Page 26 of Veil of Secrets
Not because I’m scared of what’s behind me.
Because I need my legs to believe I can hold myself up.
I turn.
And there he is.
Tommy Lucetti.
Still alive.
Still built like a man who thinks women are currency.
Hair shorter now. Face a little harder. But those eyes? Same ones that watched me bleed and told me to clean it up before anyone saw.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
He steps forward.
“You look older,” he says. “But still mine.”
No.
No. No. No.
“Don’t say my name,” I tell him. “Don’t come near me.”
He smiles. That same smug tilt he used when he came home drunk and tossed cash at me like I was a favor he regretted asking for.
“You liked it when I told you what to do.”
I punch him in the face.
Fist to nose. Straight out, no hesitation. Years of buried rage in one clean strike.
Bone cracks under the impact.
Blood sprays across his lips and onto my knuckles.
He stumbles back, cursing.
I don’t wait for an apology. I don’t care if he’s choking.
My fists are already up.
He spits blood into the fog.
“Still got that attitude,” he says, voice garbled. “Always did.”
“Try finishing that sentence with a broken jaw.”
He wipes his face with the back of his sleeve.
“You’re lucky I don’t hit women.”
“You’re lucky I’m not holding my knife.”
He straightens. Doesn’t come closer.
