Page 39 of The CEO

I step aside, allowing The Vigilante’s team to complete the cleanup process as I wipe each blade clean. This part has always been mechanical for me—a necessary business transaction where debts are paid in blood and loyalty is enforced through example.

But tonight, things feel different. As I wash the evidence from my hands, I find myself wondering what Eve would think if she witnessed what happened here, if I allowed her to see this side of me . . . the real me. Not just the implication of violence I’ve allowed her to glimpse, but the actual execution of it.

Would she still look at me with that cautious fascination? Or would this reality drive her mad?

The question disturbs me more than it should. I shouldn’t care what Eve would think of me or what I’ve done; my only focus should be on her usefulness to the organization.

“The situation is contained,” Foster reports as I return to the car freshly showered. “Whatever information the cartel or any rival org might have on us doesn’t seem like a viable threat. Looks like the worst part of the situation was the loose ends Sullivan left when he used the cartel to get rid of those bodies.”

“Have The Raven verify independently.” I check my watch; it’s nearly 3 a.m. “Then initiate appropriate counteractions to fix it so the cartel understands once and for all that I am not the man to undermine in this city.”

“Standard elimination protocols?”

I consider it briefly. “No. Something more visible. I want our response to serve as an education for others.”

The car glides through the nearly empty streets back toward the city. Instead of returning to my estate, I head to my penthouse downtown. The night rain creates a glistening canvas on the streets, the city lights reflecting against it. My thoughts return to Eve and how she looked tonight in the greenhouse.

When we arrive at my building, I dismiss Foster and head directly to my office. Only when I’m completely alone and my privacy is assured do I access the most sensitive surveillance feed: the one in Eve’s apartment.

Her place is peaceful. Small and quiet. I watch her sleeping silhouette, her innocence more pronounced on her undisturbed face. Her hair is splayed across her pillow in wild waves, her lips slightly parted.

Something about watching her sleeping in these early hours feels uncomfortably intimate—even more invasive than watching her every move. Like a voyeur just waiting to make his move. But that’s not the case . . . I’m not drawn to the secrecy of her not knowing.

I want her to know. I want her to see me completely. I want her to taste the justice I can bring her. I want her to come to me, to choose me.

I close the feed abruptly, an unusual discomfort sinking beneath my ribs. Sullivan’s blood has long since been washed from my hands and body, yet I feel stained in a way I haven’t experienced before.

It’s not guilt—I abandoned that luxury years ago. No, this is different. This is awareness. Awareness at the contrast of my hands and how they protectively held her when she jumped in my arms tonight, and yet, those same hands delivered death just hours ago.

This is something I haven’t noticed before.

Why now?

Looking down, I study my hands as if I’ll see the answer . . . but I already know it. Because Eve is the only woman I’ve allowed to see both sides of me. She looked directly at the darkness I allowed her to glimpse, and she responded with interest. With that realization, I can see the carefully constructed compartments I’ve maintained for years start to shift.

Dawn has broken in the sky and I’m not sure what else to do with myself other than take another shower and hope it can wash away the nagging feeling that has started to fester: My obsession with Eve never really did go away.

* * *

My morning passes in a blur of meetings—necessary but mechanical aspects of maintaining the legitimate empire that funds my real passion. One that I don’t take lightly.

Even when I was young and new to the corporate world, my eagerness to learn and climb the ladder as fast as possible under my mentor’s guidance was driven by one thing: a desire to learn the other side of his business. The darker side that still consumes so much of my focus.

By midafternoon, my patience for my corporate obligations has worn thin. My focus is continually pulled to images of Eve from last night . . . the way she leaned into my touch. Finally deciding I’m of no use at the office, I gather my coat.

“Amanda, cancel the rest of my meetings for today.”

“Sir?” She looks up from her computer, confused. “It’s just after 3, sir, and you have a?—”

“Cancel it,” I say again. “And everything else. I’m done for the day.”

Her surprise is evident. It’s not like me to skirt obligations, let alone miss work. “Of course, sir. Is there anything specific I should tell them?”

“Whatever explanation seems appropriate.” The elevator doors open and I step inside, already loosening the tie that suddenly feels constrictive. “I’ll be unreachable for the rest of the day.”

It’s not often I feel restless. In fact, I can only recall one other time I felt this way. But when I can’t shake this feeling, there’s only one place I want to be: alone. Before Eden and my greenhouse, it was the forest preserve.

The moment the humid air of the greenhouse hits my lungs, I relax. I’m no longer torn between two worlds; they simply don’t exist. I take my time with each of my plants, showing them the love and dedication they require to not just grow, but flourish. They are living beings, deserving of all of the admiration and even fear that comes with just existing as a plant.

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