Her Italian Hitman

by Regina Wade

  Nearly at eye level with Enzo, the man’s dark hair is cropped close, his eyes sparkling light in the early morning sun. Clearly, he’s not just the proprietor of a gun shop off the strip. The annoyance in his tone and the humor in his hazel eyes tells me this is someone who’s dealt with Enzo one on one before.

  “Remy Martineau,” Enzo says through gritted teeth. “This is Eliza Piazza. She’s the one who killed Gio Bianchi.”

  “Technically,” I hold up a finger, interrupting Enzo’s introduction. “He did that to himself. All I did was knee him in the balls a little bit.”

  Remy considers our faces for a moment in silence before reaching under the counter for another coffee cup.

  “None for us,” Enzo holds out a hand. “I need Eliza completely sober. We’re going to practice.”

  That gets Remy’s complete attention. He stops pouring his own liquid breakfast. Despite his appalling dietary choices, the man’s hazel eyes are crystal clear. Beyond the faint lines at the corners of his hazel eyes, an entire world stretches. It reminds me of the depths I’ve caught in Enzo’s own beautiful blue gaze. These men have seen some shit.

  “Have you ever shot a weapon, cherie?” Remy asks.

  I shrug a shoulder. “Unless you count one of those bachelorette party tours on the strip? You know the ones. Try a pink AK-47 with your girlfriends.” I shake my head. “Not until this morning. I’m acting on instinct.”

  Still unsure of myself, I look up into Enzo's face. But he only presses another kiss to the top of my head before pointing at the man across the glass.

  “Her instincts are some of the best I’ve ever seen. She saved my ass this morning. Get her outfitted, Remy. I have to make some calls.”

  I’m not sure what I expected the inside of a gun store to look like, but this isn’t it. It's clean in here— almost sterile. From where he’s left us at the counter, I can see Enzo. He’s stalking back and forth, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

  Even after such a short amount of time, I can already feel when he’s ready for action. There’s a tension to Enzo, like a deadly snake that’s been wound tight into a coil, ready to spring and strike without a moment’s hesitation.

  “So, is this for fun or for self-defense?” Remy’s question sounds innocent, but I catch the underlying tension. Clearly, he knows about what’s happening with Bianchi and his men.

  This is what Enzo and Remy do. They’ve been trained to kill, to save lives. I do deep tissue and shiatsu massage for a living.

  The image of the hitwoman falling over the railing flashes in my mind’s eye. I wait for the dizzy pitch of nausea to climb up my gut again, but it doesn’t come this time. As terrifying, confusing as this past day has been, one thing has become crystal clear: I’m stronger than I ever realized.

  I always figured I’d be the fall to pieces type. As it turns out, I can survive a whole lot. Six-story falls, adventure, even a little murder and self-defense. There’s a knot of pride nestled in the middle of my chest, too. When it came down to it, I was able to protect what was mine. I kept myself and Enzo from harm in the heat of the moment. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to the man I love.

  “A bit of both?” The answer surprises me, and I wonder if Remy will think I’m certifiable.

  To my surprise, he laughs.

  “Oh wonderful. You will be very good for my Italian friend, Eliza.” I don’t have time to fully digest the way his eyes light up, or the way he looks pointedly from me to where Enzo is still on the phone, staring right back at me while he talks.

  Remy slides open the case. It takes him no time to find what he’s looking for. Bubble gum pink, the handgun is sleek and small; a much better fit in my palm than Enzo’s. I can’t help but smile when he places it in my palm.

  “How does it feel?” Remy gives me a knowing grin as I adjust my grip. It feels surprisingly good in my hand. “Not too heavy?”

  “Better,” I admit. “Enzo’s weapon is a little bit too big for my hands,” I say with a grin of my own.

  Remy laughs at that.

  “That’s not always a bad problem to have. But you and your weapon need a special connection. It has to sit just right in your palm. You have small hands,” He gestures to the differences between his massive paw and mine. “This is a Walther. It fits better than Enzo’s Beretta. It should give you a steadier shot.” He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “Remy,” Enzo puts his own palm over the receiver of his cell phone and calls out a growl from across the store. “No flirting with my girl. Find your own woman.”

  The sudden burst of possessiveness makes me blush.

  Judging by the devilish turn of Remy’s mouth, he’s enjoying getting under Enzo’s skin just as much as he enjoyed pairing me with the perfect gun on the first try.

  “Better keep a close eye on this one, Rossi. She’s liable to get snatched up right out from under you.” Remy gives me a mischievous wink out of Enzo’s line of sight.

  If I hadn’t met the man of my dreams the night before, I might be falling all over myself for the charming Frenchman. As it is, his antics are over the top enough to make me roll my eyes.

  “Alright, alright,” Enzo stalks over to us. Despite the playful banter between the two friends, there’s a storm raging behind his Sicilian blue eyes. “Get your grubby claws off of my woman. I found her first.” The tight way he snags me around the waist with one big arm and pulls me in for a kiss leaves me momentarily breathless.

  His lips sear everything out of my mind. The killers, the violence, the man behind the counter. All of it is washed away in Enzo’s embrace. The feeling of his passion sends me spiraling out of control.

  “We’re going downstairs,” he growls as we pull apart.

  I’m momentarily confused, my body torqued by need and my brain sizzling from the heat of the kiss. It takes Remy’s voice penetrating my haze of lust to center me again, reminding me that downstairs is the shooting range— not code for the bedroom.

  “When is the meeting?” The Frenchman asks.

  I feel Enzo tense in my arms before he answers.

  “Tomorrow night. I’m bringing a plus one”

  There’s a set of stairs tucked away out of sight in the back of the store. Enzo doesn't slow down for a second, moving around like he owns the place.

  “You’re going after Rocco.” It isn’t a question, but Enzo nods anyway.

  “We’ll be there.” Remy’s face is serious as we pass him. The quiet intensity is back in his eyes. “No matter what, we’ll have your back.”

  I wait until we get to the bottom of the stairs before saying anything.

  The basement of the store is a massive shooting range. It looks well used, but still every bit as tidy as the upstairs part of the shop.

  “What is this place?” I ask Enzo as we make our way to the closest bench and start setting up.

  He grins at me. His face is usually so serious, set in a semi-permanent scowl, that it always hits me just how beautiful he is when he does.

  “It’s jointly owned by about half a dozen agencies. Its official name is the “International Law Liaison. But that’s a mouthful, so most of us just call it the Range.”

  I nod.

  “I kind of figured Remy was a bit more than a sales guy.”

  He chuckles. “Not hardly. He’s at least as deadly as I am. Used to be French Spec Ops. The whole world is looking for the Bianchis, cara.”

  I let the news sit as Enzo walks me through the basics of gun safety and how to load and unload my new sidearm.

  “I need you to get the basics down before tomorrow,” he says as he hands me a magazine to reload for what feels like the tenth time in a row.

  “I think I’ve already got the basics down. Point. Shoot. Bad guys fall over.” I mime a pistol shot, just like the one I took earlier.

  “You got lucky,” He shakes his head. “Beginner’s luck is fine, but you don’t want to count on it. Again.” He points to the row of ammo lin
ed up in front of me.

  I nod, remembering the men who appeared at my front door this morning.

  “So what happens tomorrow?” I ask.

  “I’m taking you to a funeral.”

  I stop mid reload, looking up at Enzo.

  “Am I going to meet your parents? Crazy cousin Susan and the uncle that drinks too much and tells tearful stories about when you were little?”

  He laughs again, taking the loaded magazines out of my hand for inspection.

  “Rocco Bianchi’s brother just died,” Enzo explains as if I hadn’t been there for the event. “Even the biggest mob boss in the world isn’t going to miss something that important. He’s got a lot of face to save. I’ve been working on an undercover sting for months, setting up a meeting with Rocco. The funeral is going to double as business for the Bianchi family, and we’re going to be there for it.”

  I nod. “Okay then, Mr. Hitman. Show me how to shoot.”

  Enzo stands me up, facing the target. It looks tiny, far too far away. He lays my bright pink new gun on the bench in front of me. Then he shifts around behind me, his chest to my back, standing close enough that I can feel the heat coming off of him even through his clothes.

  “First step, relax. Shake that tension out.”

  “A mobster is trying to kill me, Enzo. I’m not going to get any less tense.”

  Enzo chuckles, but his hands come up to my shoulders, kneading them. An involuntary moan escapes my mouth as he finds the right spot and pressure to make my knees go weak.

  “You can be tense before and after, but you have to be a bit loose to shoot right. Think about this morning. You didn’t overthink it, you just did what came naturally, right?”

  I nod. “I didn’t have time to overthink it. You were in trouble.”

  I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, and it makes me shiver.

  “Alright. Now, pick your gun up. Check it. Load it. Safety off. Aim at the target in front of you.” Enzo’s words are murmured against my ear. The cadence of his voice is enough to send fire spreading throughout my body.

  Memories of the night before come crashing back into me. His hands on my body, worshipping me. He holds me with the same care now, and my body reacts to him of its own accord, relaxing into his embrace.

  “There you go. Now, just gently squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it,” Enzo instructs. His voice is soothing and arousing in equal measure, and I’m surprised at how easy it is to fire off two rounds.

  “How’d I do, coach?” I whisper faintly, turning my head to the side to glance up at my protector.

  Enzo reaches past me and punishes the button to recall the target without breaking eye contact. I could drown in the ocean of his eyes. Just looking into their deep midnight blue depths makes me want to strip down and wade in.

  Still without even blinking, Enzo pulls the target around between us. He glances at it, and a wry grin creeps across his face.

  “Well, you hit him in the heart —”

  “Yes!” I pump a fist into the air.

  “ —and the dick.” he grins at me, holding the paper up for my inspection.

  Sure enough, the two pinholes of light in the black human silhouette are in the chest and the crotch respectively.

  I shrug. “I don’t see a problem here. If any of those slimy bastards messes with me, they deserve what they get.”

  Enzo pulls me an appraising glance.

  “Vicious. I like this side of you, Eliza,” He says with approval in his voice. Something clouds his eyes then, his dark brows furrowing at me.

  “You don’t have to come, Eliza. You can stay with Remy and the surveillance team. You don’t ever have to come near any of these people again. I promise you, nobody will ever hurt you again.”

  Danger sparks in his eyes, and I’ve never believed anybody more.

  “I’m not going anywhere without you, Enzo. And I’m not letting you leave me behind, either.” I smile up at him in the soundproof alley of the range. “We do this together, or not at all.” If Enzo thinks he can out-stubborn me, he’s got another thing coming.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I know that I can handle it. And everything that comes after. For the first time, I know the view I want for the rest of my life: the endless blue of Enzo’s eyes, looking back into mine.

  There’s no going back for me. No going back to a normal life, a daily grind without him. Not after Enzo stole my heart and my innocence in one fell swoop.

  Chapter 8

  Enzo

  Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire. Got a whole lot of money that’s ready to burn. — Elvis Presley, ‘Viva Las Vegas’

  There have been a lot of times throughout my life I wished I worked for the CIA.

  They offered me a spot after I graduated at the top of my class, but I turned them down. I was much more patriotic when I was younger. Almost offended at their presumptiveness. Young and full of machismo and Italian pride. I’d been flown into Virgina, given a tour of Langley. They’d made their pitch like they assumed that of course I’d come work for them.

  The thing is, it really would have been the right choice. The smart one.

  But I’d seen it as abandoning my country. I was idealistic, and my sense of honor compelled me to continue working in Sicily. I knew the AISE wasn’t as well-funded as American intelligence, or hell, even MI6. I resolved to change that, to make a difference from within.

  That idealism was quick to fall by the wayside.

  It died somewhere in Mombasa, when I opened up a cargo container full of naked, starving young women.

  Their eyes still haunt me. Dead stares, no hope left in them at all. They had just looked at me blankly, unable to comprehend what freedom meant.

  I railed to my superiors that we needed to go after the big families more after that. Over and over, I was brushed aside. Given busywork. Sent out into the field on one dangerous mission after another. It isn’t difficult to read the writing on the wall, especially when the higher-ups make no qualms about spray painting it in big red letters for you.

  I was a troublemaker. A rabble-rouser. And problems like me usually solve themselves by not making it back from lethal assignments.

  But I did.

  I always made it. Now I’m back again. All the way at the top, and this time I’ve got a noose around the neck of one of the biggest fish to ever cross my path. I don’t care what the red tape says. I’m not about to let him slip out of it this time.

  All of which would be easier if I had the massive budget of my brothers from Langley. There’s not a doubt in my mind that I would already have Bianchi in a cell if I had their resources to draw on.

  But as I admire myself in the mirror, I can’t help but feel a small swell of pride anyway.

  Take that, America. You might have more money, power, and influence. But we’ve got the best clothes in the world.

  Armani might be cliche, but it’s cliche for a reason. The cut is immaculate, the suit clinging to my body in all the right places. I’ve never worn something quite this expensive — but if we’re going to be attending a Bianchi ball, we’ve got to look the part.

  I finish straightening my attire, putting in my one conceit of vanity. Sterling silver cufflinks in the shape of crossed pistols.

  “Eliza? Are you ready?” I ask, calling through the door of the bathroom.

  “Almost. I think so? Come tell me if this is going to work,” she calls back, and I push open the door.

  The sight is enough to make me thank not just my Italian brothers in arms, but every saint I can think of from my Catholic school days. I throw Jesus and Mary in there at the last minute, too. Everyone deserves a quick grazi for the sight before me.

  Eliza looks utterly stunning. Like a Michelangelo statue brought to life and painted in deep midnight blue velvet. Her dress is so tight that I’m afraid her generous cleavage will spill out of the top with every breath she takes. The sweeping column looks like i
t’s been plucked from the night sky and wrapped around her curvy frame. The dress leaves almost nothing to the imagination while still being elegant and sophisticated.

  “Is that Pucci?” I ask, trying to keep calm. My cock is instantly throbbing, aching to be inside my gorgeous woman, but now isn’t the time.

  “Mmhmm. Where in the world did you get it?” She asks, turning to give me an appreciative up-and-down look. “And that suit. Damn, Enzo. You’re going to have every lady there drooling all over themselves.”

  “Then they’ll be in good company with the men who won’t be able to stop staring at you.” I slip inside, moving to stand next to her. I study the mirror, admiring the way we look together.

  “As for where the clothes are from, where else? Home sweet home.”

  Eliza gestures with one hand, seemingly trying to convey her frustration with my answer.

  “Yeah, but how did you get them here so quickly? And tailored to fit?” She asks. The Eliza in the mirror arches one eyebrow at me.

  “One of our fronts in Vegas is a high-end clothing store. As for the fit, I tailored them myself.”

  Eliza furrows her brow at me as she leans forward, applying a deep crimson lipstick. I stare at her, unable to take my eyes off of the erotic sight. In the gleaming light of the bathroom, the bright highlights woven into her hair shimmer like moonlight.

  “Really? Enzo the tailor? Is there anything you can’t do?” She asks as she finishes applying her makeup.

  The sight of her deep ruby red lips pursed together makes me want to abandon all of my hastily thrown together plans and carry her far, far away. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge that she would never be safe, won’t ever be safe until the Bianchi crime family has been dismantled.

  “For you? Nothing. Anything you want, I’ll get you.” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

  Eliza shivers against me, a delicious sensation that makes me long to have her in my arms with no clothes between us.

  “I don’t want anything but you,” she whispers, then smiles. “Preferably far away from here.”