Page 3 of Stalk

It’s early June, and the weather has been mostly sunny and warm, so I figure I will check the balcony just off ofil 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 sheisthe 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 goodgenes,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.

CHAPTER 2

Ren

Ican never wash my hands well enough. No matter how hard I try, I can still feel it coating my flesh. The blood.So much blood.Not just from tonight, either. From every night I’ve taken a life. I carry each soul with me every time their blood paints my skin crimson. Try as I might to use gloves and not make a mess, I almost always fail. Even when I think I’ve been successful, I’ll come home and see blood spatter on my wrists—my neck—somewhere.It’s like each person always finds a way to haunt me. To leave their mark.

If only they knew the impact they have far after they’ve taken their last breath.

My last kill was a horrible person. There’s no doubt about that. His file detailed the sex trafficking ring he ran. I got the pleasure of reading all about the pre-teens and young teenagers he trafficked. Learned all the gory details of his trade, including all of his past charges and even the offenses he made without the legal system’s knowledge.

He was sick. Perverted. Downright evil, I would say.

Still, taking his life made me sick. I know that the majority of normal people love to say that people like the sex trafficker deserve a fate worse than death. Some of those people mighteven say they’d be fine with executing him themselves. All I can say is that the fantasy of taking a life is far different than actually carrying out the act.

No matter how evil the person is, being in the business of taking lives takes its toll on me. More than that, really. I think it’s killing me. Physically and spiritually. Some people are good at it, I suppose. But I’m the type of person who traps spiders and sets them free outside. I’m the type of person who buries dead birds when I find them in my backyard. Killing is the last thing I was put on this earth to do. Yet I have no choice but to live my life like this.

The build up to the actual assassination is worse than the comedown from it all. It’s a vicious cycle I can’t seem to break away from. As soon as I’m assigned my next target, my stomach clenches like an iron fist. Then, the shortness of breath. The flashes of all the faces of the people I’ve taken come and go during my waking and sleeping hours; unrelenting. The night sweats wake me up, and sometimes I can’t fall back asleep afterwards because my heartbeat pounds at the back of my throat and the nausea slides throughout my stomach and intestines like a serpent.

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