3
Fiore
The collar is made of white gold, finely wrought and expensive. I turn it over, considering it as I sip my coffee at the little French patisserie next door to the hotel. It’s been a few days since I killed Tony, a few days of tossing and turning all night in my hotel room bed.
This morning, I got up to find Monster gone. No note, no direction for how I should spend my day.
There was only this collar on the pillow beside mine, shiny and cold to the touch.
I’ve seen the collar before. I know it’s from him.
A gift.
A reminder.
Something that says I am his possession, without a shadow of a doubt. I’m not sure who Monster feels needs to be warned off. Is it everyone who sees me? One person in particular? Or maybe it’s me that Monster can’t seem to trust.
After all, we have a ro
