Page 31 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
He does not look back.
I follow.
We pass through the hush of velvet-draped halls and past portraits of Salvatore men I do not recognize: new kings painted like old gods, their eyes stern, their suits impeccable.
At the end of the corridor, Enzo reaches for a wooden door set with a lion's head knocker, its brass mouth frozen in mid-roar.
The metal catches a glint of light as he pushes it open without ceremony.
Then he disappears inside, leaving the door ajar behind him.
After a second of hesitation, I follow to find him standing in the center of the room, his back half-turned, the collar of his shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled once at the cuffs.
The room itself is spare—walnut floors, tall arched windows veiled with sheer curtains that filter the evening light into amber.
A decanter of scotch glows like fire on the mantle.
There are no family photos, no art.
Only books.
Volumes are stacked along shelves, the kind that speak not of leisure but of study.
War histories. Strategy. Biographies of men who rose by breaking the rules their fathers taught them.
He does not smile when he sees me.
"Aria."
I shut the door behind me.
For a moment, he simply watches me, his gaze raking over the gown, the curve of my shoulder, the line of my neck.
Then, he moves to the bar and pours a glass, the decanter catching the lamplight as he tilts it.
He doesn't offer one to me.
"So," he says, voice calm, almost bored. "Your family allows you to wander the lion's den in silk now?"
I lift my chin. "It was time I learned to hunt."
The corner of his mouth curves. "You came to the wrong predator."
"I came to speak."
He takes a sip, then turns, leaning against the table with one hand resting on the glass.
His eyes are unreadable, but his body is so still it feels like waiting. "I told you that we meet when I reach out. This is careless, Aria."
I hate how easily he dismantles me.
I hate that I came here thinking I could be coy, clever.
That I could play him the way I've played diplomats and suitors, men twice his age and half as dangerous.
I lift my chin defiantly. "It was important."
"Say what you came to say," he murmurs.
