Page 1 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
PROLOGUE
ARIA
They arrive at dusk, just as the light begins to slide behind the vineyard hills, casting the estate in amber and gold like the whole evening has been dipped in honey and danger.
I am standing at the top of the grand staircase, my hands resting lightly on the carved mahogany railing, every inch of me dressed for spectacle.
The silk of my evening dress moves like water over bare skin, each shift drawing it tighter against the curves it's meant to flatter, catching at the waist, brushing the tops of my thighs, sliding with a whisper down my spine.
The color is dark as spilled wine, bold against the pale glow of my skin, and it does not need sequins or lace to earn a second glance.
It plunges low at the back, the fabric folding just beneath my shoulder blades, leaving my neck exposed as though it were waiting for breath or lips or whispers soaked in heat.
My smile holds its shape like lacquer while my eyes stay quiet and hungry, catching every stare like a net drawn tight.
The Salvatores are punctual, of course.
Their arrival is as silent as it is formidable, a procession of black vehicles gliding down our private drive.
The tires barely make a sound as they slow, lining up before the front entrance as though this visit is not an olive branch, but a siege in tailored suits.
I have seen them before, though only in curated glimpses.
Nothing has prepared me for the moment they step through our doors.
Luca is the first to appear, handsome in that tell-tale arrogant way that makes powerful men predictable.
His brother follows, broader and more volatile, every movement thick with the easy confidence of someone who has never once feared consequence.
Their men trail behind them, flanking either side with trained discretion, each one blending into the next in a wave of pressed collars and expensive fabric.
And then another man enters.
He is not announced.
No one says his name.
But the moment he crosses the threshold, there is a slight shift, just enough, like the current beneath the surface has turned.
A few voices dip.
Heads tilt imperceptibly, even though most do their very best not to notice the way the atmosphere sharpens, the way the space around him stretches and tightens as if the room itself is deciding whether to bow or break.
He walks behind Luca, but his demeanor isn't indicative of submission, in fact, it looks as if Luca trusts him more than he does most men.
There is no arrogance in his steps, no attempt to impress, only a pervasive command that wraps around him like smoke.
His suit is black and severe, unbroken by color or embellishment, and he wears it the way soldiers wear armor.
The first impression I get is that this man values survival over vanity, and my lips curl into a small smile.
A single, pale scar slices clean across his brow, catching the golden light as he passes beneath the chandelier.
As if pulled by my attention, his gaze finds mine across all the faces, and remains fixed on me for a beat.
A beat where the rest of the world falls silent.
There is no hesitation in his eyes, no flicker of surprise or appreciation, no trace of the performative deference most men offer women like me.
