Page 45 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
I rise slowly, brushing dust from the borrowed jeans.
"I think I'd rather go where the city can't find us."
He nods, a ghost of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"Then come with me."
We take the coast road, the one that curves high above the cliffs, where the sea glimmers like black glass below.
The sky turns to rose and indigo around us, the scent of salt and wind drifting through the windows.
Neither of us speaks much.
But the silence is not awkward.
It is the kind that settles between people who are still deciding what parts of themselves they can bear to reveal.
He takes me to a restaurant carved into the cliffs above the old harbor.
There is no sign.
No valet.
Just a narrow staircase down to a terrace where candlelight dances across worn stone and linen-draped tables.
The view is obscene.
Waves crash against the rocks far below, their spray catching the last light as it fades behind the horizon.
Vines twist around iron railings, and a violin plays somewhere out of sight.
We do not speak of our families.
We do not speak of what happens next.
We eat grilled fish and lemon pasta and watch the sea turn dark as onyx.
I laugh once.
He reaches across the table and wipes a drop of oil from my chin.
For a heartbeat, everything feels almost normal.
When we return to the car, his hand lingers at the small of my back.
I lean into it.
Not because I need the support, but because I no longer want to pretend I don't want him close.
Back at the estate, I hesitate.
The light above the front entrance glows like an eye that has never closed.
My phone buzzes again.
"I need to go home," I say quietly.
Enzo does not argue.
