she's worse

21

If Sorin was an old man, I'd marry him before I killed him so I'd inherit all his money.

But there's no way I can kill someone this young from "natural causes" and after Damen, it would look suspicious. It would take a longer process, and I don't feel like spending that time or money when I'm in a position where I'm seen by the public and people will suspect me first. 

Meaning when he dies, I fake my own death. Which means I need to create myself paperwork—and soon. Being given up at birth means I lived in this country as a natural born, but not a citizen. There's no trace of me. No paperwork. And people will notice.

I cautiously entered the private jet, looking for any possibilities for some sort of sabotage.  As I opened the compartment above my seat to fit my bag, I felt hands grip my waist to steady me. Sorin's fingers lightly trailed up my sides and up my arms.

Just as he went to put my bag in for me, I jabbed my elbow into his side and turned my head. "I am perfectly able to do it on my own." I turned my head to face the front again, refusing to hear any arguments and easily slid the large bag into the compartment and closed it shut. At five— eleven, I was perfectly capable of getting things done on my own.

"No need to be rude," chided Sorin, who was now putting his own bag into the compartment.

"I wasn't rude. Don't you have people to put these bags in?" I asked.

"I'm cheap." I looked him up and down, very slowly. I let my eyes drift over the material of his shirt, slightly narrowing them in judgement and pursed my lips looking at the hem of his pants, half a centimeter to short for him.

"I can tell. You should get those pants altered, and your dress shoes not matching the exact shade of your belt or the strap of your watch says enough for me. I can get you the number of my tailor if you need."

He deserved condescending. If anything, he deserved worse than that and that's what I'm here for.

To kill him.

He deserved worse than a painless murder, though.

Things would just be better that way with him gone and the world going crazy over not being able to figure out whether the death of Sorin Giovanni was natural causes, murder, or suicidal.

The issue, however, is that an unclear death would lead to suspicion of murder, but an unclear death would also lead to officials ruling out telling the public that his cause of death was natural because Sorin Giovanni does not have a private primary care physician and by his own choice allows his health information to pass through between his different doctors. With no record of disease, doctors would speak up, which would rule out telling the public of death by disease. Telling the public that he died from murder when the circumstances were unclear and the murderer on the loose, would lead to civil unrest. The smartest thing for them to do is to rule it as a suicide.

I won't get caught, that I can be sure of. But to do that, I need to stage his murder as a suicide. But to avoid the press, I need to stage my own death as a suicide as well.

"I don't need your damn tailor," Sorin grits out. I can nearly hear his teeth crushing together just by watching the way his jaw is flexed and his nostrils are flared. 

"Hmm," I respond, sitting in my seat and fastening the seatbelt. I drown out whatever he said as I put in my headphones and looked out the window. I can practically hear Sorin shaking with anger at my behavior, but I refrain from letting a satisfied smirk rest on my face. He might not be able to see me, but the control of facial reactions is a form of art. It conveys a message far stronger than words and to be able to control this message gives immense power.