Page 24 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
The night stretches on, and eventually, exhaustion overtakes me.
When morning arrives, I rise before the sun, the room still draped in shadows as I make my way to the bathroom.
My fingers tremble as I unwrap the test, as I follow the instructions Luciana had whispered to me the night before.
Minutes pass like hours.
I stare at the counter, the world narrowing to the small strip of plastic in front of me.
Then, finally, I force myself to look. The result is clear.
Two lines.
No room for doubt, then.
The truth settles in my chest, heavy and irreversible.
I am pregnant.
3
ARIA
It has been two days since I found out I'm pregnant, and the pressure it left behind hasn't left my body for a moment.
It lives beneath my skin, curls behind every breath, pressing against my ribs whenever I try to lie still.
I rise before the staff.
Before the scent of espresso threads its way through the halls.
Before the light has finished spilling its gold across the gravel paths that cut through the vineyard.
My feet are bare against the cold tile, the hem of my robe trailing behind me as I move through the sleeping estate.
The marble corridors stretch ahead, long and quiet, and every step I take is magnified by the hush.
I pass the gallery, where the portraits hang like watching eyes, and push through the side door that leads to the gates.
A cool, damp wind blows outside, and the morning fog still clinging to the earth.
It pries my eyes open fully, but the ache in my chest never really slept.
This ritual has been mine since childhood.
Long before I knew what power tasted like or how deeply silence could wound, I had insisted on fetching the mail.
At first, it was little more than a child's attempt to be useful, a way to earn Papa's approval.
I would take the path down the sloped drive, past the citrus trees and the wrought-iron gates that never quite kept the world out, collecting whatever had been delivered—bills, papers, invitations in heavy envelopes—and return them like offerings, my hands trembling with pride.
Even now, long past the age when such things are expected of me, I do it.
No one asks me to, but no one stops me, either.
It is the only task I perform that belongs entirely to me.
This morning, the sun is only just cresting the hills beyond the vines, casting everything in a pale, golden haze.
