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He traveled to places where men looked more like him. Began working with his former contacts to import drugs and undercut the existing local dealers. When the situation turned dangerous—and it always did for a man working alone—he moved to another city and assumed another identity.
He was smart. His money sat in off-shore accounts that were nearly untraceable. He wore caps in public for the CCTV cameras. Switched his phone every few weeks. Never logged into his social media profiles.
He never let down his guard. Except for his late-night visits to clubs.
Giulio couldn’t seem to resist the lure of anonymous encounters. Each one was the same as it had been with me. A dark corner, a man on his knees with Giulio’s cock in his mouth. Giulio never offered relief in exchange, instead immediately departing after shooting his load and returning to his apartment.
That I was one of many didn’t sit well with me.
The hookup in Málaga had been different. Good. Satisfying—though he hadn’t touched me. I couldn’t explain it.
But to know he did this over and over again, a different man every time? It soured the memory for me.
He’s just a job.
I couldn’t forget this. Enzo D’Agostino had my balls in a vise and my only priority was to assassinate the Ravazzani heir. Otherwise, my career as an assassin was over. Word would get around that I failed. No one would hire me after that.
Word would also get to Fausto Ravazzani that I pulled the trigger in Siderno four years ago. He would hunt me down with all the resources at his disposal.
So why wasn’t Giulio dead already?
Maybe because I found this man fascinating. I knew what it was like to live secretly in a dangerous world. Desperate to leave home, I joined the Italian military when I was seventeen. By that point I knew I was bisexual, and being around so many men meant I had to be extremely careful. Encounters were fleeting and kept very, very quiet.
Giulio turned and entered an open-air food market. My phone buzzed. With Giulio shopping I had a free minute to check who was ringing me. I tapped the glass. “Pronto.”
“Where are you?” Former Russian intelligence, Sasha oversaw my business. She was ruthless, cold and methodical. Exactly like me.
“On a rooftop,” I answered.
“I was contacted by a Serbian—”
“No.”
“Do you not even wish to hear how much?”
“No.”
I was not for hire at the moment. When I completed this job I could go to Serbia or Tanzania or New Zealand, wherever the fuck. But for right now I was working on Giulio. “Is that all?”
“Mudak!” she swore in Russian. “I am sitting around doing nothing, a waste of my valuable time. You are dragging your feet. Just kill him already and—”
I disconnected. Giulio had paid for his vegetables and was leaving the market. I needed to move.
The rooftops were close together here, which made it easy to travel the city from up above. Giulio had no idea he was being tracked, though he kept his head down and didn’t speak to anyone. I admired the shift of his broad shoulders, the smooth muscles under his clothing. My nonna would have called him un vero fusto, a real hunk. In her later years she watched a lot of American reality television shows, which had colored her already robust vocabulary.
I still missed her. She’d been the only person I gave a shit about in my entire life.
I popped the last piece of tomato into my mouth and jumped onto the next roof. A couple was making out on the far side, but they didn’t notice me as I crept silently along. Giulio walked to his apartment, probably to fix pranzo. He favored risotto, usually mushroom, then a frittata. To finish he would slice apricots or peaches. Then he would work on his laptop or watch something on his tablet. Pass the time until he could go out to a nightclub.
The mornings were my favorite, though.
After drinking caffè, he completed a rigorous workout routine while clad only in a pair of tight briefs. There were push-ups and pull-ups, high-intensity jumps and lunges. His cock and balls were on display, and I enjoyed watching them as he moved. Sometimes he would put on clothes and go out for a jog after. I easily trailed him, though I rose before dawn to run ten miles every day.
When he reached his building I stayed on the roof, hidden in the shadows. I rented the apartment directly across from his, but it was a nice afternoon and I liked to be outside.
He started playing music and took out his vaping pen. I never drank or smoked so I didn’t understand the appeal, but seeing Giulio sprawled on the couch, his dark hair falling over his brow, as he let his lungs fill was incredibly sexy. He would soon be loose and relaxed, and I wished I could crawl between his legs and lick him all over, suck on him until he came down my throat again.
It would be no effort at all to kill him right now. I had an easy shot, straight through the window and into his forehead. There was no wind today and he’d never spot me up here. But I wouldn’t. There was plenty of time to do what needed to be done.
