Eight

JASMINE POV —

I leave the dining table and take a deep breath to calm myself down. I have a deep feeling that something isn't right, a strong impending doom just around the corner.

I curse myself for being paranoid.

Ever since the encounters with Nico Ferrari, the indomitable king of America, Italy, and all the surrounding districts, I never really got over it.

I quickly clear out the table. I'm the only one downstairs.

I check on Michael really quick to make sure he's still quietly asleep in his nursery, and as I make my way to the kitchen, I pull out my phone and dial in a number.

"Hey, Mrs. Smith," I greet my old neighbor the minute she picks up.

"Jasmine, dearie, it's pretty damn early, don't you think?" Mrs. Smith greeted.

I give her a half apology. She is a friend, and I usually left Michael with her whenever Isabella wasn't around.

"The key is just under the flower vase," I inform her once more.

"Oh, I know that, Honey. But what I didn't know was that you had visitors,