Page 6 of Stalk (Assassin’s Kiss Duet #1)

Mattia

V enice in June is one of my favorite times of year.

The nights are cool, usually dropping to around fifteen degrees Celsius.

The days are warm and pleasant, though sometimes it storms. I don’t mind those days, though.

I love watching the rain pour down. As a child, I used to go outside in the courtyard and spin around with my face tilted up toward the clouds, welcoming the cool droplets against my unflawed, adolescent skin.

Last night was not what I had expected, to say the least. My emotions almost got away from me—to the point where I was fantasizing about slamming Luca’s ugly face into the iron railing.

It’s not like me to become so emotional .

Now that it is a new day, I feel stupid for how I reacted to Luca and Alessia’s news.

It’s only human to feel, I suppose. In my opinion, acting too human can be downright stupid, sometimes. Nonsensical. If we all cared a little less, like I typically try to do, I think the world would have less problems. It’s not a popular viewpoint, but it’s what I believe.

Behind me, the door to my en suite balcony opens.

I’m not surprised. I don’t turn my head to look at my visitor, either.

I know it’s Giorgia. She’s the only one who sits with me in the mornings for coffee.

My other sisters are too caught up in their domestic bliss to consider spending too much time with me.

I don’t blame them for it, but I do cherish the company that Giorgia gives me.

One day, she will find a partner, too. I don’t expect anything less.

But, it will be hard. Even I can admit that.

I’m not supposed to have favorites, but she is mine.

Giorgia has always been special to me. Ever since she came home a chubby, pink newborn cradled in my mother’s delicate arms, I knew.

I loved all three of my sisters as soon as they came home, but meeting Giorgia was different.

When I looked down upon her, swaddled up in a soft muslin blanket, my heart squeezed.

There was an instant connection between us.

I think it was then that I realized my parents had gifted me with my very best friend for life.

There may be eight years between us, but that’s never mattered.

In many ways, she’s always been more mature than Alessia and Fiorenza.

Calmer and more calculated. More like me.

“Buongiorno,” I say, my voice gravely with sleep, before she’s even seated.

She takes her seat across from me, as per usual, then takes a giant gulp of coffee from the mug clasped in between her hands before speaking. “Come hai dormito?”

“Who needs sleep?” I retort with a laugh.

I set my phone face down on the table that sits between us.

When I glance up at her, I notice that dark circles are painted underneath her vibrant cerulean eyes, and her wavy hair is tangled and unkempt.

“It doesn’t look like you slept, either, little sister. ”

She shrugs a shoulder and looks off to the side. “I hope it’s a girl,” Giorgia mutters under her breath, but still loud enough for me to hear.

I quirk a brow. “Perché? It should not matter to you either way.”

Giorgia’s eyes snap to meet my own. “Idiòta. Of course it concerns me. I want you to take over, not the spawn of Alessia and her slimy husband.”

I bite down on my lower lip to keep myself from snorting, then take a sip from my own mug. “I have to admit that I agree.”

She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Sometimes, I forget that my youngest sister is still a teenager. She may be an adult now, but the attitude is still there. I don’t think that will fade away anytime soon, either. “I’m surprised that Zìa was as happy as she was,” she says after a moment.

“Why? She is reaching retirement age. She is tired. I’m sure she is dying to let someone else take charge.”

Giorgia scoffs. “She would resign much earlier if she let you take over.”

Well … I can’t argue with that. “It is out of our control, Gio,” I admit. “We will just become more upset if we dwell on it.”

Giorgia huffs out an annoyed breath as she runs anxious fingers through her hair. “I just know that you would be best. You would make the necessary changes we need for the future.”

I quirk a brow. “Like what?”

She looks away from me, and I don’t fail to notice the slight blush that creeps across the apples of her cheeks. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, she says, “Like changing the rule that only the Giordano men can continue with our family’s line of work.”

I stop breathing. I wasn’t expecting… that.

As I sit there and mull her words over, I realize that perhaps I should have known.

I’ve never thought much of Giorgia’s interests in what I do.

She’s always been inquisitive; asking me questions about how I killed my most recent target, how everything played out, and what my plan was leading up to it.

Here I thought she was just curious. Now, I realize her curiosity runs deeper than adolescent inquisition. She wants to do what I do.

“You never told me?—”

“Did I have to? It’s not like I haven’t asked you about it enough.

” She takes another sip from her mug. “Aside from that, it’s seemingly an unwritten rule for us Giordano women not to take an interest in anything other than the bookkeeping or the foundation work.

Can you imagine my bringing this up to Zìa?

” she scoffs. “She would have a fit. She may run the company, but she’s no killer.

She’s never wanted to be. Otherwise, she would have changed the way things are done after Papà’s passing. ”

I nod along to her words. As usual, she’s right. “How do you know that I would be so keen on changing the rules? They have remained the same for generations, Gio. They will not be easy to alter.”

She laughs without humor. “Who exactly will oppose you? Mamma? Zìa?”

It’s my turn to glare at her. “You know Mamma will not care either way. Zìa, on the other hand… well, she will not be as easily convinced. Like Papà, she is very set in the old ways.”

“If anyone can convince Zìa, fratello, it is you.”

We leave our conversation at that, because we both know this is just talk.

Nothing will happen until we know if the baby our sister is carrying is a boy or a girl.

Zìa may be getting old, but she is as stubborn as all the rest of us.

However, if Papà hadn’t passed when we were young, I would have already been on the road to taking over.

Traditionally, though, it is customary for the heir to be married before taking over, and…

well, I can’t even remember the last time I got laid.

Zìa only took over when she did because I was not of age and she was the only sibling of my father.

For centuries, having a Giordano woman run the family business has always been a last resort.

At this point, I think Mamma and Zìa have lost hope of me finding a wife, even though I’m still a couple years away from turning thirty. That’s why Zìa is over the moon about the new member of our family, and that fact alone almost makes me sick.

When I sit back and consider all of the fucking hoops our ancestors created to keep our line of work going, I get frustrated.

I don’t want to feel that way, so instead, I leave it all be.

It’s not like there’s anything I can do to change what was set in stone hundreds of years ago, so why dwell on it?

I force the waves of nausea rolling around my insides to fuck off. I don’t have time for that.

Once our morning coffee time has come to a close, I do my best to get on with the rest of my day.

I do everything in my usual routine. After drinking a protein shake, I hit the gym and lift weights with my personal trainer.

Then, I get back to my suite and take a long shower.

After that, I make an early lunch and sit down to write up my report from my assignment last night, because we like to keep an archive of every kill.

By the time I’m finished with that, it’s time for my midday meeting with Zìa.

As soon as I make my way down to the ground floor and approach her office, the thoughts of the baby and all the uncertainty that comes with it washes over me.

I have to take a pause after exiting the elevator just to breathe.

It’s unlike me to feel this intensely over things out of my control, but…

right now, it seems like my entire future is riding on a fucking fetus.

I rub a hand down my face and take a deep breath in, then I muster up the strength to walk into Zìa’s office.

Zìa’s office is at the heart of the ground level, hidden away in the middle of our private quarters.

Massive, double doors rest outside her space, looming over me like the gates of hell.

Normally, it’s just part of my day to visit with Zìa.

Our meetings don’t usually spark this nervousness within me.

I guess today is a different story. I know nothing of importance will come from this check-in other than going over my latest kill and getting my next assignment.

Still, my stomach drops the second I knock on the doors.

“Si accomodi!” Zìa calls.

With a simple twist of the glass doorknob on the right, I enter Zìa’s vibrant queendom.

Her office is not terribly large, but it is exquisite.

I am met with the large floor to ceiling windows on my right as soon as I enter the room and shut the door behind me.

House plants of all shapes, sizes, and varieties decorate the eggshell colored walls, the built-in bookshelves, and antique side tables.

In the center of the room, Zìa stares down at her computer screen, seated perfectly in the middle of her rich, mahogany desk.

Ever since I can remember, her office has smelled of freshly bloomed magnolias. I’m not sure how her office always smells so lovely, but it’s pleasant. Comforting.

As soon as I take a step forward, Zìa’s eyes wander away from her computer to look up at me. She smiles her crooked smile with her dark, glossed over lips, then motions for me to sit down in the plush armchair across from her.

“Nipote,” she says. “How are you this fine morning?”

A little upset that you’re so fucking eager to find a new heir to replace you on the throne when I’ve been working for you for eight fucking years. But Zìa is the last person to start a fight with, so I simply say, “I’m well, Zìa.”

“Excellent.” She clasps her hands together, and her perfectly manicured, blood red nails flash in the light.

She’s had the same shape and color forever, and I have never seen a single nail chipped.

Zìa returns her attention to her computer, makes a few clicks, then asks, “How was last night? I see you completed your report already, as usual.”

I nod. “It was a standard assignment. No complications.”

“Good, good.” She leans back in her computer chair and locks eyes with me. “How do you feel about leaving the country on assignment?”

My curiosity peaks at her words. I haven’t traveled outside of Italy in years. It’s not typical for me to leave the area where most of our business happens. Not unless there’s something pressing elsewhere, or if we were hired from a wealthy family overseas. “Where?”

She laughs. “The states.” Her eyebrows raise.

I know she can probably tell I wasn’t expecting that answer.

The United States is the last place we are usually assigned.

It’s also the last place I’d like to travel, if I’m being honest. “I know that is not what you were expecting—I wasn’t expecting it, either, truly. ”

“May I ask— why?”

Zìa snorts, but nods. “You have never had to deal with this since you have come of age, but there are many Italian families who moved to the states who remain in contact with us. Some of these families moved there as long as a century ago, and others moved quite recently. Anyway, these families are old money and have ties to us that go way back. Every so often, they will put in requests for our services. Once several families make requests, that is when I send someone to America to get the jobs done at once. There is no use in going back and forth between countries.”

I cluck my tongue as I mull over her words. “I see. So… how many assignments will I have?”

Zìa swivels a little in her chair and repositions herself back in front of her computer. I sit in silence as she finds what she’s looking for. Her eyes, which are painted in coal black eyeliner, squint in concentration. After a few moments, she returns her attention back to me. “Five.”

“Five?” That’s less than I was thinking. Then again, I shouldn’t have assumed anything at all. It’s not like I’ve ever gone to the states for work before. “Okay. So, how long will I be there?”

She shrugs. “For however long it will take. Think of this as a working vacation. You can see America in between jobs.”

I glare and Zìa laughs. She knows I’m not one to play that much.

Especially not when I’m supposed to be focusing on my work.

“Where, exactly, are you sending me, Zìa? When?” I can’t help the questions.

I haven’t been to America since I was a child on a family trip to New York City.

It’s not like I care about traveling. I do it for other assignments.

“You will reside in Washington, D.C., as your assignments live there or right on the outskirts. I have more requests from other parts of America, but they aren’t of my concern quite yet.

You may be in D.C. for a couple of weeks, or a month.

It depends on how long you will need, but you have a more flexible timeline with these.

” She exhales through her nose, then adds, “Seeing as you finished up your last assignment last night, I was thinking of sending you off tomorrow. Or Monday, if you need more time to prepare.”

Tomorrow? Christ, whoever needs to be assassinated must be somewhat pressing, flexible deadline or not. That, or like Zìa said, perhaps the request was put in a while ago, and time is of the essence.

“Uh, I think Monday would be best. I’d like to rest up and take my time to pack to ensure I have everything I need.

” Suddenly, it feels like there’s a giant layer of dirt stuck in the back of my throat.

I force myself to breathe. I’m not thrilled about leaving.

I’ve always been somewhat of a homebody, because I love Venice.

I remind myself that this will be temporary; that I will return as soon as I’m finished with the kills.

“Grande,” Zìa says, beaming at me. “I will get everything arranged in the meantime.”

Yeah, I think. Great.