Page 68 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
Adriano lights a cigarette with the same callous rhythm I've seen since we were boys.
My nephew is less steady.
His hands twitch as he adjusts his collar, eyes flicking down to my side.
"Enzo," he says, voice rough. "You're bleeding."
I glance down, remembering. He's right.
I do have a thin red line at my ribs, cut through my shirt from when the rat got one last burst of courage and fought against me.
The wound stings, but it's shallow.
Zio looks like he's about to call in a medical team.
I place a hand on his shoulder and pat him once. "They're your medals," I say. "You should flaunt them."
He blinks, his eyes wide, worried, and eager to learn.
"In our line of business," I continue, "you must deal with blood and death. If you want to lead, you must carry shake hands with them like old friends."
He nods, chest puffing out.
I let him have it.
There will be darker days, harder nights.
If he thinks this is pain, he hasn't yet known loss.
Adriano clears his throat. "What did you think he was going on about?"
He's referring to Aria. I feel that same tightening in my insides, but I'm careful not to show it. "He thought it would buy him more time."
I speak with an air of absolute finality, and Adriano nods and falls back respectfully.
If I do not indulge gossip, it dies.
We move toward the exit in silence, the cold air of the alley catching in the folds of our coats as the heavy steel doors groan closed behind us.
I tuck my gun into a hidden holster beneath my jacket, flicking the spent cartridge from my jacket pocket like lint.
Cristiano is waiting by the car, hands in his pockets, coat perfectly tailored to the frame of a man who knows how power should look.
His jaw is clean shaven today, his mouth tilted in something close to a smirk.
"Efficient," he says.
I shrug. "He talked."
Cristiano gives a nod, stepping aside so I can slide into the back seat.
The engine hums low.
A quiet purr like a beast that's fed but not full.
Giovanni is in the front.
He doesn't turn around, just taps his finger once on the steering wheel and mutters, "Knew he would. Rats always do."
