Page 135 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
But I keep moving, inching the blade between the cords, pulling, twisting, slicing until the final knot tears and my feet kick free.
I don't move immediately. I just lie there on the floor, breathing, feeling the sting of open cuts and the stickiness of soup and blood drying on my skin. But I am free.
I sit up slowly.
My head spins.
The room tilts again, and I brace my hand against the ground until it steadies.
The shard is still in my hand. I don't let it go.
There's no window. No visible cameras.
Just the door and the table and the shattered bowl on the floor.
I rise to my feet, one at a time, unsteady but upright.
Every step hurts, but every step reminds me that I am not broken.
I survived once already. I can do it again.
And this time, I will not leave quietly.
25
ENZO
Gabriel is with Valentina.
I left him curled beside her and her children, as she read from a Russian fairytale to all of them.
His eyes were wide, and for the first time, happy. He hasn't been around kids his age for a while, and that, to me, is another big crime.
There's only one way to understand what Giovanni is actually made of. I've already asked the guards and I know where to go.
I follow the scent of roses and old earth down the eastern path, past the weather-worn benches and the chapel ruins that haven't held a prayer in years.
And then I see Cristiano and Alessandra, tangled in shadow behind the trellis wall, her arms wrapped around his neck, his mouth brushing her collarbone. The intimacy is careless, and stupidly so. It pisses me off immediately.
I step out from the path, gun already in my hand. "Get off her."
Cristiano jerks like a whip just cracked near his spine. Alessandra gasps, shoving him back with a startled curse. "What the hell?—"
"I said move."
Cristiano puts his hands up, half-expecting a joke, but I do not smile. I keep the muzzle trained right where his heart beats.
"Enzo, what are you doing?" Alessandra snaps, trying to mask her fear with arrogance. "Put that thing away."
"You're going to tell me the truth," I say, stepping closer. "About Giovanni. About where he came from. And who he answers to."
Cristiano scowls. "Gio's with the family. He's always been?—"
"Shut up."
He falls silent. I turn my gaze to Alessandra, watching the way her throat tightens. Her composure falters now, but not from fear of the gun.
"You've known all along," I say. "Haven't you?"
