Page 38 of Sweet Poison

As I take another sip of my coffee, my phone buzzes softly. I pull it out from my pocket and look away from the red and white chaos below to focus on the screen. Another email from Perry. The subject line reads“Background check”, and the attachment labeled“Willow O’Sullivan”makes my pulse quicken.

I set my coffee down, hesitating above the screen. I had requested this background check ages ago, when I was still trying to make a name for myself, away from shadows of my past. I asked for it, then I told Perry to trash the file. I didn’t want to bring back memories I long buried and had no purpose in my life anymore.

I don’t want to revisit the memories of a time when I was struggling to survive, but now that she’s here, I can’t help but feel curious about her life.

She’s an ecologist and biologist, but that’s all I know about her.

I remember the girl she once was.

The girl who was kind and smart and loved her family fiercely. The girl who cared for plants—even those ugly little fucking mushrooms— like they were her friends. The girl who adored her mother’s waffles and confetti cake.

But she’s a woman now.

I don’t know the woman and the fact that I want to know her is fucking with my head.

With a deep breath, I tap on the email, the screen flickering as the attachment begins to download. The document finally opens, and I steel myself as I start skimming through the text. Details about Willow’s background—her career, achievements, and milestones—unfold on the screen.

She was taken out of school at fifteen and was homeschooled before she quickly went to college at just seventeen, Penn university. Her grades were phenomenal and she graduated top of her class.

She was taken out of school? My grip on the phone tightens as I think of what could’ve happened for her to leave school in the middle of the school year. Then memories of instances where she was picked on in school by asshole kids resurface.

Fuck, fairy. Did things get worse for you?

Anger simmers in my veins as I think back to the times she came home with red and puffy eyes because kids mocked her. Motherfucker.

I take a deep breath to calm the rage building inside me and sit back.

As I scroll through the file, my eyes are drawn to another shocking detail:“Father: Head of the O’Sullivan Clan—Irish American mafia family controlling Philadelphia. Known as the Godfather of the city.”

I blink, staring at the words, my mind racing to process what I just read.

The O’Sullivan clan?

I’ve heard of the infamous crime organization, but I never connected it to the family that took me in for those two years.

The more I think about it, the more it all makes sense. I remember the big, tattooed men flanking us, always hovering in the background, but I’d brushed it off as Willow’s uncles. They were never harsh and I never noticed anything out of the ordinary. The O’ Sullivan men who loved and protected Mila and Willow were a bunch of grumpy yet loving people. That’s all I remember. Sure, I heard rumors about them but I never thought them to be true.

If only I had known that then things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did but then I wouldn't have ended up where I was born to be at…the top.

I set the phone down, and turn my attention back to the scene below and think of her.

And as I’m lost in all things Willow O’Sullivan, Lincoln’s annoying as fuck voice breaks through my thoughts. “Thanks for fucking nothing, man,” he says, his tone annoyed, “and just so you know, I left you a little Christmas gift on your bathroom floor.”

I cringe.

Fucking disgusting.

I look his way and give him a dull look, feeling my patience wear thin. “How about you do something useful instead of grating on my last nerve?” I snap, my irritation evident.

The asshole smirks as he always does when I lose my composure. “Like what?”

Staring off at the sea, I shrug, “Go drown at sea or something.”

A moment of silence falls between us followed by Lincoln’s sarcastic laughter. “Man, you kill me.”

If only it were that easy.

“Fuck off.”

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