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“Can we reschedule you planning to kill me? I have things to do today, like finding the answers for you. I will pick you up for dinner.”

My jaw drops. “There’s definitely something wrong with you. What do you think we’re doing here? Dating? What comes next, marriage?”

“I would love to make an honest woman out of you, but we’re not there yet.”

I pull the trigger on both guns, two bullets implant into the headboard one inch from the sides of his neck. I have excellent aim.

He appears almost bored as he sees the first bullet, then turns his head to the second one.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Are you deaf?” In my frustration, at him but mostly at me, I lock the safety in place before throwing his gun at him. He catches it with ease as I toss mine onto my pillow.

“Come on, do it.” I tremble in anger. I am such a failure I deserve to die.

His demeanor quickly shifts, as if he doesn’t like what he sees. His jaw clenches and his body tightens with suppressed fury.

In three strides, he eradicates the distance between us and grips my chin, tipping my head up. “Never say that bullshit. I forbid you to even think that.”

Wrapping me in his strong arms, he kisses the top of my head and whispers, “I don’t understand this thing between us either… Be the brave woman you are and let’s figure things out. Together.”

It’s like the blind trying to instruct the deaf. We’re both so out of our zone we might as well communicate in two different languages.

As he gets dressed, I move toward the window, lost in my own thoughts. Not even the soft click of the door pulls me out of my trance.

One week left of my vacation before I turn back into a woman who doesn’t feel—a killer, a cold-blooded assassin.

If my vacation ends with Enzo dead or alive, it’s up to him. I don’t care who offers me the information. The only certain fact is that I will return and be Augustus’s trusted right hand.

No feelings will get in my way, and Enzo’s mistaken if he thinks differently.

Pulling on a robe, I look around at the mess we’ve made, and my belly grumbles. I should place an order for breakfast while thinking that the clean-up will be a bitch—a clear sign I am not on top of my game.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. Opening it, I see the concierge behind a cart carrying an assortment of breakfast items. From the fruit salad to the pancakes, salami and cheese plate, and an omelet, it looks scrumptious. There’s also an orange juice and a cappuccino.

I don’t even have to ask who ordered it.

He tries to wheel the cart in, but I hurriedly move to stand before him.

“Thank you, but I have it.” Then I quickly return to tip him.

“As you wish, miss.” He nods my way and leaves.

Closing the door, I wheel the cart to the dining table. As I dig into the fluffy omelet, I send Enzo a message.

Who’s cleaning up this mess?

Don’t worry. I’ll send someone over when we’re having dinner.

I wasn’t worried.

No, you just missed me.

I roll my eyes at his text when another one comes through.

Is your breakfast to your liking?

Yes. Thank you.