FLOWER CROWN

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"Stop the car." The car slowed to a halt beneath the trees. That was when Lorenzo saw her.

She sat on the ground near a patch of wildflowers, knees drawn close, a white skirt pooling around her like moonlight given form. Her hair fell loose down her back, dark and soft, catching the glow of a nearby lamp. She was focused, completely unaware of the danger that breathed in the world around her.

Her hands moved carefully, delicately, threading flowers together. A flower crown.

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The memory ended where it always did, with him holding the crown.

The flower crown hung in its bulletproof glass frame, directly across from his desk.

Dried petals were pale and fragile, carefully reinforced so they wouldn't crumble, because Lorenzo Gianni De Luca did not allow beautiful things to decay if they belonged to him. The crown had been mounted the same way one would display a relic, a holy artifact. Proof that something pure had once existed in his world.

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