Page 40 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
His face goes still.
Something ignites behind his eyes, gone before I can name it.
He reaches forward, takes the photograph from my hand with a gentleness that nearly breaks me, and slips it back into the drawer without a word.
Then he closes and locks it. He turns back to me and gestures toward the sandwiches. "You hungry?"
I nod once.
He moves to the bag, takes out and unwraps a sandwich, and hands it to me.
It is warm in my palm, heavier than I expected, fragrant with smoked mozzarella and grilled vegetables layered between slices of golden focaccia.
Enzo says nothing at first, just presses it gently into my palm, his fingers brushing mine with that same unspoken electricity that has hovered between us since the first night.
I glance up at him, unsure of what to say, but he is already walking to the armchair, sinking into it with an elegance that seems unstudied, the kind that comes from being raised not in privilege, but in danger.
I hold the sandwich carefully, my fingers trembling slightly.
I do not want to sit on the bed where everything still smells like us, still feels too raw and private.
So, I cross the room, stepping over the thick woven rug and pausing beside the tall window overlooking the rear gardens of the estate.
The glass is cool beneath my fingertips as I lean slightly against the frame, gazing out at the stone paths that cut through rows of sculpted cypress and potted lemon trees.
I take my first bite.
The bread is soft, still warm from the grill, the cheese molten and tangy, the vegetables sweet with a slight char.
It tastes like something made without haste.
Real food. Real effort.
"You should stay the night."
His voice catches me off guard, low and unceremonious, spoken like he's commenting on the weather rather than offering something I never thought he would.
I blink and turn from the window. "You want me to stay?"
He looks up at me. "Yes."
The answer is simple, but something about it tilts the axis of the room.
He has never asked.
Not before.
Not after the last time.
And certainly not now, not when everything is more complicated than it has ever been.
I chew slowly, trying to gather my thoughts before responding. "I don't know what I can tell my parents."
He reaches for a glass on the nearby table, sips from it once, then meets my eyes with the faintest quirk of his mouth.
"The driver has already been informed. He was told that Luca's wife invited you to stay for the night."
I freeze, halfway through a bite. "You told him that?"
