Page 19 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
"I'd rather be here than up there playing the part of a dutiful daughter."
She grins, wiping a smudge of sauce from her lip with the back of her hand. "And yet, there's at least one person up there who wouldn't mind you playing a different part."
I arch a brow, licking a bit of garlic butter from my thumb. "What are you talking about?"
Luciana leans in, her smirk widening. "Oh, come on, Aria. You really think I don't notice the way your eyes go all soft and dreamy around Enzo Moretti?"
The slice of pizza nearly slips from my fingers.
Heat spreads up my neck before I can stop it.
"I donotlook soft and dreamy," I say quickly, too quickly.
Luciana lets out a laugh, leaning back against her pillows.
"Oh,you do.It's tragic, really. The fearsome Lombardi princess, all moony-eyed over the Salvatore family's deadliest hitman."
I throw a balled-up napkin at her, but she only dodges it, still grinning.
"It's not like that," I mutter, though even I can hear the lie in my own voice.
Luciana isn't fooled either.
She tilts her head, watching me with that knowing glint in her eyes. "No?"
I look away, suddenly very interested in my pizza.
But the image of Enzo fills my mind without permission.
Broad shoulders, lean muscle carved from a life of violence.
A scar that cuts through his brow, adding to the sharpness of his already chiseled face.
I think of the way his dark eyes always seem to see straight through me, stripping me bare without a single touch.
All of a sudden, the pizza tastes like cardboard and my appetite has gone twice over.
Luciana saw him once, and that was all it took to understand the way he sears himself into a room.
It was nearly a year ago, during one of the rare ceasefires.
The Salvatores had come to our estate under the guise of diplomacy, Luca and his brother Marco arriving with their inner circle, making just enough noise to let us know who held the stronger position.
It had been a week of pressed suits, formal dinners, and rehearsed smiles, Papa straining to keep the peace while quietly measuring the length of the knife behind their backs.
I had watched from the periphery, playing the part of the obedient daughter with a flute of sparkling wine in one hand and ice blooming in my chest.
They had entered our halls like with the graceful ease of men who have spent too much of their lives in money and violence to be afraid of danger.
Luca, the don of the Salvatore family, with his brother Marco beside him.
But it was the third man, the one who walked just behind them, who stole the breath from every room he entered without meaning to.
He didn't speak during the meetings.
He didn't greet the staff.
He didn't try to blend in or offer any kind of pretense.
