Page 359 of Marcello

“Yes,” she said softly as I followed her through the jagged hole.

“Niccolo Rosolini, at your service. Please excuse the bodies.”

Three corpses had been dragged to the side: the one Giulietta had killed, and two others who had been shot.

She glanced at them, then turned away.

In the light of the hallway, Giulietta’s appearance was even worse than I’d thought. She was covered head to foot in dust and grime, and her hair was tangled with cobwebs.

Despite that, she remained the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen – and the bravest.

All the brothers, Lucia, and Lars were there, but no one commented on her appearance –

Maybe because Dario’s was worse.

He was barechested with a gash across his stomach. Dried blood coated both his abdomen and his hands.

He stepped forward.

“I’m Dario Rosolini. I would shake hands with you, but…” he trailed off wryly.

“Don Rosolini,” Giulietta said. “I’ve heard of you.”

“I’m very sorry about your family.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “The man who did it… he’s dead?”

Dario’s eyes flashed with dark satisfaction. “He is burning in hell as we speak.”

“Good,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry to rush you, but the deal we made with the rest of the Camorra means we have to leave as soon as possible. Unfortunately, we need you to get cleaned up quickly.”

“Yes, of course.”

Niccolo held out a bottle of water. “I thought you might need this.”

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, and drained half of it in one long gulp.

Lucia spoke up. “If you need help cleaning up, I can go with you.”

“I’ll help her,” I replied. “But thanks.”

While the others went about their business, I helped Giulietta walk to her bedroom.

We passed more dead Camorra on the way.

“Don’t look,” I told her.

“I’m alright,” she murmured. “As long as they’re dead, I’m fine.”

Once inside her bathroom, I peeled off my grungy clothes as she slipped off her negligee.

I gazed at her lovely breasts. Despite how tired I was and how much I’d been through, my cock started to get a hard-on.

“Sorry,” I apologized.

She grinned. “For what? I’d be mad if you didn’t get hard.”