Page 18 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
I have been protected so fiercely that I have never actually beenfree.
Luciana is one of the few exceptions to my loneliness.
She has been in the house since we were both children, technically a servant but so much more than that.
She is young, pretty, and sharp-witted, her dark curls always loose, her hazel eyes always watching.
She knows everything that happens in this house before anyone else does, slipping through corridors and overhearing the kind of secrets that could get her killed if she ever repeated them.
She grins when she sees me, sitting up straight.
"You look like you're about to commit murder."
"I might," I mutter, sinking onto the chair beside her bed.
She tosses her book onto the nightstand and crosses her arms. "That bad?"
Worse. But I don't want to say it aloud yet.
If I do, it will make it too real.
I exhale, pressing my fingers to my temple. "I need food. Real food."
Luciana tilts her head, assessing me, and then with a knowing chuckle, she reaches for her phone. "Pizza?"
"Yes."
She scrolls through her screen before pressing a few buttons. "Done. You owe me for this."
"Put it on my tab," I say dryly.
Twenty minutes later, I am curled up in the chair, my shoes kicked off, my dress bunched up at my thighs, watching as Luciana lifts the lid of the large cardboard box now sitting on the small wooden table between us.
The scent of melted cheese, rich tomato sauce, and garlic butter fills the room, warm and comforting, reminding me there is life outside the world I have been raised in.
I grab a slice, the cheese stretching between the crust and the box, gooey and golden.
The first bite is heaven, the perfect balance of salt and heat, of soft dough and crisp edges.
The garlic lingers on my tongue, the tang of tomato cutting through the richness, and for the first time all night, I feel human again.
Luciana watches me with amusement.
"See, this is why you should eat with me instead of those soulless aristocrats upstairs."
I take another bite, closing my eyes for a brief moment, savoring it.
The dinner was a performance.
The food was meant to impress, to be photographed, to be praised and picked at but never truly enjoyed.
This, though… this is sustenance.
Luciana pulls a slice of pizza from the box, biting into it with a satisfiedmmm.
"You know," she says, chewing thoughtfully, "you're wasting all that expensive tailoring by hiding away down here."
I roll my eyes, sinking further into my chair as I take another bite, the warmth of the food settling deep in my stomach.
