LEON
Everything about her gets under my skin and lingers there, from the hair on her head to the tips of her painted toes. She’s the physical, present embodiment of everything I’ve spent my whole life hating, wrapped in a pretty package. I can’t decide what I hate more: her, for existing, or myself, for letting her little acts of mischief get to me.
The past few days have been a distraction I can’t afford. Every second I waste watching her, tolerating her excesses, and holding myself back from acting on my anger is a second lost from the mission. But I can’t lose sight of the game plan. Tomaso still doesn’t trust me, and I know better than to rush it. I haven’t worked that long for him to gain his trust. And trust takes time.
Trust makes people let their guard down. It makes them slopp
