Page 121 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
I follow the stone path through the gardens, nod to a guard who does not nod back, and keep walking until I pass the iron arch that marks the inner courtyard.
There, I see Giovanni.
He is leaning against one of the pillars, a cigarette burning between two fingers, watching a pair of estate men unload a crate from the back of a van.
His shirt is unbuttoned at the throat, his sleeves rolled neatly, and the half-smile that curves his lips sharpens when his gaze finds me.
"Buongiorno, Signorina Lombardi," he drawls, flicking ash to the flagstone. "Enjoying the morning chill, or just avoiding our benevolent king?"
His tone is meant to sound like charm, but there's a twist to it that grates beneath the skin. I nod once, offering a neutral smile. "Just walking."
"You should take someone with you. Even the gardens can be treacherous if you step in the wrong place."
"Is that a warning?"
"An observation."
I step past him, and for a breath, he matches my pace.
"Your son—Gabriel, is it?—he looks like you. But he's got Enzo's eyes. Dangerous combination."
"You've been watching him?"
He smiles, and for some reason, it makes him look like a cackling hyena. "It's my job to watch everyone."
The conversation dies there, as I veer toward the orchard path and leave him behind.
But my hands are tight fists in my coat pockets, and something about his presence lingers too long.
By noon, I've returned to the south house.
Gabriel eats in silence and slinks away to watch television once he's done, worn down from sulking.
I read while the wind rattles the glass, but my thoughts spiral until I abandon the book entirely.
When dusk falls, I walk again. The halls are quieter now, the estate shedding its activity like skin.
As I pass through the long gallery outside the music room, I spot Valentina.
She is seated by the window with a book open in her lap and a cup of untouched tea beside her.
Her posture is relaxed but not loose, her presence always regal, always watchful. I stop at the archway. "You were right," I say softly.
She looks up. "About what?"
"About what it would take to survive."
A small smile ghosts across her mouth. "You look well for a woman on trial."
I step closer. "May I?"
She gestures to the seat beside her, and I take it.
We don't speak for a while.
The silence between women like us is never empty.
It is full of everything we've had to swallow.
