Page 111 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
Even now, it looks eternal, like it has been carved into the earth to outlast empires.
The dark stone façade catches the last light of morning, and I feel something cold ripple through me as we drive through the gates. It is the kind of place that remembers everything.
I do not need to see the walls to know they are thick with the voices of the dead, the decisions of men who never had to kneel, and the weight of loyalty that doesn't waver, even when it wounds.
The gates creak open without hesitation, a signal that we were expected.
I feel Gabriel tense beside me, his small body curled slightly inward as he clutches the straps of his backpack.
He does not know where we are, but his instincts are good, and this place does not feel safe to him.
Enzo notices. His hand slides to Gabriel's shoulder and gives it a firm, silent squeeze.
I watch my son respond to it, not with words, but with a steadiness that stuns me.
His body softens, his breathing evens out. He doesn't speak, but he holds Enzo's gaze a moment longer than he needs to, andsomething unspoken passes between them. A thread forming. One I never thought would be allowed to exist.
The car halts at the front entrance. A butler I don't recognize opens the door and nods his head low.
We are ushered in without ceremony, and still, every footstep feels like it echoes across years I've tried to outrun.
The corridors are unchanged. Same arched ceilings, same polished floors, same dark wood panels that hide secrets as easily as they reflect the light.
I try not to look too long at the carved moldings or the paintings I once passed as a girl.
They haven't forgotten me.
And I don't trust myself not to remember everything if I stare too long.
"Aria?"
I stop mid-step. The voice is low, warm, and unsurprised. I turn to see Giovanni stepping out of a side hallway, his suit crisp, his mouth already tilting into the kind of smile that makes most men trust him and most women resent him for how easily he can disarm.
"You're not a ghost, after all," he says, and for a moment, it feels like he might hug me.
He doesn't.
He only surveys me, his gaze dropping to Gabriel, then flicking back to Enzo.
"I didn't think you'd bring her here," he says to Enzo. I'm almost sure he's lying.
"I couldn't do what Luca asked," Enzo replies, and his voice carries the same steel that once made me shiver in bed.
I glance toward Giovanni, waiting for him to argue or nod or scoff, but he does none of those things. He only gestures toward the eastern wing.
"Luca is waiting. He wanted her brought in quietly. Guess that part's out the window."
We follow him without a word. The walk is longer than I remember, or maybe time plays tricks when every step feels like the beginning of a reckoning.
I wonder if they will offer me coffee or cold glances. Whether I'll be given a seat or a verdict.
Gabriel holds my hand. His grip is firm, tighter than usual. He senses more than he understands, and I hate that I've made him a part of this world.
Even now, I want to turn around, take him somewhere quiet, bake him brownies, and pretend none of this exists.
But I've run long enough.
The door to the great room opens, and all warmth drains from the air. The room is cavernous, with high ceilings and marble floors that reflect the light like mirrors.
