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Otherwise, my life is empty.
“One more thing,” I say and hope I sound like I’m being casual. “I found some work here. It’s nothing important, but I’m going to stay a while longer.”
“You’re enjoying yourself in Greece, aren’t you? I told you it’d be good. Get yourself some space from the Italians and clear your head. Things with Luca weren’t going so well.”
“Luca’s a self-righteous prick and you should’ve let me kill him.”
“You’ll have another chance one day, I’m sure. If you still want that.”
I consider it and shake my head. “I’ve got more important things.”
“Like that girl.” Papa laughs again. “Go make sure she’s safe, all right? Tell her Kacia says hello. She asked me to pass that along the next time you and I spoke.”
“You’re passing messages for a Florakis now?”
“I’m passing messages for the future wife of Luca Valverde. You malakas.”
I hang up the phone. The shower’s still running. She’s been in there for nearly twenty minutes now and I can’t help the damn worrying. This is why I don’t get involved.
I walk to the bathroom, knock twice, and open the door a crack.
“What are you doing?” She’s still in the shower and I don’t peek inside.
“Checking to make sure everything’s okay.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry. I haven’t fallen into the drain or drowned in the shower. Can you please go away?”
I stare at the fogged mirror. I can see the barest outline of her—pink, naked skin, the curves of her body. “You want to talk about what happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about anything with you.”
“There’s nobody else, remember? You’re stuck here with me. By choice, I’ll remind you.”
“Thank you, yes, I’m aware it was my stupid fucking choice to leash myself to a goddamn Greek gangster.” She sucks in a breath and blows it out. “I’m tired, okay?”
“You’re coming down from the adrenaline. That’s normal.”
“Is it normal to watch a man get shot in the street?”
“For most people? Probably not, no.”
Another silence. I try to imagine her face and eyes, the sorrow and exhaustion, the confusion and anger. She wanted this, but I don’t think she understood what this meant. How people like me live on the edge. I made peace with a violent end a long time ago and know that one day my time will come, but my skills and perseverance ensure that time is still far in the future.
“I want you to teach me.”
I frown and lean my head against the cracked door. “Teach you what?”
“How to fight. How to do what you did.”
“You want to learn how to kill?”
“Yes,” she says and I barely hear her.
“You don’t want that.”
“I’m tired of being a victim, Peter. I’m so fucking tired of standing around waiting for someone else to fix things for me. I want to fight. I want to kill, if it comes to that. I want you to teach me.”
The shower keeps running. I want to step into the bathroom and stare at her wet body but hold myself back. The idea of training her is so absurd I almost want to laugh, except the deep, devastating sincerity in her voice breaks my fucking heart.
