Considering she was the last one with Dr. Asshole, the police must’ve visited her, asked her questions, but the camera gave her an alibi. She left before I ‘robbed’ him.

She should be safe.

Not that her safety matters, but I still have unfinished business with my little Petal and the police don’t get to have their noses in my fucking fun.

My phone vibrates on the table. Lucio. I take a long drag of my cigarette before I answer.

“The fuck, Jasper?” The bellow of his voice in my ear nearly deafens me, and I have to hold the phone away for a second.

“Good day to you, too, Lucio.”

“Cut the crap. I have a report about a dead doctor with a fatal wound to the neck. This has your fingerprints all over it.”

“I’m too pro to leave fingerprints.”

“You know what I mean.” Something slams on a harsh surface on his end —probably his hand against the desk. “That’s your MO and anyone who met you knows it.”

“We’re lucky most of them are dead, no?”

He pauses. “Does this have to do with finding Paolo’s son?”

If I tell him yes, he’ll dig into it and force results, and when he figures out there aren’t any, it’ll be a different type of hell.

Despite my semi-independence, my loyalty runs with Lucio, and if he suspects I’m lying to him, it’ll only turn ugly for the both of us.

“It’s personal,” I keep it vague.

“Personal how.”

“He pissed me off.” And he touched what he shouldn’t have.

The list can go on.

“Pissed you off?” He repeats in an incredulous tone. “You have perfect self-control.”

True.

Only not with my little Petal. That immaculate self-control has been chipping at the edges, and soon enough, there’ll be a snap.

I have enough self-control to recognize that.

“Won’t happen again,” I tell Lucio.

“Of course it won’t. I told you to keep a low profile this period, Jasper. I don’t have police dummies to spare for someone who pissed you off. Paolo’s men are pushing for his heir, and if you don’t find him before them, well, I don’t have to tell you what’s done to useless dogs.”

“Noted.”

The line goes dead. I stub out the cigarette on the edge of the table, not bothering with an ashtray.

Lucio might have saved my life, but if I’m of no use, I’m disposable just like the rest.

That’s why I made sure to be unlike the rest. I’m someone he can’t live without, let alone think about disposing of.

The day he finds someone more efficient than me, he’ll send them after my life as a test to take my place.

I know because I became his number one hitman after I took care of the previous one.

That won’t be the same for me. I’m goal-oriented enough to keep my head focused on the endgame.

Track. Find. Kill.

So what the fuck am I doing here, watching a girl’s cats and wondering about their fucking names?

There are two options to erase my little Petal out of my head.

Option one: find out everything to know about her, she’ll turn out to be boring and I’ll move along. I usually lose interest in people whenever I know details about their lives —that’s if I have any interest in them in the first place.

That option is halfway done now. It’s time to complete the job.

An hour later, I’m going through my little Petal’s credentials in her bedroom. I don’t sit, and I’m wearing gloves out of habit, even though there are no actual security threats. Breaking into her house is fucking child’s play. I can even have a double key made.

I store that idea for later.

The two cats watch me wearily, actually only one of them is, the orange tabby. He’s been hissing and growling like the other night but is now glaring like he wants to bite me.

Does he think he’s a fucking dog?

The other one sleeps at the foot of Petal’s bed, its tail darting back and forth.

I rummage through her desk and stare at her diploma and official documentation. Her name is Georgina Hill, twenty-seven years old, and has graduated from nursing school a few years ago. She worked in a private clinic before moving to the state hospital.

Grade A student and an actual nerd —aside from being a cat lady.

Her photo album is filled with pictures from foster children fundraising —she was the recipient in several.

Even as a pre-teen and a teen, she had that fake, fucked smile all over her face.

An orphan.

That would’ve been interesting if I cared. So far, nothing stands out. Boring life, boring beginning. I’m starting to think her orange cat is the only interesting thing in her life. He’s a furious little thing.

And maybe her irrational fear of spiders.

I tap my gloved index finger against a picture of her nurse school graduation. Why did she choose this profession? Why did she look on the verge of dying upon seeing that tiny spider?

Fuck this.

I should get out of that door, leave the apartment across the street and wipe the girl with metal eyes and fake smile from my head.

And yet, I can’t.

It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

I simply can’t.

So I move on to the second option. Two girls stand on either side of my little Petal on her graduation day. Her nurse friends in the state hospital.

One of them picked her up when her ugly Honda didn’t start up a few days ago.

The orange cat hisses at me as I arrange the files exactly where I found them. There’ll be days where I’ll go in-depth about her things, but for now, I have to meet my contact and settle this Costa heir issue once and for all.

A black cloth peeks from the underwear drawer and I retrieve it. A pair of lace panties.

I put them under my nose and inhale. It’s nothing like her lilac scent and more fresh, washed.

Shame.

After putting them back where they belong, I’m out.

The fat orange cat follows me all the way to the living room then jumps on the counter near a cup. I stop and turn around then rotate the black cup to read what’s written on it.

I work hard so my cat can have a better life.

A deep chuckle leaves my lips. This is a serious cat lady, isn’t she?

The orange tabby jumps away, still glaring at me as if not approving of how I’m laughing about his owner —or his maid, depending on his perspective.

After one last sweep over her small apartment, I make a note of where I can install listening devices. Then I snap a picture of the calendar she’s pinned to her refrigerator. It’s filled with dates about her nights out with the girls, which happens every weekend if she doesn’t work the night shift.

If she needs to write it in her calendar, she must not care about those nights much.

My little Petal’s life might seem boring from the outside looking in, but there’s something that lurks under the surface.

I can smell it as easily as I smell blood and sense it as easily as I detect fear in my opponents’ eyes before I carve them the fuck up.

My instinct tells me to dig deeper, and while it’s fucking irritating not to know where this is taking me, I don’t ignore my instinct.

The contact I met, the previous gardener of the Costas’, barely remembers the boy. He only knows that Paolo Costa brought his woman and child and then they were gone the same week.