The Daisy

2. Flashback

2 Months Ago

***

The rain had been drumming a relentless, heavy rhythm against the glass panes of Il Forno, washing away the neon streaks of the city lights into a muddy blur outside. Inside, the restaurant was a warm sanctuary of amber lighting, clinking crystal, and the rich, comforting aroma of truffle oil and wood-fired dough.

Nancy had blended into the ambiance effortlessly. Dressed in a soft, cream-knit sweater that made her look half her actual age, she sat perched on a high stool at the marble bar, gently swirling a glass of dark red chianti. The sting of the poison—a tasteless, rapid-acting botanical extract she’d slipped into a glass of whiskey across town twenty minutes prior—had already dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind the clean, detached thrill of a job flawlessly executed. No struggle, no witnesses, no loose ends. Just a sudden, convenient cardiac arrest for a corrupt shipping magnate who thought he was untouchable.

She took a slow sip, a faint, contented smile playing on her lips as she watched the bustling dining room, feeling as detached from the underworld as a college student procrastinating on a term paper.

That was when Calvin had walked in.

He hadn't looked like a threat. Even with his broad shoulders and the sharp, observational sweep of his eyes as he checked the restaurant's exits—a habit he could never quite shake—he wore a simple charcoal blazer over an unbuttoned shirt, looking every bit the weary corporate consultant stopping by for a late meal after a grueling day of client meetings.

The bar was packed, the only empty seat remaining being the one directly beside her.

Calvin had hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering over her profile before a disarming, polite smile touched his mouth. "Excuse me," he had murmured, his voice smooth and low enough to cut through the ambient murmur of the lounge. "Is this seat taken?"

Nancy had turned her head, blinking with that soft, slightly startled innocence she wore like a second skin, and patted the velvet cushion of the stool. "No, all yours."

Within five minutes, they were talking. Within twenty, they were laughing over a shared plate of arancini, completely oblivious to the fact that two of the city's most lethal, secretive predators had just accidentally locked eyes across a bar top, each entirely convinced they were the only wolf playing sheep.

“Hahaha, what can I call you, gentleman? Or I guess we can…get to know each other more?”

Calvin had offered a low, self-deprecating chuckle that night, swirling his own drink as he turned fully on the bar stool to look at her.

"I'm Calvin," he had said, holding out a hand that was steady, warm, and deceptively soft for someone who spent his weekends conducting tactical raids and reviewing black-ops wiretaps. "And I'm a consultant. Mostly spreadsheets, endless PowerPoint decks, and trying to figure out why corporate clients can't read their own balance sheets. Riveting stuff, I know."

Nancy had slipped her hand into his, her palm cool against his, flashing that bright, amused smile that made her look like she belonged in a campus art studio rather than a morgue. "A corporate consultant. Wow, sounds thrilling. I'm Nancy. Graphic designer. I spend my life arguing with people about why comic sans is a crime against humanity."

They had both laughed, a genuine, easy sound that bridged the gap between their fabricated worlds. But underneath that casual banter, Calvin's mind had been quietly cataloging everything about her—the lack of hesitation in her grip, the utter composure in her eyes, and the faint, lingering scent of something sharp and medicinal underneath her perfume that she hadn't quite managed to scrub off before slipping into the restaurant. At the time, he had simply filed it away as an interesting quirk of an intriguing woman.

Now, back in the present kitchen with the sizzling pan and the memory of that first rainy night hanging heavily in the air, Calvin turned around from the stove, a slow, quiet intensity burning in his dark eyes as he looked at the woman chopping vegetables a few inches away.

"Get to know each other more..." Calvin echoed softly, letting the words hang between them with a double meaning that only he fully understood. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her. "We've had two months, Nancy. But sometimes I feel like there are entire continents of you that I haven't even scratched the surface of. Tell me... what else is hiding behind those innocent design deadlines?"

“Huh? What do you mean? Babe, I’m actual very tired today…”

Nancy blinked, her wide, innocent eyes flickering up to meet his with a convincing flash of confusion, though her grip on the edge of the cutting board tightened just a fraction. She let out a small, weary breath, pouting slightly as if he were being unfairly suspicious of a girlfriend who just wanted to crawl into bed.

"You're sounding awfully philosophical for a man who hasn't even plated the steak yet," she teased softly, forcing a light, breathless laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. She set the knife down, wiping her hands on a dishtowel before reaching out to gently poke him in the chest. "Continents? Cal, I promise you, my life is about as exciting as a Pantone color swatch book. Wake up, stare at a monitor, argue with a stubborn client, come home to my favorite corporate consultant. That's the whole universe right there."

She stepped closer, resting her forehead lightly against his chest with a soft sigh, playing the part of the exhausted, affectionate partner needing comfort. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, she could feel the rock-solid wall of his muscle—and the unsettlingly steady, controlled beat of his heart.

Calvin stood still, letting her lean against him, his arms wrapping loosely around her waist in a familiar embrace. But his hand rested flat against her lower back, right where a trained operative would check for a concealed holster or a tucked blade. His gaze remained fixed over her shoulder, staring blankly at the wall as his mind raced. She was deflecting with expert precision, playing the tired, sweet girlfriend card with terrifying perfection.

"Right. Just color swatches," Calvin murmured, his voice a low rumble against her hair, carrying a chilling undercurrent of quiet realization. He slowly lifted his hand from her back, reaching up to gently cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her bare left earlobe where the white daisy earring should have been resting.

"You know..." Calvin whispered, his thumb pausing its motion, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a piercing, unreadable intensity that stripped away all the cozy domestic illusion in a single instant. "You forgot something today, babe. Your left ear looks a little... lonely."

“Huh…”

She instinctively touches her left earlobe. A flash of surprise runs through her, but she turned back to laugh it off.

“Oh, I guess I dropped it in the bathroom, sorry babe, I didn’t take care of your one month anniversary present… I’ll go check the bathroom now..!”