There might be one plant.
Liar. I’ll bring you one tomorrow. Every home needs something living in it.
Something living. Like her. Like the way she breathes life into every space she occupies, turning a flower shop into magic, my car into a confessional, the Christmas market into something out of a dream.
Before composing a response, a knock interrupts. Dante pokes his head in. “Boss? There’s a delivery for you. Guy says it’s urgent.”
“What kind of delivery?”
“Flowers.”
Every muscle in my body goes taut. “From where?”
“No shop name. Guy’s a courier service, says he was paid cash to drop it off.” Dante’s hand rests on his weapon. “You want me to scan it first?”
“Yes. Full sweep. Don’t bring it up until you’re certain it’s clean.”
He disappears, and the warmth from Elena’s texts evaporates, replaced by cold dread. Flowers. An anonymous delivery. Nothing about this feels right.
Ten minutes later, Dante returns carrying a potted poinsettia. Not the cheerful red and green variety sold at grocery stores—this one is deep crimson, almost black, with leaves that look like they’ve been dipped in blood.
“Scanned clean,” Dante reports, setting it on my desk like it might explode anyway. “No bugs, no explosives, no biological agents. Just a plant.”
“And the courier?”
“Long gone. Paid cash, no description, no way to trace.”
Attached to the pot is a small card. My hands are steady as they pluck it free, open it.
Such a pretty flower shop. Would be a shame if something happened to it.
No signature. No need for one.
Greco.
The message is clear, they know about Elena. Know about her shop. Know exactly where to find her if they want to hurt me.
“Dante.” My voice is eerily calm despite the rage building like a tsunami beneath the surface. “Move up the timeline. We go tonight. Nineteen hundred hours.”
“Boss, that’s three hours from now. The men won’t be in position—”
“Then they better move fast.” Each word is clipped, controlled. “And double the security on Elena’s shop. No one gets within a block of Petals & Pines without our people knowing. Am I clear?”
“Crystal. What about her? Should we warn her?”
Should Elena know that she’s officially become a target? That someone sent a threatening plant, a plant, the irony would be funny if it weren’t so horrifying, to make sure the message was received?
“Not yet. She’ll panic, and I need her calm until we can neutralize this threat.” The lie tastes bitter. This isn’t about keeping her calm, it’s about protecting myself from seeing the fear in her eyes when she realizes exactly what being with me means.
Dante leaves to coordinate, and the poinsettia sits on my desk like an accusation. Its blood-red leaves catch the afternoon light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, beautiful and menacing in equal measure.
My phone buzzes again. Elena:You stopped responding. Everything okay?
No. Nothing is okay. Someone is threatening the one good thing in my life, and all the money and power and fear my name commands can’t change the fact that loving me puts her in danger.
Loving. There’s that word again.
Everything’s fine. Just got pulled into a meeting. I’ll text you later.
