Outside, a white van idles at the curb.
My creepy customer smiles when he sees me, his eyes lit with a dark pleasure. “I hope these flowers of yours are as beautiful as I imagined,” he says, voice smooth like silk over broken glass.
“They’re in the back room,” I reply, trying to keep my voice level as I gesture in their direction. “And packed for easy transport.”
“Wonderful.” He beams. “I knew I picked the right person for the job.” He follows me back to the fridge where the boxes wait—a thousand stems wrapped in white tissue and packed with great care.
He gazes down at them like a man admiring a lover in a casket. “They’re perfect,” he murmurs. “So white. So clean. So… final.”
I swallow, a chill rippling down my spine. “They’re all yours.”
He nods and gestures to his men.
They move like they’ve done this before—efficient, silent, practiced.
It doesn’t feel like they’re just picking up flowers.
It’s like this is just one piece in a larger, uglier puzzle.
I retreat behind the counter as they get to work, keeping my hands busy with a vase and some flowers.
But I’m wound too tightly to pay much attention to what I’m doing, so I pretend to work while they load the boxes into the van.
Every muscle in my body remains locked.
I can’t wait for him to be gone.
Just a few more minutes.
The door opens again, the bell jingling, and I look up.
My breath catches.Gio.
He steps into the shop like a storm—dark hair damp from a recent shower, jaw set, tension radiating off him in waves.
There’s a bruise forming on his jawline, fresh and purple-blue. He looks like he’s been through hell since I saw him last.
The moment our eyes meet, something in me steadies.
Even with the headache pounding and my nerves rattled from my creepy customer, I feel… safe.
I move out from behind the counter to greet him, words forming on my tongue.
But before I can speak, Gio’s gaze shifts—and he tenses.
His eyes lock on Mr. Tanaka, and the air in the shop snaps tight.
The man’s back is to him at first, but when he turns, recognition dawns like a sunrise, a slow, delighted grin stretching across his face. “Well, well,” Mr. Tanaka says. “Look who wandered in.”
Gio doesn’t move. “I thought you were dead,” he says quietly, voice flat and cold.
The man chuckles. “You’re not the first.” He takes a step forward, slow and casual, like he’s not standing in a flower shop but on a battlefield. “Leo did a number on me,” the man confesses. “I still wake up with a limp.”
Gio’s jaw tightens. “I should’ve made sure he finished the job.”
“Yeah.” My creepy customer’s eyes glitter. “You should’ve.”
I glance between them, stunned. “Wait—what is this?”
