Page 15 of Veil of the Past
He’s not here for pleasantries, and I know it. “So,” I start, keeping my tone casual, “heard anything about the Outfit? They’ve been really quiet lately, only a few hits here and there.”
Nicolo’s eyes flick to me, sharp and unblinking. “Why would I know anything about the Outfit’s plans?” he asks, his voice cool and detached.
I shrug, trying to keep it light. “Why wouldn’t you? You have eyes everywhere; information is what you hold over everyone’s heads. Besides, it’s odd, them going silent like this. Makes me think they’re up to something.”
Nicolo doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, his gaze like ice, reading me in a way only he can. “Maybe,” he finally says, his tone giving nothing away. “Or maybe they’ve just lost their edge.”
I snort. “You don’t believe that any more than I do, Nic. They’re planning. And you know something. So, spill it.”
He steps closer, and for a moment, I can feel the coldness radiating off him like a winter wind. “If I knew something, little brother, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t involve myself in the Outfit’s and the Camorra’s petty fights. And unlike your Capo, I’d actually handle shit.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken threats. Nicolo doesn’t handle things quietly. When he “handles” something, it usually means bodies drop. And quickly. “Fair enough,” I say, taking a sip of my whiskey, trying to keep the mood light. “But you didn’t just come here to chat about the Outfit, did you?”
He glances at his watch as if my time is running out. “I’m going back to Italy,” he says finally, his voice flat, emotionless. “Got some deals to take care of. I won’t be around for a while.”
I raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at my lips. “You? Taking a vacation? I didn’t know you knew how to relax.”
His expression doesn’t change. “That’s not what I said, Romiro. It’s business. Serious business. I need to make sure that you can take care of yourself while I’m gone. No games, no screw-ups.”
I lean back, folding my arms. “What do you take me for? I can handle myself.”
He stares at me, his face hard, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know you can handle yourself. It’s everyone else I worry about.”
I chuckle, but it’s short, more to cover the tension than anything. “Got it. No messes while you’re away. You only just returned the other day, but I still expect you to bring me something nice from Italy. I hear the wine’s good this time of year.”
Nicolo’s lips twitch, just barely, like he’s considering a smile but decides against it. “Just keep your head on straight, Romiro,” he says, turning toward the door. “Don’t make me come back early.”
I nod, watching him go. “Safe travels, big brother.”
He pauses, just for a second, his back to me. Then he’s gone, the elevator doors sliding shut behind him. The room feels colder—and emptier—without him, but I don’t mind. I take another sip of whiskey, looking out over the city, and wonder what the Outfit’s next move will be… and if I’m ready to face it without Nicolo here. He may not be in the Camorra, but it always feels better knowing I have my brother backing me when I need him.
* * *
The diner is quiet tonight,just the way it’s always been. Velenci's has always been our spot—a little hole-in-the-wall place that’s been here for decades, family-run, and barely known to anyone who doesn’t stumble upon it by mistake. The walls are cluttered with old black-and-white pictures of families, faded wedding photos, and kids with ice-cream smiles. The light is low and warm, cast from vintage bulbs that hang from the ceiling, creating soft shadows across the tables. It smells like fresh coffee, sizzling bacon, and something sweet baking in the back—maybe the apple pie that’s always on special. I sit in our usual booth, tucked in the corner by the wall, where we have a little more privacy. The place isn’t full—just a couple of regulars sitting at the counter, old man Jacobs reading the newspaper, and Lisa the waitress humming along to the soft jazz playing from a vintage jukebox in the corner. The ambiance is intimate, almost secretive, like a hidden corner of the world where time moves a little slower.
I check my watch again. 8:15. Alessia is late, but that’s nothing new.Fuck!Did I shoot myself in the foot when I kissed her? I don’t regret it one bit, but maybe I should. I drum my fingers on the tabletop, glancing out the window across the diner at the flickering street lights outside. And then I see her—a flash of red hair, her silhouette framed against the glass of the door as she pushes it open. The bell above the entrance chimes, and I feel my heart skip a beat, just like it always does when she walks into a room.
She spots me, and her face lights up, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile that makes me forget, just for a moment, about everything else. She slides into the booth across from me, her cheeks a little flushed, probably from the heat outside. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, her voice breathless. “Got caught up at the hospital; you know how it is.”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I’m just glad you showed up,” I reply, a grin tugging at my lips. “Thought you might’ve found someone better to spend your time with.”
She laughs softly, a sound that makes the diner feel even cozier. “As if,” she replies, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Thanks again for the ride this morning, by the way. You didn’t have to wait for me, but I appreciated it.”
No mention of the kiss.I wave it off, leaning back in the booth. “It’s no big deal. I was in the area. Besides, I figured you could use some company after a long shift.”
She takes a sip from the glass of water the waitress left at the table, while her fingers brush her hair back behind her ear. “Well, I owe you one,” she says, her voice light. “Maybe I can make it up to you at Val and Eli’s wedding … if they ever actually set a date.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Knowing them, it’ll be last minute and chaotic. But hey, it’ll be fun. Those two know how to throw a party.”
She nods, smiling, but there’s something else behind her eyes—a look I can’t quite read. “Speaking of events,” she says, almost too casually, “my Nonna and Mamma have decided I need to be set up on another date. Tomorrow, actually. Some guy they know through his mother from a gardening club or something. I don’t know… I’m kind of dreading it. But I just thought I’d let you know, so guys won’t wait for me on Friday, for movie night.”
I feel a prickle of irritation at the back of my neck. I lean forward, my voice dropping a notch. “Don’t go,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I intend.
She blinks, surprised, and then laughs, but it’s a little forced. “Romiro, come on. It’s just one date. It’s not like I’m getting married.”
“I’m serious,” I say, my tone flat, no humor in my voice. “Don’t. Go.”
Her smile falters, and I see confusion flicker across her face. “Why not?” she asks, a touch defensive. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just to keep Nonna and Mamma off my back.”
