Page 45 of The Hitman

She’s still perched on my thigh, still trying to cover me with her body.

I nod and stuff myself back into my pants carefully with the condom still on my dick. She steps into the aisle, and I follow her. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman in the seat in front of us close her eyes quickly and grin.

“Do you think we should move?” she asks.

I nod and grab our bags from the overhead luggage rack. As we walk through the train, I use our bags to cover the wet spot on my pants. We find another secluded pair of seats, two cars over. I make sure Zahra is settled before I promise her that I will return and then go in search of the closest toilet.

When I’m locked inside the toilet, I take off my soiled pants, discard the used condom, and clean up as best I can in the facilities. Before I leave, I look at myself in the mirror. I seem normal. I might look a bit tired and sweaty, but I look more or less like myself. That feels strange. I don’t feel the same as I did this morning and certainly not a week ago. I feel better.

I lean forward and pull the neck of my shirt down, turning my head to the side to see my neck in the mirror. I can feel a throbbing at the base of my throat, and I see why. Zahra’s adorable teeth left a faint bruise on my skin, where she bit me.

“Merda,” I hiss. “This woman is going to kill me.”

And I’ll like it, I think, as I head back to our seats.

16Zahra

We change trains in Florence.

“Stay with me,” Giulio tells me as we step from the train and walk briskly through the train station.

I don’t have any plans to run away. It’s not like he kidnapped me or anything. Also, I’m holding onto his hand so tight I worry I might be cutting off his circulation; I’m certainly cutting off mine.

I think we’re both just nervous about the large crowds in the train station. He hasn’t told me directly, but Giulio is clearly worried that we might have been followed, which is why I guess he bought the tickets to Rome even though we got off long before then, and why we have to route through the main train station to buy new tickets, this time to a station I can’t even pronounce. It’s also why he stays as close to me as possible at all times.

I’m not worried about the danger, or at least not the same kind of danger. I hadn’t realized it, but while I was in San Marco, I’d forgotten what it was like to be in the public eye. The only public interested in seeing me day drink by the pool was Giulio, and no one besides the woman at the front desk seemed to recognize me or care about my life blowing up all over American reality television. If things were any different in Milan, I didn’t notice as we passed through. But Florence feels like a much larger city from the train station alone. I feel exposed. I haven’t checked into American entertainment news since the morning of the wedding. I know what Ithinkthey’re reporting about me — well, Ryan really — but I don’t know for sure, and I don’t want to.

Being up to date on the celebrity news cycle is my job, but I haven’t thought about it once since I met Giulio. Now that we’re in Florence, I’m thinking about it. I’m wondering if a paparazzo is going to pop out of an alcove and shove a camera in my face. I’m imagining Giulio beating the man with his own camera. I’m imagining how all of that would play on a 24/7 news loop.

And I’m terrified.

So while Giulio buys our new tickets, I shove my sunglasses onto my face and keep my head angled down toward the floor. I don’t look anyone in the eye. When Giulio is back by my side, I do exactly as he says; I stay with him, and I don’t let him out of my sight either.

* * *

Giulio

“Po…Puh…?”

She’s adorable.

“Poggibonsi,” I tell her. I say the name of the city again, slower still.

She frowns at me. She’s tired. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her normally luminous skin is dull and tinged with gray. She’s pulled her big curly hair into a bun on top of her head. We’ve been traveling all day, except for a quick standing lunch in the train station during our transfer. Besides that short break, we’ve been sitting for hours, and the journey has taken its toll on Zahra. Her frown only accentuates her weariness.

“Say it slower,” she commands.

“I don’t think it’s possible to say the word any slower, tesora,” I tell her.

Her frown deepens.

We’re waiting outside of the train station for a hire car. This station is small but still full of tourists. We don’t stick out as much as I was worried we might, and that’s a good thing, but it does nothing to assuage the growing anxiety in my chest as we move closer and closer to our destination, a place I haven’t visited in two years and hate more than any other location in the world.

“Po-ggi-bon-si,” I tell her, my eyes darting down the length of the street behind her.

I jump as Zahra presses herself against my right side. When I turn, she’s smiling up at me, and I wonder if this is what she looks like first thing in the morning. I shouldn’t think that, but I do.

“Slower,” she commands with a smile.