Page 47 of Veil of the Past
I shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “Traffic,” I reply, keeping my tone light, and casual, but I can feel the tension thrumming between us like a live wire.
Nicolo gestures to a chair across from him. “Sit,” he says, not a suggestion but an order, and I obey, taking the seat, my eyes never leaving his.
He sets his glass down on the table, his fingers tapping against the edge. “You wanted to talk about her,” he says, and there’s a bite to his words, an edge that cuts deeper than the cold air in the room.
I nod. “Helen,” I say, the name feeling like a curse on my tongue.
Nicolo’s face remains impassive, but I can see the flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of anger, or maybe panic, quickly buried. “She’s like a cockroach,” he mutters. “She always finds a way to crawl back from the gutter.”
I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. “She did teach us everything we know, didn’t she?”
He doesn’t smile. “Don’t give her too much credit,” he says sharply. “She didn’t teach us everything. She just forced us to learn faster.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. Helen was never a mother. She was a monster. But even monsters have their uses. “I’ve been thinking,” I continue, “about the Syndicate. About whether it was ever really eradicated.”
Nicolo’s eyes narrow, and he leans back in his chair, his hands steepling in front of him. “The Syndicate is finished,” he says, but there’s something in his voice, something unsure. “The arrests, the deaths… we wiped them out.”
“Did we?” I ask, my voice low, and challenging. “Or did we just cut off the head of the hydra? Two more heads in its place could pop up in the dark, waiting for a chance to strike.”
Nicolo’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “You think Helen is involved?” he asks, and I can hear the doubt, the worry that he’s trying so hard to hide.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But it wouldn’t be the first time she’s aligned herself with the worst of the worst.”
Nicolo is silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the wall behind me, lost in thought. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations, the possibilities. “The Syndicate…” he murmurs, almost to himself. “If they’re still out there—if they’re regrouping…”
“They’ll want revenge,” I finish for him. “And they know exactly where to hit us.”
Nicolo’s eyes snap back to mine, and there’s a fire there now, a determination that I recognize all too well. “We need to get to her,” he says, his voice low, urgent. “Before she gets to us.”
I nod. “Agreed. But we can’t do this alone. We need to be smart about it. We need to be prepared for whatever she’s planning.”
Nicolo stands, his movements quick and decisive, and I can feel the shift in the air, the shift in him. “I’ll see what I can dig up on my end,” he says. “See if they’ve heard anything. If Helen is working with anyone, they’ll know.”
“I’ll reach out to our contacts in the Camorra; Eli only knows about Helen—not the Syndicate,” I reply, standing as well. “And if the Syndicate is still out there, we need to know who’s running the show now. They won’t be the same without their leaders, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less dangerous.”
Nicolo nods, and for a moment, there’s a strange, almost reluctant respect in his eyes, a rare acknowledgment of our shared past, our shared scars. “Be careful, Romiro,” he says, his voice softer, almost concerned. “If she’s really back, she’s going to come for you first.”
I smirk, trying to hide the unease that curls in my gut. “Let her try,” I say. “I’m not a scared kid anymore.”
“No,” Nicolo agrees, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not. But don’t let your guard down. She knows you better than anyone.”
I nod, feeling the weight of his words, the truth of them. “I know,” I say quietly. “And that’s what scares me the most.”
We stand there for a moment, in the dim light of the mansion, two brothers bound by blood and pain, by a past that refuses to stay buried. And I know, deep down, that this is just the beginning. Whatever Helen has planned, it’s going to test us both in ways we can’t even imagine.
But I also know that we’re ready. That we’re stronger together. That we’ll face whatever comes, no matter how dark, no matter how dangerous.
Because we’re Esposito’s. And we don’t back down. Not ever.
* * *
The dim lightsof the casino cast a soft, amber glow over the rows of slot machines. The air thick with the scent of smoke, mingling with the faint, stale odor of old perfume and the unmistakableclinkof coins falling into metal trays. I lean against a pillar, my eyes scanning the room, every nerve in my body tense. It's a stupid tradition, this formality, but if it’s what it takes to be with Alessia, I’ll swallow my pride.
Toni is here somewhere, as is Tristan. The two men who hold the most sway over her life. The men whose approval I need, no matter how much I hate the very thought of it. I take a deep breath and rub my fingers over my lips, feeling the subtle prickle of stubble against my fingertips. My heartbeat thuds in my chest, steady but hard. I feel a certain level of anxiety, but I know it's more than that. I’m wired, like I’m bracing for something, for anything.
The sounds around me blur into a constant buzz — thebeepsfrom the slot machines, the murmurs of gamblers, the occasional burst of laughter from a table across the room. But none of it matters. Not right now. My focus is on one thing—getting through this meeting and proving myself to them.
I spot Tristan first, sitting at a corner table, a drink in front of him untouched, his expression as cold and distant as ever. His eyes catch mine, and there’s no hint of friendliness in them. I walk over, feeling the tension in my shoulders increase with every step. His fists are clenched on the table, and I know I’m not in for a warm reception.
