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She turned the bloom slightly, pointing to the petal edges. “Look here. Do you see that? These petals have a touch of pink. That’s not typical.”

I leaned closer, studying the flower. She was right. At the top of the petal were small pink dots.

Valentina frowned. “I thought gardenias were always white.”

“Yes, this is not something you’d find anywhere. This must be a hybrid. It also smells different. Sweet.”

“Hybrid?”

“Gardenias like this are usually cultivated in specialized nurseries, often for private clients.”

“Does it mean we can trace where it came from?” I asked, suddenly alert.

“If you can find the grower, you might find out who wanted it. But only if they’re bred at the nurseries. If they are grown by a hobbyist, you might never find it.”

“Do people do this as a hobby?”

“Yes.”

“Are there any nurseries around that make hybrids?”

“I know of a few,” she said, searching through her drawer before pulling out two visiting cards. “They do custom breeds. It will be costly, though. A custom like this will cost a lot.”

“Can you give me a rough estimate?”

“A thousand to ten thousand. It depends on the variety.”

The gardenia was his calling card, as much as the tattoo.

Yara was right about the rug. This was someone who had connections, privilege, and money. A lot of it.

“Thank you so much.”

“Are you trying to make one like this?”

“Thank you for the help. Also, I’d take that bouquet and that one.” I said, pointing to a big bouquet of calla lilies and another with yellow roses. She wrapped it up for me.

After paying for the flowers, we walked out.

“Valentina, please go and wait inside. I have to make a call.” I dialed Yara’s number. She answered after a few rings. “How’s your day, Red?”

There was a long pause.

“I got a message from the Strangler.”

“What did it say?”

“He—no, she’s angry that I displayed Sister Serena like that. She thinks I broke some sacred rule or something. Fuck that bitch. How was yours?”

“Umm, bad, but…” I stared at Valentina through the window. She was hunched over, as if the weight of the whole world was on her shoulders.

It made me want to protect her, but if I didn’t use her, she might not die, but someone else would, and then another, and another. More Sofias. More Nikkis.

“Someone else received the gardenia, Yara.”

“What?”

“She works at AFC, too,” I explained everything to Yara, my anger burning like flames. Sofia and Nikki didn’t deserve to go like that.