The Hitman's Return

I'll find you

The safe house was a third-floor walk-up in a neighborhood that had seen better days. Peeling paint. Flickering hallway lights. The smell of old cooking and cheaper cigarettes.

Samuel didn't mind. He'd slept in worse places over the last ten years.

He sat on the edge of a twin bed with a manila folder in his hands. The room was bare except for the mattress, a chair, and a single lamp that cast yellow light across the walls. No windows. No distractions.

Just him. And the photographs.

He pulled them out one by one.

The first was old. Worn at the edges. A younger version of himself smiling, his arm around a woman with dark hair and bright eyes. Christina. His wife. The woman he'd married in Mexico.

The photo was from their first anniversary. She was pregnant. Her belly rounded beneath a sundress. Both of them laughing at something he couldn't remember anymore.

Samuel stared at the image. His thumb traced the outline of her face.

Before the trial. Flashback ~~

The kitchen smelled like garlic and tomatoes.

Christina stood at the stove, stirring a pot of sauce with one hand. The other hand rested on her belly—heavy now, eight months along. She hummed softly, some song she'd heard on the radio, her body swaying slightly to the rhythm.

Samuel leaned against the counter and watched her.

"You're staring," she said without turning around.

"I'm admiring."

"Same thing."

He walked up behind her. Wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands found her belly, resting there, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"How's the little one?"

"Kicking," she said. "Like she's training for a marathon."

"Or a boxing match."

Christina laughed. "You keep calling her 'she.' What if it's a boy?"

Samuel pressed his cheek against her hair. "I don't care. Boy or girl. As long as they have your eyes."

She turned in his arms. Looked up at him. Her eyes were tired. Pregnancy had drained her but they were still bright. Still full of light.

"You're a good man, Samuel Banks."

"I try."

"Don't try. Just be." She took his hand and placed it on her belly. "She's moving now. Feel?"

He did. A tiny flutter beneath his palm. His daughter. His child. He felt his chest tighten. That warmth he'd never experienced before. Something fierce and protective and terrifying all at once.

"Christina."

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to be the best father. I'm going to give her everything. A safe home. A good life. Everything I never had."

She smiled. "I know you will."

He leaned down and kissed her. Soft. Slow. The sauce simmered behind them. The world outside didn't matter. Nothing mattered except this moment. This kitchen. This woman. This child growing inside her.

"Samuel," she whispered against his lips. "We're going to be okay. All three of us."

He believed her.

~~Present day~~

Samuel closed his eyes. The memory faded like smoke.

He opened them again. Looked at the second photograph.

A recent one. Taken from a distance. A house: white picket fence, green lawn, children's toys scattered on the porch.

Christina stood in the driveway, older now, her dark hair streaked with silver at the temples. She wore a sundress similar to the one in the old photo. A cruel coincidence.

Beside her was a man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Expensive suit. One arm wrapped around her waist in a possessive gesture that made Samuel's jaw tighten.

The investor. The new boyfriend Leo had told him about. The one her family approved of.

They looked happy.

In front of them, a little girl held a pink balloon. Dark hair. Bright eyes. A smile that showed missing front teeth.

His daughter. His child. The one he'd never held. The one he'd only known through the flutter of her movements inside his wife's belly.

She was ten years old now. She looked like Christina. The same eyes. The same smile. But when Samuel studied the photo closer, he saw himself too. The shape of her jaw. The way she stood with her feet apart, as if balancing.

She was his. She would always be his, even if she never knew it.

But her mother?

Samuel looked at Christina's face in the photo. She was laughing at something. Carefree. Unburdened.

He remembered the holding cell. Her pale face. Her red eyes. She'd been crying not because he was innocent, but because of what his guilt would do to her family.

"I can't be married to a convicted murderer, Samuel. My family won't survive it."

No arguments. No fighting. She'd walked away without looking back. She'd moved in with another man before the verdict was even read.

His wife. The woman he'd loved. The woman who'd promised to stand by him. The woman who'd let him believe in a future that was never real.

She'd betrayed him. Maybe not with a bullet or a lie in court. But she'd betrayed him all the same.

Samuel folded the photographs. Placed them back in the folder.

He understood now. Christina had loved him once. But love wasn't enough when the world turned against you. She'd chosen comfort. Safety. The easy life her family could provide.

He couldn't blame her for that. But he couldn't forgive her either.

His daughter, though... his daughter had done nothing wrong. She was innocent in all of this. She'd been raised to believe her father was a murderer. She'd never known the truth.

Samuel looked at the folder one last time. Then he slid it into his pocket.

He had work to do.

Friday night. The docks. Alan Cross.

One more name crossed off the list. One step closer to the men who'd destroyed him.

But first... one last glance.

He pulled out the photograph of his daughter. Her small face. Her dark eyes. Her gap-toothed smile.

"I'll find a way to you," he whispered. "One day. When this is over. I'll find you."

He didn't know if that was a promise or a lie.

He tucked the photo away and walked out the door.