He chuckles and grabs my hand. "Sure."
We start with an action movie—something with explosions and terrible dialogue. I'm curled up on one end of the couch, Marco on the other, my legs stretched across his lap. His hand rests on my ankle, thumb making absent circles on my skin.
"This is so unrealistic," I say when the hero jumps from a building and lands perfectly in a helicopter. "That would break every bone in his body."
"It's a movie. You're supposed to suspend disbelief."
"I can suspend disbelief. I can't suspend basic physics."
Marco laughs, and the sound does something warm to my chest. "You're one of those people who ruins movies, aren't you?"
"I prefer 'enhances with commentary.'"
"Uh-huh." His hand slides higher up my calf. "What about this?" He gestures to the screen where the hero is now defusing a bomb with thirty seconds left.
"Oh please. The red wire, blue wire thing? That's not how bombs work."
"How do you know how bombs work?"
"I read." I take a sip of water. "And I had a very educational childhood in a mafia family."
His expression darkens slightly. "Did Elio teach you?"
"Some. Mostly I learned by watching. Listening." I shrug. "You pick things up when you grow up around people who solve problems with violence."
"Like how to shoot."
"Like how to shoot," I confirm. "My dad might be a coward, but he at least made sure I could protect myself."
Marco's quiet for a moment, then: "Show me."
"What?"
"After the movie. Show me what you can do."
I raise an eyebrow. "You want me to shoot up my apartment?"
"I want to see you handle a weapon up close."
"I'm an excellent shot. Vito uses me as a sniper. You know this."
"Prove it."
The challenge in his voice sends heat through me. "Fine. But when I do, you have to admit I'm better than you."
"We'll see about that, little fox."
The movie continues, but I'm hyperaware of Marco's hand on my leg now. How it's slowly moving higher. How every touch feels deliberate.
"You know what I think?" I say during a particularly ridiculous fight scene.
"What?"
"I think you're trying to distract me."
"From what?"
"The movie. With the..." I gesture to where his hand is now resting on my thigh, dangerously close to the hem of my shorts.
