53. Charlotte

I check my watch, feigning regret. “I’m terribly sorry, but you’re right. I don’t have time for chitchat. It’s almost time. I’m a sucker for wedding cake.”

“My new bride is going to be very disappointed.”

“This is what? Number three? Surely, she’s aware of your track record when it comes to cutting and running.”

“Number four, actually.”

My bottom lip juts out. “Impressive.”

“What can I say? Like you, I’m a sucker for wedding cake.”

“I’m sorry you’ll be missing this one. It looks very good. They can be so dry sometimes.”

“You are not so bad, Charlotte. I mean, if you have to be the last person I see. It really could be worse.”

“I get that a lot,” I say. He swings at me, and I duck just in time. Without missing a beat, I lift the knife above my head and drive it into his eye. For all the lives he’s ruined. For all the footage he’s traded. And because I can.

He screams and then swings again, but his reflexes are slower this time, sluggish—thanks to the little something Hayley slipped into his drink. “This is worse than I thought it would be,” he chokes out as I twist the blade deeper.

“Interesting,” I say, “it’s exactly as I imagined it.” Then I slide the knife free and slit his throat.

As his body crumples to the floor, the silence in the room feels deafening, almost too loud. I wipe the blade clean, slipping it back into my clutch, my pulse steady—controlled, as though nothing has happened. When we exit the elevator and round the corner to our hotel room, I’m not surprised to see a familiar face waiting for us, though I wish I were. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, his expression one of practiced irritation.

“It was supposed to be quick and easy,” he says with a sigh, his voice laced with annoyance. “Clean. But leave it to you to take it to a whole new level. I’ve been waiting here forever.”

I offer a nonchalant shrug. “It was a great party. The cake was to die for.”

He eyes me, the familiar frustration flaring in his gaze. He wasn’t supposed to be in Vegas, but he’s the overbearing, protective type. Safe to say, we haven’t quite sorted that out yet.

Finally, he shakes his head. “You always did love a crowd.”

My stomach tightens at the words. Henry used to say that. Carlo said it just once.

“Dad?” Hayley says, her voice full of surprise. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

He smiles a little, the warmth never quite reaching his eyes. “You know how much I love this place.”

She rolls her eyes. “You hate Vegas.”

“Not today I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Can we go now? You said you just needed to grab something and then we could leave.”

He turns his gaze to me, raising an eyebrow. “She’s been this way the whole time?”

“She’s mad I made her toss the dress and the shoes.”

Michael’s lips curl into a smile. “Your mother is right. When the job is done, so are your clothes.”

Hayley stares at her fingernails, picking at a piece of chipped polish, a slight scowl on her face. “They had not one drop of blood on them, those shoes. They were perfect.”

“There are more shoes in your future, Hayley. Don’t worry.”

She looks up at me expectantly. “I want to go shopping. You promised.”

“Later.”

“Can I at least go look around?” she asks, pointing toward the elevators.

“No,” I say firmly. “In a minute, we’ll go.”

“Seriously?” Hayley whines. “Why can’t I just go?”

Michael looks at me for a long moment, then gives me a small nod. “She’ll be fine. Let her go.”

“She has a knack for finding trouble, you know that.”

“Like her mother.”

“Not entirely unlike her father.”

Michael smiles, but there’s something a little darker in his eyes. “It is a problem…holding on too tight.”

“You’re one to talk.”

I slide the keycard into the door and open it. Hayley reluctantly follows us in, but I can see the restlessness in her. I don’t have to look to know her mind is already on something else.

“I think I will sleep tonight,” I say to Michael. “Finally.”

He looks at me knowingly. “I doubt it.”

“You’re right. Probably not.”

Hayley cuts in before I can say anything else. “So, this list,” she starts, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “The one Mom’s always talking about—the one that guy was on. Can I see it?”

“The kill list,” I clarify.

“That’s the one,” she says, sounding almost too casual. “I mean, you’re always saying to plan ahead… ”

Michael glances between us, eyebrows raised. “Why does she want to see it?”

I meet his gaze, a flicker of something passing between us. “Mom says I get to handle the next one.”

I can feel Michael’s eyes on me, sharp and disapproving. “I did not say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Hayley fires back, crossing her arms defiantly. “In the cab, on the way back. You said it. You said it’ll be my first kill.”

“I said maybe it would be your first kill,” I correct her, though I’m not entirely sure why I bother.

With enough training and maturity, Hayley could be really great. But right now, she's still very much a loose cannon. Michael says I appease her, and to some extent, he's right. The main reason we've managed to keep our cover intact over the years is because we exercise caution. Unfortunately, Hayley tends to throw all of that caution out the window, and I still haven't quite figured out what to do about it.

“Well, when do we decide?” Hayley presses, her voice rising with impatience.

“Later.”

“Okay, but hypothetically?” She plops down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her expression distant as she lets out a long, wistful sigh. “I have so many ideas…”

I glance at Michael, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. I can feel the weight of his disapproval, but I also know what I have to say. The only thing that makes any sense.

“We’ll just have to see.”