Page 101 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
"Whispers from one of the Adriatic port families. Someone named Vescari. He said it like it was common knowledge."
Vescari. The name sticks. He's not one of ours. He's not supposed to be speaking of our family with that kind of familiarity.
"Do you believe it?" I ask, voice softer now. Sometimes softness cuts deeper than anger.
"No, Signore," Matteo replies quickly. "Only others do. But rumors like that...they don't rise on their own."
Giovanni's voice cuts in, smooth and sharp. "That'll be all, Matteo."
Matteo stands. I step aside, letting him pass, but not before I catch the flicker in his eyes. He knows he's said too much. He just doesn't know which part has offended me.
The moment the door shuts behind him, Giovanni turns to me.
"Well. That was informative," he says, casually folding his arms.
I raise an eyebrow. "Which part?"
"Oh, take your pick. The fact that Aria has been hiding under fig trees and bougainvillea while we've all been bleeding for five years. Or the sudden swell of gossip suggesting our king has grown weak."
"You think he's lying?" I ask, brow raised slightly, a frown resting between them.
"No," Giovanni replies, tilting his head slightly. "I think Matteo told the truth. The problem is where the lie came from. Rumors like that don't just grow. They're planted. Watered. Repeated until they sound like prophecy."
"And you think someone inside is feeding them."
Giovanni chuckles dryly. "I think someone very clever wants us to believe the family is fragile. And if enough people believe it, it becomes true."
I watch him for a long moment. He meets my gaze without flinching.
"Are you accusing anyone?" I ask.
"Not yet," he says. "But if I were you, I'd tread carefully. Luca's pride is a fragile thing when it's wounded. And now you're carrying a match in one hand and tinder in the other."
I know what he means.
Aria.
The child.
The risk of choosing wrong.
He steps closer, voice pitched low.
"So, what do you plan to do about her?"
The question doesn't surprise me.
Giovanni plays the long game.
Always has.
"I don't know yet," I say, because I don't owe him more than that.
He nods once. A slow, thoughtful gesture, I'll give him that.
"Whatever you decide," he says, already moving toward the door, "decide soon. The wind is shifting. And you don't want to be caught standing still when the roof comes off."
I brush past him without a word, and he follows.
