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Tragically I don’t have a view of the action there. But I see plenty when he emerges in only a dark navy towel.

His body is even better than I remember.

I almost drop my binoculars I’m so desperate to trace the line of his happy trail.

I should break in there and fuck him to death.

But I can’t.

Not yet, anyway.

He slips into his boxers and spends an hour on his laptop, no doubt tracking my movements. Or maybe obsessing over some other deadly dame.

A book before bed.

Then rest.

The next day, I take the risk, and I break in after he leaves for work.

The familiarity of the place hits me the second I walk through the door (he hasn’t changed the locks. Which means he’s been expecting me).

Exposed brick. Black leather couch. Solid cherry coffee table.

Framed prints of paintings I’ve stolen.

I check the frames for hidden objects. There’s nothing in the first two.

In the third, there’s a paper note.

In your dreams, diavolessa.

My chest warms.

He’s teasing me. He’s enjoying this. Even though he thinks I’m a monster. Or maybe because he does.

Maybe he always saw my true nature.

Maybe that’s why I kept him on the hook for two years.

I turn over the thought as I check the bookshelf. It’s packed with detective novels and non-fiction.

And every single play I left, too. They’re all here.

We never lived together, though we did discuss it. I always said I wanted to take things slow. Didn’t want to take advantage, but I tried not to focus on that angle, lest he do the math, and ask himself how a struggling playwright could afford to live in his expensive neighborhood, even if it was in a small studio.

And that little studio didn’t just sell my story. It made it easy to suggest we spend the night at his place. So I didn’t have to be overly careful about hiding my plans or my guns (behind the feminine hygiene products, of course).

I go to the bookshelf and pick up my old copy of Brief Encounter, find new notes in the margins in Matteo’s handwriting. The rest are the same.

My old notebooks, too. They’re still covered in highlights.

I find the most recent from the day before I left. A sketch of the plan and a single note next to it.

I’m going to miss him.

Ti amo, mi amore

And his note next to it: