34. Charlotte

34

CHARLOTTE

M y good mood is short-lived. I barely make it through the front door of my apartment before I realize something is wrong. The faint scent of cigarette smoke hits me first, cutting through the sanitized nothingness of my space. I lock the door behind me and slide off my heels, setting them quietly by the wall. My senses are sharp now, all traces of post-coital peace gone. Someone is here.

The glow from the city barely filters through the drawn curtains, leaving the apartment draped in shadow. I hear the faint creak of leather and then his voice.

“Welcome home.”

My stomach tightens.

I flip on the nearest light. He’s sitting in my armchair, legs crossed, his elbow resting casually on the armrest as if he owns the place. The sight of him is infuriating, but what sets my teeth on edge is the closed door to Hayley’s bedroom down the hall. My daughter, asleep, utterly unaware that a man like this is sitting less than twenty feet away.

“This is a new low, even for you,” I say. “Breaking into my home? ”

He shrugs, flicking ash from his cigarette into the glass tray he’s brought with him—from where, I don’t know. The casual disrespect of it makes my skin crawl. “Your security’s too good for anyone but me. Consider it a compliment.”

“Put that out,” I snap, nodding at the cigarette. “Now.”

He raises an eyebrow but obliges, stubbing it out with an exaggerated twist. “Happy?”

“Not remotely,” I cross my arms. “What do you want, Carlo?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, leaning back in the chair as if he has all the time in the world. His silence feels deliberate, a power play I’ve seen a hundred times before. But I’m not in the mood for games tonight.

“I’ve been getting texts,” I say, cutting into the quiet. “And I think I’m being followed. Is it you?”

Carlo’s eyes narrow, just slightly. “Paranoia doesn’t suit you, Charlotte.”

“Don’t patronize me.” I step closer, keeping my voice low. The last thing I want is to wake Hayley. “If you’re playing some kind of game, I need to know.”

He leans back in the chair, exhaling a slow stream of smoke despite having extinguished the cigarette. The faint lingering smell is a reminder of his intrusion, his audacity. “You’re slipping.”

My blood runs cold. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve seen it before,” he says, his tone maddeningly calm. “Agents who burn too brightly, too fast. You need a break. A week at the beach, maybe. Clear your head.”

I stare at him, searching his face for the telltale signs of deceit. But Carlo’s good—too good. If he’s lying, I can’t see it.

“A non-working assassin is a dead assassin,” I say. “You know that.”

“Then prove me wrong.” He rolls a fresh cigarette between his fingers and then places it between his lips, the unlit end bobbing as he speaks. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve got a job for you.”

I don’t like the way he says it, the casual way he dismisses my concerns. But I stay silent, letting him continue.

“There’s a yacht party,” he says, pulling a sleek tablet from his jacket and placing it on the coffee table. The screen lights up, displaying a dossier. “Your target will be there. High-profile, dangerous. This one needs precision, and it needs to be public.”

Public. The word feels like a slap. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke about work.”

I pick up the tablet and scroll through the details. My chest tightens when I see Sophie’s name. “I don’t want her involved in this.”

“She’s ready,” he says.

“She’s not,” I snap, shoving the tablet back onto the table. The screen flickers as it spins. “And you know it. Besides, this is a terrible way to handle this job.”

“It’s not your call,” Carlo says, his voice hardening. “The agency agrees. We need to send a message. It’s how it has to happen.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

His eyes lock on mine, cold and unyielding. “You know the answer to that.”

I’ve seen this before. The setup. The trap. Two birds, one stone. My stomach churns, but I keep my expression blank. If Carlo senses hesitation, I’m as good as dead.

“You’re asking me to risk everything.” My words are steady, but the question is about to get me in a lot of trouble. “For what?”

His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “To twist fate. Rewrite the course of the future. Take out a few bad actors before they get their hands any dirtier than they already are.”

I don’t respond, but he takes my silence as permission to continue.

“Think about it,” he says, leaning forward. “What if Hitler had been a successful artist? What if the Columbine kids had gotten laid? What if Manson had been loved as a child?” He pauses, his smile widening. “Sometimes all it takes is one move. One act to change the trajectory of everything.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and twisted, like the smoke he left to poison my lungs. The way he manipulates—the calm arrogance of it—makes my skin crawl. Every word feels like a hook, trying to drag me into his twisted logic. I want to wipe that smug smile off his face, throw his tablet at the wall, scream that I see right through him, and put a bullet in his head. But I don’t. I’ve played this game long enough to know better.

“Fine.” I force the word out, hating how it feels as it rolls off my tongue. “I’ll do it.”

Carlo stands, smoothing the front of his jacket. “Good. Details will come through in the morning.”

He picks up his tablet and moves to the door, pausing just before he steps out. “Get some rest, Charlotte. You’ll need it.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone. I stare at his stubbed-out cigarette, my mind racing. Carlo’s right about one thing: this isn’t just a job. It’s a warning. A test. And if I fail, it won’t just be my life on the line.

I glance toward Hayley’s door, a faint sense of dread curling in my chest. But I suppose that’s what they want. Two birds, one stone.