Page 118 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
Her hair is longer now, drawn back in a bun. Her face has thinned, but her eyes… god, the light in them is as sweet as it ever was.
"Aria," she breathes.
I fall into her arms.
She leads me inside, sits me down in the kitchen with a cup of tea before I can speak. Her hands shake slightly, but her voice is steady.
"I thought you were dead. We all did. The crash…the estate…your parents…"
"I know," I whisper.
"The Salvatore men came through like pirates. Took everything. Burned the rest. Your mother begged them to spare the chapel. They did not."
I nod. I knew already. But hearing it from her, the pain roots deeper.
"You've been here long?"
"Two years. Doctor Rivetti takes in patients that the hospitals won't touch. War men, old criminals, girls too scared to say their names. I cook. I clean. I write letters no one answers."
Her lower lip trembles briefly, but she presses on. "And you? You have a child. I saw the picture in your pocket when you hugged me."
"His name is Gabriel."
She smiles, and it breaks my heart. We fall into silence, the kind that only old grief can carve. Then Luciana leans in slightly. "Word is being spread, even this far down," she says. "They say Luca Salvatore is no longer what he was."
I stiffen. "Who says that?"
"Men who pass through here with wounds they won't explain. Businessmen who no longer use his name at ports. Even the doctor has heard it."
"You believe it?"
Shehmmsthoughtfully. "I believe something is moving beneath him. Someone. I've seen this before. A king never falls by a blade. He falls by shadow."
Her eyes narrow. "And your Enzo?"
"Still loyal. Still dangerous." I scratch my throat tentatively.
She shakes her head, her eyes growing deep with worry. "Then watch him. If there is rot inside the house, it will come for him first."
Her words make me shiver, even as I finish the sweet, hot tea. We hug again, tighter this time. She presses a small card into my hand. "Come back when you can. And if not, write."
I promise I will. I step outside.
The air has cooled slightly, the sun dipping behind the hills as I get into another taxi and head back to the Salvatore estate. I reach it just past sundown.
On arriving at the south house, I hear voices—the murmur of voices down the hall, and a softer sound that makes me pause. Laughter. Gabriel's.
I walk slowly toward the main room, the morning sun slanting through the tall windows, casting long bars of light across the floors.
There, near the small kitchen table, I see Enzo is crouched beside Gabriel, helping him piece together a wooden puzzle that must have been brought in while I was gone.
His sleeves are rolled, his forearms braced on the table, and the curve of his mouth is soft in a way I had forgotten he was capable of. Gabriel grins as he fits the last piece, and Enzo reaches over to ruffle his hair.
It is a scene I do not expect to see.
And one I know I will never forget.
"He woke early," Enzo says without looking up. "Said he was hungry, so I made eggs. Burned the first batch."
