Page 3 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

Our ancestors had our villa constructed in the early seventeenth century, not long after they relocated to Venice from the city of Turin in 1613.

Since then, no one has ventured away from the villa.

History and memories are etched into the crown molding.

Numerous galas and parties have been thrown in our large dining hall.

Hell, tourists even pose outside of the villa and take pictures of our home while exploring the city, totally unaware of the business we conduct behind closed doors.

As of now, there are nine of us living here.

That’s what happens when you have five kids, I suppose.

It’s me, Mamma, Zìa, and my four sisters, Alessia, Fiorenza, Lucia, and Giorgia—plus Alessia’s husband and Fiorenza’s fiancé.

The housekeeper occupies one of the suites, but the rest of the staff Zìa and Mamma employ to help run the house live in the separate palazzo behind our lot that we also own.

Free room and board is one of the perks of their job, because we can’t risk having them at the villa all the time.

Otherwise, they may figure out we’re assassins, not just a wealthy family that runs a well-known foundation to encourage the arts and local culture.

I walk inside on the base level and am met with a large, open foyer that leads to various meeting rooms and offices.

In most palazzos, the base level is for commercial use, and the other levels are residential.

Seeing as we own the entire building, though, we use it almost as a cover.

Sure, we do have real meetings and real work to conduct to keep our foundation up and running, but it’s also good to have for the public to see.

No civilian would ever guess that there is a secret hallway near the back of the base level that only Giordano family members and our top associates can access.

The base floor is dead quiet. All I can hear are my own breaths and the footsteps I make as I turn left, into the elevator room.

Even the room for the elevator is extravagant.

I can’t deny that. A chandelier hangs in the center and casts a soft light across the ivy green walls.

I press the button to take me up, as I’m much too tired to take the stairs this evening, and then sigh and crack my neck as I wait.

The sleek elevator doors slide open in seconds, ready to take me to the top floor where I live.

I’m lucky, really. The top floor is by far the most lavish of them all.

But the best part of it is the view. I love waking up in the early morning, right as the sun rises, and staring down at the glistening water in the Grand Canal from my bedroom window.

Those of us without partners stay on the third floor, as the suites are a little smaller.

The larger suites are on the second floor, where Alessia and Fi live with their partners.

Once they have children, they will stay on the second floor until their children are old enough, and then they will move back to the third.

Our housekeeper, Isabella, lives on the second floor, too.

Mostly because there aren’t as many bodies to occupy that level, and we want to respect her privacy as much as possible after everything she does to help us.

Most of the lights are turned off when I step out onto the third floor, aside from an ancient lamp that sits on a little table beside the archway leading from the elevator room into the expansive hallway.

Despite the facade of everyone being asleep, I know that Zìa and my youngest sister, Giorgia must be around here somewhere.

It’s early June, and the weather has been mostly sunny and warm, so I figure I will check the balcony just off of il soggiorno.

It is the largest balcony on our floor, and is adorned with comfortable outdoor seating, some decorative plants, and dim, electric candles built into the walls.

Like all of the balconies in the palazzo, it looks out over our beloved courtyard down below.

On nights like this one, it is not uncommon for Zìa to sit out on the balcony and puff on a cigar or for Giorgia to join her with a cigarillo.

Once in the sitting area, I shrug off my jacket and drape it over one of the velvet couches and then grab my pack of cigarettes from the inner pocket. Glancing down at my hands, I see a few dried specks of blood, but I’m not bothered. I’ll take a shower as soon as I check in for the night.

As expected, as soon as I walk out onto the balcony, I’m met with a light breeze and the smell of cigar smoke in the air.

Zìa sits in her usual chair off to the left, and Giorgia sits beside her, facing the door.

Alessia’s husband, Luca, sits on the other side of Zìa, and I am taken aback.

Alessia is rarely seen without Luca, and vice versa.

Immediately, the hairs at the back of my neck stand up, and I know something has happened.

Zìa and Luca puff on matching cigars with shit eating grins on their faces.

Giorgia discards ash from her cigarillo into a glass ashtray and her dark brown eyes flash up to meet my gaze.

Her lips turn down ever so slightly at the corners, a telltale sign that she’s trying to be patient and not spill whatever it is they’re out here discussing before Zìa can tell me herself.

After all, Zìa may not be our mother, but she is the ruler of this palazzo.

Zìa nods in my direction when she finally notices me where I stand in the doorway, feeling unnerved. As a cover up, I do my best to smile coolly, then place a cigarette between my lips and light it with the same lighter I stole from my hit earlier. Not like he’ll be needing it now, anyway.

“Stiamo festeggiando, nipote,” Zìa says with a laugh. Celebrating. I haven’t seen her this cheery (or intoxicated) since last Christmas. A half empty bottle of Merlot sits on the table in front of her. Two empty, matching bottles have been pushed to the side of the table where no one is seated.

“Festeggiare cosa?” I ask as I exhale a large plume of smoke into the dark sky.

A snide expression crosses my brother-in-law’s weasley face.

I try not to be mean to him. Truly. But this one has rubbed me wrong ever since Alessia brought him home to meet the family.

He’s short, doesn’t bathe as often as he should, and has always felt hurt that he cannot be an assassin, despite marrying into the family.

Sorry, fratello, but that’s not how this works. One must be from Giordano blood and a male in order to kill. Our assassins who work for us but live elsewhere are all cousins, uncles, or nephews. The sexist part rubs me the wrong way. But I’m thankful that the rule applies to him.

Alessia can do better, yet Zìa pushed the marriage. Luca comes from an old Venetian family. He has good genes, supposedly. I don’t agree.

“Ah, Mattia, you are the last to find out!” Luca laughs.

Giorgia’s eyes meet mine again. I hold my breath and stare in between Zìa and Luca, waiting for whatever it is to be said already. I hate being left in suspense. Ironic, given my profession, I know.

Luca opens his mouth, ready to spill the beans. Zìa, forever impatient, beats him to the punch. “Alessia is with child,” she says, almost in a shriek. It’s unlike Zìa to be so… animated.

A million thoughts enter my mind, but I force them back. I cannot think of them here. Not now. Zìa will be able to tell.

“Congratulazioni!” I exclaim a little too loudly.

Despite my body wanting to stay as still as stone, I force my legs to move. Force myself to hug Luca and pat him on the back. Then, I greet Zìa with two air kisses on either cheek, and do the same to Giorgia on my way to the other side of the balcony to take a seat.

My cigarette rests untouched in between my pointer and middle fingers of my right hand as I stare off into the night. Zìa and Luca chat away about baby names and the due date and the nanny they plan to hire.

Giorgia eventually comes to sit beside me. Without a word, she leans her head on my shoulder. We both smile and nod at Zìa and Luca every so often to ensure they don’t pick up on our solemnity.

My youngest sister and I know what this means.

If their child is a female, there will be no big difference.

Just another family member to add to our collection, though we will obviously love the child either way.

However, if Alessia has a son… as soon as he turns eighteen, Zìa will be replaced by him.

I will not stand a chance to lead. Giorgia is the only one of my sisters who knows my secret desire, because I dare not speak it aloud to anyone else. It’s a fifty-fifty chance, sure.

The worst part? If I have a nephew, there is no question that I will be the one to train him to take over the leading role. I pray to the stars above for a niece. But something in my chest whispers to me that a little boy will be born.