Page 111 of Veil of Secrets
He gasps, gun wavering, but Elara’s already moving, faster than his reflex. Her fist slams into his face, bone cracking loud, like wood splitting. More blood sprays, staining her knuckles as he staggers, gun clattering to the concrete. He drops, twitching, hands clawing at nothing, then goes still, red pooling beneath him, steaming faintly in the warehouse’s chill.
We stand over him, breathing steady, not shaken, just sharper. Elara’s fist is still clenched, blood dripping from her knuckles, chain glinting against her hip. My knife’s wet, red clinging to the steel, but my grip’s firm. The warehouse hums again, different now—not just plans, but purpose, alive with what we’ve claimed.
She looks at me, eyes steady, unflinching. “They don’t know it’s already over.”
I wipe the blade on the thug’s jacket, blood smearing dark. “That’s their mistake.”
Rust isn’t what ends us. It’s what we scrape off to get to the steel beneath.
I step closer, checking the door he came through, half-expecting more. It’s quiet, just the waves outside, the wind rattling the siding. “More will come,” I say, voice low, turning back to her.
“Who was he?” she asks, crouching beside the thug, checking his pockets quick. Her knife’s out, resting on her knee, ready.
I lean down, spotting a folded paper in his jacket. I pull it out, unfolding it—names, dates, a meet set for tomorrow night at the docks. “One of Calvetti’s,” I say, showing her the scrawl. “Working with Marco’s leftovers, looks like.”
Her brow furrows, taking the paper. “They’re moving faster than we thought.”
“Yeah,” I say, standing, tucking my knife away. “They think we’re still picking up pieces.”
She rises. “So we hit them first, like you said?”
“Harder now,” I say, folding the note into my pocket. “This guy was a message. They’re testing us.”
Her lips curve, sharp and real. “They’re gonna regret that.”
I grin, feeling her fire match mine. “Damn right.”
She steps closer, wiping her knuckles on her jeans, leaving red streaks. “How many you think they’ve got? Calvetti’s crew, I mean.”
I think about Luca’s reports, the names he’s been tracking. “Ten, maybe twelve. Small, but desperate. Rossi’s men are the bigger problem—better connected, more guns.”
Her eyes narrow, studying me. “You worried?”
“Not with you here,” I say, voice steady, meaning it. “We’ve faced worse.”
She nods, chain glinting as she leans against the table. “We have. But this feels different.”
“How?” I ask, crossing my arms, watching her close.
She taps the map, finger landing on the dockside stash. “It’s not just fighting now. It’s holding something. Building it. That’s harder.”
I step beside her, looking at the map, red lines marking what’s ours. “Harder, yeah. But worth it.”
Her hand brushes mine, not planned, just natural. “You really think we can do this? Make it last?”
I turn to her, meeting her eyes. “I know we can. Not because it’s easy—because it’s us.”
Her lips curve again, softer this time. “You’re getting good at saying the right thing.”
“It’s not about saying,” I say, voice low. “It’s about doing. And I’m doing this with you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then nods, her hand squeezing mine. “Then let’s make it count.”
I feel that in my chest, solid, real. The thug’s blood is still wet on the floor, but it’s not what drives us. It’s the maps, the plans, the name we’re rebuilding. Drago’s not my father’s anymore, not Marco’s. It’s ours, and we’re not letting it fall.
Chapter 23 – Elara
The boardwalk feels different tonight. The carnival lights blur softly into twilight, casting the boards beneath my feet into a blend of gold and shadow. I lean against the metal railing overlooking the ocean, feeling the cool, salty breeze brush gently over my skin. It's strange, standing here like this, after everything we've survived. Somehow, the quiet feels louder than the gunshots ever did.
