Page 5 of Stalk

As soon as I finally make it into the shower, the scalding hot water pouring over the top of my head and down the nape of my neck, I hear the words my mother used to tell me over and over again.

“You were not born tough. You are a sensitive soul. There is nothing wrong with that. You feel all the things that others cannot.”

I laugh darkly to myself at the voice inside my head. “Were you sure about that,Hahaoya?” I ask aloud, as though her spirit is here, listening. “All along, you knew this could happen.”

Unwelcome tears fall down my cheeks and mix with the water. My eyes are sore. My soul burns. Feeling what others cannot is more of a curse than a blessing. How is it that I came from a woman who chosethiskind of life? I’ve done it for almost two years, and each time I take a life, another crack forms insideof me. I don’t know how I’m still standing. I don’t know how much more it will take for me to completely lose it.

I clean my body from head to foot, scrubbing every inch of my skin on autopilot as my thoughts race and swirl around in my brain. When I get out of the shower, the bathroom is thick with steam. I already brushed my teeth in the shower, so I don’t bother staying in the bathroom any longer. Instead, I drop my towel to the floor and head to my bedroom. The heat from the water has my pulse racing all over again. Without getting dressed, I fall onto my bed and stare at the high ceiling to cool down.

When the feelings get out of control—whatever control I have left, anyway—I stumble to a stand and fetch the bottle of vodka out of the mini fridge I keep beside my dresser. No chasers tonight. Most nights, I don’t drink. Sometimes, it makes all of the feelings much worse. I’m taking a chance tonight. I need sleep.

I take hearty sips until the thoughts stop consuming me. Until my heart slows down. I drink and drink more until I’m okay with being in my own skin again. Eventually, the numbness takes over once more. Only then do I put the liquor away and fall asleep.

CHAPTER 3

Mattia

Venice 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 soemotional. 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 typicallytryto 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 theirdomestic 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 notsupposedto 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 wantyouto 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 thatyouwould 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 Giordanomencan 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?—”

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