Page 85 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
He is looking down the way we came, his eyes fixed on something I cannot see from up here.
For a moment, I fear he might walk closer, that he might knock, that he might remember.
But he only stands there.
His brow furrows slightly.
He adjusts the strap of the leather messenger bag slung across his shoulder.
And then he turns, almost as though dismissing the thought that had played across his face, and continues down the street at a measured pace.
I do not breathe until he disappears around the corner.
Even then, I do not exhale all the way.
I set my tea down on the table beside the drying basil and move back inside, sliding the balcony door shut behind me with as little noise as possible.
I draw the sheer curtain across the glass and lock it.
Gabriel stirs but does not wake.
His hair is damp against his temple, his lips parted in sleep.
I sit beside him and rest my hand lightly on his back, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath beneath my palm.
The pressure in my chest has not eased.
It has only changed shape.
Matteo Ferrante may not remember me now.
But he saw me.
And if he thinks about it long enough, if he retraces his steps and recalls that marketplace, the noise, the blur of bodies, the child calling out to his mother…it will come to him.
Perhaps not tonight.
Perhaps not tomorrow.
But soon.
And once it does, he will not keep it to himself.
There are no secrets in the Salvatore world.
Not when names matter more than truth, and bloodlines weigh more than facts.
My face might be one of a thousand blurred memories in their world, but I am still a Lombardi. Still the woman who vanished. Still the one Enzo would not bury.
And if they suspect I am alive, it won't be long before they come looking.
I press my fingers to my temple and lean back against the cushions, listening to the faint hum of traffic beyond the square, the clink of dishes being washed in someone's kitchen, the scratch of a broom against stone.
Ordinary sounds.
Safe ones, and yet, they do nothing to ease the pain in my heart.
My time here is coming to an end, but the question is…where to, next?
