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How I spent enough time with her to knock her up is beyond me. I must’ve been desperate.

Or drunk.

Or just fucking stupid.

Stupidity definitely played a part because I should have worn a condom when I was simply breathing the same air as Amie. When I fucked her? Yes. Did it help? No. No, it fucking didn't.

Thank Christ the only permanent prize I got from that encounter is adorable and my sole reason for anything and everything now. Having a kid wasn’t in my five-year plan or any plan at all, if I’m honest. It sure as shit is not what I needed. But I can’t imagine my life without Evie.

Her mother, though? Amie is another story.

“What is it you want me to do, Amie?” The question comes out on a slow exhale, taking my will to push through this day with it.

There’s one.

“What do you mean? I want you to tend to your daughter and her needs.” Attitude oozes from the woman like slime.

“Her needs.” Not a question, simply a restatement for clarity. “She doesn’t need her room to be professionally redecorated. That’s a want if it’s anything, and I think it’s more for you than her.” The headache Amie consistently manages to give me is next level. I fill my lungs and hold the inhale for a count of seven and slowly blow it out.

That’s two.

I don’t have time for this nonsense. And I don’t have time for her.

“Edmond—”

“Amie, don’t. Just fucking don’t. What is it that you’re actually looking for? I know you’re after something. Probably something big, if I had to take a guess. Let’s just cut to the chase, okay?” Remaining calm and rational is paramount. I’m dangerously close to ending this call and doing something stupid. To distract myself, I grab a pen and start laying out my wish list.

1. Full custody of Evie.

2. Termination of parental rights by Amie.

3. Permanent elimination of the Amie headache.

Each item on the list presents an issue, if not a dozen. The easiest to tackle and probably most efficient in all aspects is the third. That one takes care of the other two.

I’ve got enough favors stacked up with some of my less above-board clients that it wouldn’t be all that difficult to arrange. Jesus, am I really sitting here contemplating putting a hit out on my daughter’s mother?

I mean, I am.

What does that say about me as a human being? Maybe that I am, in fact, human. Some days it feels like I’m nothing more than make believe. Like I’m stumbling through life, going through the motions, and checking things off my master list so I don’t lose anything vital.

Seriously, though, with my good friend sitting on the throne of organized crime who has contract killers and cleaners at his fingertips, it wouldn’t be hard to make her just… poof.

Done.

Gone.

Cleaned up and out of my way.

“Are you even listening to me? I swear to God, I just talk and talk and talk, and you ignore everything I say. This is important, Edmond. This is our daughter⁠—”

Heat climbs up my spine, standing my hair on end. I shove a hand through the overgrown mess, tightening my fist until the sting replaces the burn, and I push all the air from my lungs.

That’s three.

Time to end this pointless conversation before I end up calling in that favor for disposal after all.

“No. I was not listening because you’ve yet to say anything worth my time. And I try very hard to ignore most of what you say, Amie. You think everything is important—an emergency—and it’s all in the name of Eveline. You use our daughter to get your way⁠—”