Page 23 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
I reach for my phone, pressing Enzo's number before I can second-guess myself.
It rings once. Then again.
Then the line cuts out.
I stare at the screen, frustration twisting inside me.
Where is he?
Tossing the phone onto my vanity, I drag a hand through my hair before unfastening the delicate clasps of my dress.
The silk pools at my feet, discarded without thought as I reach for my chemise.
The fabric is cool against my skin, thin and weightless as I slip it over my shoulders, my fingers tracing along the lines of my stomach without thinking.
My thoughts drift before I can stop them.
I remember the way Enzo's hands had roamed over my skin, the roughness of his palms against the softness of my body.
The heat of his breath as he whispered things meant only for me.
The way his grip had tightened when I arched beneath him, his body heavy over mine, the press of him claiming me in ways I shouldn't have allowed but never once regretted.
My fingers curl into the fabric at my waist, gripping it, gathering it, the memory of him still imprinted on my skin.
A knock at the door jolts me back to the present.
I release the gathered silk, smoothing it over my thighs before crossing the room.
The handle is cool beneath my fingertips as I unlock the door, pulling it open just enough for Luciana to slip inside.
She moves quickly, closing the door behind her, her expression unreadable.
She presses a small brown paper bag into my hands.
"First thing in the morning." Her eyes are full of worry for me, and before she steps away, she envelops me in a tight hug.
Her gaze searches mine, waiting for reassurance, maybe, or permission to be as terrified as I am.
My throat tightens as I clutch the bag to my chest. "Luciana…" My voice quivers, raw in a way I rarely allow it to be.
Her shoulders loosen, the fire in her eyes dimming just a little.
"It's going to be okay."
I nod, though neither of us believes it.
"Thank you."
She gives my hand a squeeze before slipping out, leaving me alone with the one thing I cannot ignore any longer.
I set the bag down on my nightstand, staring at it as if it might change the reality of what it contains.
The bed feels cold when I finally crawl beneath the sheets, the silk smooth against my skin but offering none of the comfort I crave.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, but my thoughts churn relentlessly.
I don't know how long I lay there, shifting, staring at the ceiling, at the faint glow of the city spilling through the curtains.
