I think about Elena, about the way she looked at me like I was just a man instead of a monster. About her talking about flowers being honest, about people being real.
About her asking if I’ll come back.
“Nothing changed,” I lie. “Just being strategic.”
Marco doesn’t believe me, I can see it in his face. But he’s smart enough not to push. We climb into the waiting car, and I give my driver the address of my downtown office.
As we pull away from the curb, I catch a glimpse of Petals & Pines, its windows glowing warm against the dark street. And for a moment, I let myself imagine a different life. One where I could walk into that shop every day. Where I could make Elena laugh. Where I could be the kind of man who deserves someone like her.
But I’m not that man.
I’m Alessandro De Luca. I’ve killed people. I’ll kill more. My hands are stained with blood that no amount of flower-scented soap could wash clean.
And yet.
I pull out my phone and send a message to my assistant:Send white roses to Petals & Pines. Every week until I say otherwise.
Then another message, this one to Marco:Find out everything about Elena Harper. But be discreet. I don’t want her spooked.
He reads it, raises an eyebrow at me, but simply nods.
The car merges into traffic, carrying me back toward my world of shadows and violence. But my mind stays in the flower shop, wrapped in pine and cinnamon and the memory of honey-colored eyes.
I’ll go back, I promised her.
What I didn’t tell her is that I don’t think I could stay away if I tried.
And that terrifies me more than any rival family ever could.
Chapter Two
Alessandro
Only thirty-six hours go by before I’m right back outside Petals & Pines.
Thirty-six hours of trying to convince myself that walking into her flower shop was a mistake. Elena Harper is a distraction I can’t afford. The way her honey-colored eyes lit up when she smiled at me means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of my carefully ordered, violently maintained world.
Thirty-six hours of failing spectacularly at all of the above.
“Boss,” Marco says from beside me, his tone carefully neutral in the way that means he thinks I’ve lost my mind. “You want to tell me why we’re parked outside a flower shop on a Thursday afternoon?”
“No,” I say, not taking my eyes off the storefront.
Through the frosted glass, I can see movement, Elena, probably, arranging flowers or helping a customer. The Christmas lights are on even though it’s barely past noon, giving the whole shop a warm, inviting glow that stands in stark contrast to the gray December drizzle falling around us.
“Right. Okay. So we’re just, sitting here.”
“Surveillance,” I tell him.
“Surveillance.” Marco doesn’t even try to hide his skepticism. “Of a flower shop.”
“The area,” I correct. “After Greco was spotted here two days ago, we need to ensure there are no additional threats in the vicinity.”
It’s not entirely bullshit. Greco being this close to my usual routes is concerning. The fact he was two blocks from a place I’d just been is either a terrible coincidence or a calculated move on his part.
The fact that said place happens to be the flower shop owned by a woman I can’t stop thinking about is just, unfortunate timing.
“Uh-huh.” Marco pulls out his phone, tapping away at something. “And the surveillance we’ve had on this street for the past two days wasn’t enough?”
