Page 8 of The Hitman's Forbidden Obsession

And I can’t deny the pride that swells up in my chest at the knowledge she seems to be just as affected by me as I am by her.

I take her in slowly, letting my eyes linger. The soft curves under her dress. The way her hair catches the light. The warmth in her face that doesn’t belong to someone used to being admired like this.

But she will get used to it. I’ll make sure of it. She’s got an entire lifetime ahead of her now, with me showing her every day just how damn perfect she is.

The server comes and goes, scribbling down our orders and refilling our drinks before disappearing again. The moment we’re alone, she reaches for her phone, fingers tapping nervously.

“Sorry, I just need to quickly text my dad,” she says with a quiet smile. “He’s expecting me home for dinner.”

My ears sharpen at the mention of her father.

“Close, are you?” I ask, keeping my tone light. Curious. Like I’m just making small talk.

“Yeah,” she says without hesitation. “Always have been. He’s the best guy I know.”

There’s that warm smile again. The one that melts my fucking heart every time I see it. But I nod slowly, filing that information away. If I’m going to keep my angel safe, I’ll need to know as much as possible about her and her family.

“What about your mom?”

Her expression shifts, just a flicker. Still soft, but touched with something that looks a lot like sadness.

“She died when I was really young,” she says. “But I have a stepmom now. Victoria. She’s great.”

I keep my jaw still as I have my suspicions confirmed. Her stepmom. My fingers wrap around the stem of my glass instead of curling into a fist.

Avery likes her. The woman who paid to have her killed. She thinks Victoria is great, and that makes my stomach turn.

To make things worse, that bitch is probably using the old man’s money to hire me to take out his daughter. The one he loves. The one he raised after losing his wife. Sick doesn’t even begin to cover it.

And meanwhile, Avery just sits there, glowing under candlelight, thinking the world is still a good place.

“Sounds like a solid family,” I finally manage, low and even.

Avery tilts her head slightly, studying me across the candlelight. “What about yours?”

It’s a simple question. Soft. Curious. But it lands like a brick to the chest.

I could lie. But something about the way she looks at me makes it feel impossible to give her anything but the truth.

I lean back in the booth and slide my fingers around the rim of my glass. “I didn’t have much of one.”

Her eyes don’t widen. She doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She waits, just listening. So I keep going, slow at first. Careful.

“Bounced around foster homes growing up. Never stayed anywhere long enough to unpack. You learn early not to get too attached. People come and go, and if you let yourself care, it just hurts more when they disappear.”

Avery’s expression shifts, like I’ve handed her something fragile, and she’s holding it gently in her hands.

“So I joined the military the second I turned eighteen,” I continue. “I needed a way out. Somewhere to go that wasn’t just... waiting around to be unwanted again. The structure was good for me. It gave me purpose. Kept me focused.”

I never tell anyone this. Hell, half the time I pretend I don’t remember most of it. But for her, it just spills out. Like my past is begging to be known by her.

Her voice is soft. “And now?”

Now I kill people for money, angel.

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I give her a half-truth. “Now I work for myself. I still like the discipline. The quiet.”

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