Page 35 of The Hitman
“You are not crazy,” he says.
I turn to him in confusion. I didn’t realize I’d said that last question aloud.
He keeps his eyes on the road in front of us, but I know his attention is on me. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says.
Has the single word “that” ever been so loaded?
“And I’m sorry that I ruined your dress. But you are not going crazy,” he says.
It’s not a brand-new dress, and it doesn’t erase the past twenty minutes of my life, but I realize that he’s trying to give me something Ryan almost took: a reassurance in myself.
“What’s happening?” I ask him again.
He shrugs, and my mouth falls open in shock. How can he shrug in a moment like this?
“I told you I’m not a good man.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s not, but right now, it’s all I can give you.”
“It's not enough,” I say, “I deserve an explanation.”
The golf cart slows as Giulio pulls carefully up the narrow road toward the top of the hill. He turns to me, and he’s not smiling anymore; he looks very serious. “I agree. You deserve much more than I can give you. But I will tell you what I can as soon as we’re back in the hotel, agreed?”
That seems reasonable, so I nod at him. To be fair, I’m not entirely sure if I’m the best gauge of reasonable right now. For instance, is it reasonable to follow a man who just killed another man in front of you? Is it reasonable to be sad that my favorite dress is ruined? Is it reasonable to care that this is the second white dress I’m going to have to throw away in less than a week? Is it reasonable to want the killer in front of you to put his hand between your legs again?
Who knows? Certainly not me. But in the new landscape of the world, most of this sounds okay-ish, so I tighten my hold on Giulio’s arm and let him drive in silence.
When he pulls into the hotel driveway, the doorman welcomes us with a stately nod. If he thinks it’s strange that Giulio’s driving the golf cart and not one of the hotel drivers, he doesn’t say anything.
I clutch Giulio’s coat tight in front of me to hide the impressionist art piece on my dress and press the gun against my stomach as the doorman helps me from the cart. Giulio takes my hand from the doorman’s, almost possessively, and leads me into the hotel. The world here is even more normal than the town below. There are people milling about the front desk, a family walking through the lobby toward the pool. I can even hear piano music and the clinking of silverware against dishes from the restaurant.
We ride the small elevator up to the penthouse floor. It shocks me again, somehow, that we’ve been sharing this floor for days purely by accident. I wonder how different my life could have been if Ryan hadn’t ruined our plans, and he and I had taken this trip together. Would I have met Giulio? Would he have even noticed me if I weren’t crying myself to sleep next door? Would he have preened for me by the hotel pool? Certainly, I never would have let him watch me come, or had him come for me, which means I guess I never would have seen him kill a man either.
When the elevator doors open to our floor, I move automatically toward my room, but Giulio puts an arm around my waist and leads me to his.
“What’s happening?” I ask because I really can’t pull together the right words to ask the right questions. I’m not sure if I know the right questions, and I know for certain that I’m terrified of the answers.
His hand snakes inside his coat and grabs his gun from my shaking hand. “Stay with me for a bit longer, tesora.”
Somehow, that sounds right, so I do.
* * *
Giulio
She’s in shock; that’s very easy to see.
I should take her to the hotel medic or the local hospital. Or maybe I should just leave her alone and let her process whatever she’s feeling away from me, but I don’t want to. I also don’t know what the hitman from the vineyard knew, so I can’t leave her alone until I know she’s safe. At least that’s how I rationalize this to myself as I lead her toward my hotel room and potentially more danger.
“Wait here, tesora.”
She looks at me again with those big, brown, scared eyes that make me want to feel things I shouldn’t and probably can’t. Eyes that make me want to make promises I know for sure I cannot keep.
“I just need to check the room to make sure it’s safe.”
She wraps her arms around herself and nods.