. I lived a lie for so long. Being an openly gay man had only lasted a short time before I was forced to go on the run. All I knew was hiding, pretending to be someone else. Keeping my true self a secret to stay alive. What could this stranger possibly have discovered?
“Humor me, Alessio.”
He folded his arms across his chest and braced his feet. Like he was readying himself to report to his superior in the army. “You like people and crowds. You thrive off the energy in a city. I’ve never seen you drive, but I assume you like speed so you probably drove an expensive sports car. You vape weed whenever you are feeling down and missing your friends and family—especially Frankie. You want to break free of your father’s control, but you also miss him. You’re slightly jealous of his new children, though you tell yourself it’s for the best that he has another son who can assume the Ravazzani legacy.”
He drew in a deep breath and kept going, his voice staccato, like reading a list in his head. “You eat healthy and exercise every day. You rise around eight or eight-thirty and surf gay porn on your phone. Usually D/s videos, probably because you prefer being a top. Then you jerk off in bed, easy as you sleep naked. Once you come you clean up quickly, almost like you’re embarrassed. I suspect Roman Catholic guilt.” He raised one eyebrow. “Should I go on?”
I nodded once, unable to form a single word. I was both fascinated and horrified. But I was also growing aroused, which made no sense whatsoever. He had scrutinized my life and I shouldn’t be getting erect—yet I was thickening in my pants.
He kept going. “Then you workout in a pair of briefs. Your female neighbors try not to watch but can’t help themselves—and who could blame them? The lunges and push ups . . . madre di dio. You could sell tickets and make a fortune. Anyway, once you finish and shower, you shop for the day’s meals. You might make a mushroom risotto or frittata. You like stone fruits as dessert, though you treat yourself to pistachio gelato every now and again. In the afternoon you watch a streaming show on your tablet. The most recent season of Gomorrah made you laugh and roll your eyes.”
When he paused, I said, “What else?”
“We already talked about the coke, which just leaves the nightclubs.”
I leaned slightly forward, dying to hear the rest. After all, our first encounter had been in a nightclub. “What about the nightclubs?”
The skin of his neck turned a dull red, and I realized he was embarrassed. Cazzo, he was adorable. This big, scarred assassin was capable of embarrassment. “Dimmi, assassino,” I ordered.
“You go late, after it’s crowded. You wear jeans and a tight t-shirt and you wait for someone to approach you, never the other way around. You want someone eager and you don’t much care what he looks like. You lead him to a dark corner and never kiss on the mouth. Instead you tell him exactly what you want, and no one ever refuses. They get down on their knees and suck your cock until you come. You never thank them or reciprocate, and you can’t get away fast enough.”
When Alessio finally fell silent, I couldn’t speak. It was all true. Every word. He knew me, some ways better than I knew myself. Alessio was smart, smarter than I’d given him credit for. And he’d been following me a long time, watching me. Learning me.
How many men had he seen me with at the clubs? There had been a few in Málaga. Two in Greece. But none of those blow jobs had been as good as Alessio’s.
Lust was suddenly a tight fist in my belly, undeniable and urgent. He didn’t look away, just continued to watch me with his cool gunmetal gaze. He thought he had me all figured out. So did he know the thoughts currently running through my head?
I doubted it.
Because right now I was angry and turned on. I wanted to both punish him and make him writhe and moan. My body was hyper aware of him, of me. I noted every rise and fall of his chest. The way his lips parted slightly, the ruffle of his hair in the breeze. I was buzzing, my skin crawling with heat and need. And I was remembering Málaga.
I hated us both for it.
