Page 105 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
He waits, then steps closer. "You disappeared. Not a word. Not a trace. You think that went unnoticed? You think I didn't bleed trying to find you?"
"I had no choice."
His laugh is a low, bitter thing. "There's always a choice."
"I had Gabriel," I say softly, and it hits the air like a confession.
He stills, and for the first time, he looks past me, down the hall. Toward the room we left behind.
"You should have told me," he repeats.
I drop my gaze to the floor. "I didn't trust you."
"You didn't trust me?" His voice rises, but one look from me and he takes it down a notch. This, this kind of softness, is unexpected from him.
"No," I say, letting the syllable stand in silence. "I had no reason to. Enzo, you didn't really act like dad-material back then. I gave you enough chances. You may have meant well, but you used me from the moment you laid eyes on me. I wasn't your property, Enzo. That would have… that would have made you the same as every other person who has ever loved me while holding a gun to my back."
My mouth starts to tremble, and the heat behind my eyes finally breaks.
I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, furious with myself for letting them fall.
I glance at him once, then force my voice to stay level. "You can argue with me if you want. You can tell me I'm wrong. Youcan say I've twisted things, that I made it worse than it was. But don't just stand there. If you really believe it wasn't like that, then say so."
He opens his mouth as if to argue, then snaps it shut.
I wrap my arms around myself, not for warmth, but to hold something in.
My ribs feel too fragile for this kind of ache. "Luca wants you dead."
"And you?" I ask, lifting my chin. "Do you want me dead, too? That'd make things easier, wouldn't it?"
He doesn't answer.
He turns to the window, the shadows slashing his features in the firelight.
When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse, almost whispery, and completely unlike him. "I came to see if it was really you."
"And now that you've seen me?"
He faces me. Something rises behind his eyes. Anger. Hurt. Longing. I can't tell anymore. "Now I need to know the truth."
I laugh, perhaps a little wildly. "Why would you want to listen? I didn't think you ever cared for anything the spoiled Lombardi princess had to say."
Enzo's eyes bore into mine. "You're right, I misjudged you. But you hid my son from me."
There's no point lying about it, so I don't even try.
Instead, I square my shoulders and ball my palms into fists, making sure he hears me slow and clear.
"Gabriel is mine," I say, drawing out each word. "I gave him life, I did it all on my own. You don't get to just show up and claim him, Enzo."
He takes one step closer, his furious stare pinning me in place more effectively than any command.
I feel my spine press to the plaster behind me, the wall cool against my back, grounding me even as my pulse ricochets through my throat.
There is no kindness in his eyes now, only something raw and barely contained, the kind of fury that simmers not from hate, but from betrayal, from yearning left too long to rot.
His hand lifts. For a breath, I flinch, because I know how much anger he carries, how tightly it coils beneath his skin.
