Olivia skipped up the steps to Mr. T's shop, the folded razor in her hand. She had taken it earlier when he hadn't been looking. If he asked, she had wanted to sharpen it for him, but she had really just wanted to have something of his. It wasn't like he needed it—he had seven of them, after all. It was nice, holding the razor—almost like holding a part of him. But that would come later, and at the end of the day the razor was still just a lump of metal; honestly, she didn't know what he saw in the things.
Just a little love, she decided, and he would soon be over his silly obsession. Maybe this would be the thing to do it—he'd see that he could live without one of his razors, and then he'd look up and see her. At least, she thought, if Mrs. Lovett didn't come butting in where she wasn't wanted, the horrible woman. Mr. T—Benjamin might even be glad that she had looked after his razor—he would pluck the razor from her hand, toss it aside, and kiss her with all the passion she knew was hiding in him.
She opened the door, and there he was, rushing toward her, snatching the razor, grasping her shoulders with the beautiful hands, and—shoving her against the wall? Well, that was a little rougher than she liked, but it was something. She leaned forward, ready for his kiss, and—was that the razor he was pressing into her throat? Really, you'd almost think he was ungrateful that she—
Between customers, Sweeney Todd would take out his friends, stroking and talking to them. This time, he had opened the box and seen that one of them was missing. As soon as he saw the empty place, he had known who had taken her. Only three people had dared to touch his friends: Pirelli, Turpin, and that Olivia woman. Pirelli he had killed. Turpin—it was one more on the long list of crimes he would bleed for. Olivia had reached out and touched his razor—he would have killed her then and there, but Anthony had burst in, and it wouldn't do to get caught, not before he had made the world pay for killing Lucy, stealing Johanna from him, abandoning him to Devil's Island. And now, this woman had stolen, kidnapped one of his last remaining friends away from him, and that was one more thing she would pay for.
The doorbell clanged, and Todd turned—it was her. He wasn't even aware of moving, but suddenly she was against the wall, looking dazed, though that hardly mattered, because now his friend was back in his hand. In his hand, and he could see marks where she had touched his razor—dirty smudges, and there was only one way he could wash them off.
She was leaning forward, her lips slightly parted, pawing at him with those filthy hands. He raised his razor, and her smile turned into a confused frown, which enraged Todd—how dare she act like she had no idea of her crimes? He wanted her to know she was about to die for stealing his friend. But his friend was already moving, and his friend didn't care if the woman died in ignorance—one slice, and her blood gushed out, drenching his hands and cleaning his friend.
An hour later, he stood on the stairs, watching as Mrs. Lovett served the latest batch of meat pies, and, cradling his friend in his hands, Sweeney Todd smiled.