Page 79 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
This place, the Salvatore estate, was designed to look like old money.
But anyone who knows better can see the fortress underneath.
The hidden vaults, the soundproofed chambers, the reinforced foundations built to outlast betrayal.
The door to the dining room is already open.
Luca Salvatore sits at the head of the long oak table, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, hands resting lightly on either side of a glass of Amarone.
His eyes flick toward me for less than a second.
I sit to his right, beside Dante, the third Salvatore brother.
Giovanni settles beside me like it's second nature.
Alessandra enters a moment later, her perfume hinting at bergamot and polished stone.
Cristiano rises to kiss her cheek.
Marco doesn't even look up from his phone.
Valentina isn't attending, presumably because she is visiting her best friend.
Luca doesn't question it anymore.
Took him years to track her down after she ran, and now that she's back under his roof, he's learned to handle her differently.
He doesn't like her sharp tongue or the way she speaks her mind in rooms that prefer silence, but he lets it slide more often than not.
Call it respect.
Or strategy.
Either way, he knows better than to cage something that fought so hard to stay free.
The conversation begins to ebb and flow as we eat.
This, right here, is the inner circle.
No outsiders. No pretense.
Giovanni leans in. "Luca's in a mood."
I glance at the half-empty wine glass in front of our Don, then at the pile of folded reports by his elbow.
It's that something has shifted in the last few months.
Unspoken, unnamed. Just under the surface.
Old enemies breathing again.
New threats growing teeth.
Cristiano, who had occupied himself with breakfast, sets his cutlery down. "There's chatter in Naples. Something about a port job that didn't go quiet."
Marco flips a page in the dossier beside him. "Di Ravello boys are making noise again. Probably just pushing territory, but they're using our corridors. That makes it ours."
Luca lifts his gaze, finally. "I want names by morning."
