To Kill or To Love You

Sofia’s POV

Blood smelled different when mixed with desperation, it clung to the air, thick like a metal. He was on his knees, coughing, one hand pressed against the blood blooming across his chest. The other stretched out toward me, trembling.

“Please… I have a daughter,” he gasped.

I scoffed, then moved close to him, I stood still, calm, my pistol levelled between his eyes. My heels clicked softly as I took a single step closer, enough to look him in the eye. I tilted my head, my voice like silk dragged across a blade.

“Did you spare my younger brother when he begged to live?”

He blinked, confused. Panic flared in his eyes.

I smiled, but it didn’t touch my eyes.

“Ohh, you don’t remember, do you?” I whispered. “You were there. He was seven.”

His lips parted, maybe to deny it, maybe to lie, I didn’t give him the chance.

The silencer muffled the sound, but the bullet didn’t show mercy.

He collapsed backward, twitching once, then still. Blood spread across the marble tiles, slow and dark, like an offering.

I lowered the gun and took a slow breath. My hand didn’t shake, it doesn't anymore.

The room was quiet now, quiet enough to hear the hum of the security camera above. I turned toward it, tilted my head, lifting my gaze, and stared directly into the lens. Let them see, Let them all see what's coming for them. I walked over to the oak desk, placed the pistol down with care, and reached into my clutch for a single red playing card. The Queen of Hearts.I tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket. My signature, actually it's a game I love playing with their minds, let them worry and think of who's next. Let them wonder in fear who Eva Cross is coming for next.

He was number seven.

With precise movements, I adjusted the collar of my coat, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle. Then, I turned toward the door.

Click. Click. Click.

I could hear it, the sound of my heels echoing the silence, sharp and rhythmic, like the ticking of a countdown. I didn’t look back, I never did, I don't have to.

I moved with unhurried grace, my silhouette tall and elegant in the corridor’s dim light. A man passed at the end of the hall, a staff member maybe, but he didn’t meet my eyes, no one ever did when I wore this face.

I reached the private elevator, the one reserved for VVIP clients, and pressed my finger to the biometric scanner. The light turned green with a soft beep. The doors whispered open. I stepped inside, turning with precision to face the camera in the corner, a small smirk ghosted my lips.From my coat pocket, I pulled a sleek metal capsule and unscrewed the top. Inside, a white gum-like paste. I popped a small bit between my teeth, chewed it twice, then reached up and smeared it across the lens in a swift, circular motion. It expanded as it made contact, bubbling lightly into a foamy blur,no face, no timestamp, no footage. Works every time. 

I reached for the panel and keyed in the override code I'd memorized a week ago. The elevator beeped twice and locked, floor access restricted, doors sealed until I reached the underground parking level, no interruptions.

As the lift hummed downward, I reached behind my head, unpinning the sleek brunette wig. My real hair tumbled free,shorter, lighter, curled. I slid off the trench coat, revealing a completely different ensemble beneath: oversized hoodie, black leggings, running shoes. From chic to invisible in less than two minutes. I removed my heels, stuffed them into my satchel, and peeled off the thin latex gloves I'd worn. Then came the colored contact lenses, the lipstick, wiped. The perfume, neutralized with a citrus cleansing wipe.

By the time the foaming paste began to dissolve from the camera lens, Eva Cross no longer existed in that elevator, just a woman nobody knows or cares to know. The elevator dinged softly as it reached the underground lot. I stepped out casually, slipping past two valets who didn’t even glance my way. One of them was laughing into his phone, the other was yawning. Neither noticed the woman who vanished behind the rows of luxury cars.

I exited through the south pedestrian gate, blending into the late night silence. The sky was ink-black, the streets buzzing with different activities. I walked three blocks before taking off the hoodie and folding it into my bag

The faint wail of sirens drifted up the street just as I turned the corner.

It's the ambulance, they’d already found him. I didn’t need to see the scene to know the man was dead, I had never been sloppy with any of my kills. Someone would be pulling a white sheet over his face before sunrise.

By the time I reached my building, the adrenaline had settled into a sharp hum beneath my skin. My studio apartment was small, but it was mine, cozy and quiet. As soon as I stepped inside, a soft, familiar meow greeted me.

“Hey, Shadow,” I murmured, bending down to scratch behind his ears. The black cat blinked up at me, tail flicking with lazy affection. I poured kibble into his dish and watched him dive in as if I’d starved him for days.

Peeling off my shoes, remaining my socks, I crossed to the far wall, my planning wall. Every face I’d erased stared back at me in neat, cold order, each photo nailed in place like a trophy. My gaze lingered on the fresh one in my hand before I pinned it to the wall, another ghost added to the collection.

My fingers hovered above the screen as I pulled up the file I'd saved for four years now, the final photo. Roberto Moretti. A monster draped in luxury, I looked at him for a long moment, one more, just one.

My fingers tightened on the paper, the edges biting into my skin. It was time to end this and make him pay.

“This time,” I whispered, “it’s personal.”