Read @ Joe’s

Three Hitmen and a Baby

1 May, 2026

2–4 minutes

action, assassin, baby, New York City, pizza, revenge, Rob Hart, Rocky, thriller

Title: Three Hitmen and a Baby (2026)
Author: Rob Hart
Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Sons

Book jacket: When Valencia rushes off to LA, she can’t bring her baby girl, Lucia. Enter the other members of Assassins Anonymous — Mark, Astrid, and Booker, who offer to watch the toddler while she’s gone. After all, they’re three of the deadliest, most highly skilled people on the planet; what could go wrong? Turns out, a lot.

Joe says: Like diner coffee that needs a stir, this third outing takes a minute to warm up, but once it hits, Rob Hart’s story barrels forward like it’s late for its own crime scene.

Three Hitmen and a Baby has Rob Hart kicking the door back open on an Assassins Anonymous meeting, tossing a pizza on the table, and asking his reformed killers if they’ve got one more round in them. The answer is yes. Preferably with olives. Bullets fly, grenades pop, and the whole thing hums with that caffeinated, wisecracking energy Hart does so well. Yet like diner coffee that needs a stir, this third outing takes a minute to warm up, but once it hits, Hart’s story barrels forward like it’s late for its own crime scene.

This is the Rocky III of the trilogy. Flashy. Self-aware. A little cocky. Assassins Anonymous and The Medusa Protocol had weight, consequence, bruises that lingered. Three Hitmen… wants to have fun first, ask questions later. The story doesn’t really find its spine until Mark, the Pale Rider, stops sleepwalking and starts asking what redemption actually costs. When that switch flips, the book finally bleeds a little.

The hook is pure pulp candy. Mark. Astrid. Booker. Killers in recovery, now stuck playing house with a toddler while the wolves circle. Absurd. Funny. Even a little dangerous. Think Three Men and a Baby if someone slipped a knife into the diaper bag and told Quentin Tarantino to punch up the dialogue. Professional killers make terrible babysitters, and Hart milks that contrast for all it’s worth.

But here’s the rub. The lighter half, as fun as it is, can feel a little weightless. Too many laps around the same joke. Not enough pressure. The tone wobbles, caught between sitcom chaos and something meaner and smarter. When Russian mob boss Zmeya shows up and the past starts collecting debts, the book locks in. Darker. Tighter. Better. Disney+ gives way to HBO as Mark’s questioning cuts deeper, hits harder, leaves a scar. Hart just takes his sweet time getting there.

Look, Hart has a great writing style. Sometimes short and with a pop culture bite. He can also allow for longer moments of sheer elegance describing pain, misery, beauty, and opulence. Hart is a master of words and his talent continues to grow.

Three Hitmen… might be the lightest entry but Hart leans into the polarity of the book’s makeup. There is a sinister sarcasm that’s a handshake or a single lie away. Obviously he plays with tone, even the title is a testament, but lands a few punches on the way out.

Call it a victory lap with brass knuckles. Messy. Entertaining. A little light on the swagger, but still dangerous enough to matter. Not the strongest cut in the trilogy, but a stylish, blood-splattered goodbye that proves Hart’s assassins still know how to hit their mark.