Page 94 of Veil of Secrets
I step toward the door, Elara matching my pace. Luca’s waiting outside with the car, but before my hand hits the handle, the door slams open, wood splintering against the frame. A thug bursts in—younger than the last, louder, dumber. His eyes are wild, knife already raised, mouth open before he’s fully in the room.
“Drago! You’re fucking dead!” he yells, charging straight at me.
“Not today,” I say, voice calm, already spinning to meet him.
My fist moves faster than his blade, driving into his face with a crack that echoes off the steel tables. Bone gives way—nose, cheek, something shatters. He staggers, blood pouring from his face, but he’s still swinging, knife cutting air.
Elara’s on him before he can recover. Her elbow slams into his ribs, hard and precise. There’s a snap, sharp and wet, like a branch breaking. He gasps, doubling over, blood coughing from his mouth in a spray that hits the floor.
He’s done, but I don’t leave chances. My blade’s out, slashing across his chest in one clean motion. The cut’s deep, splitting skin and muscle. He collapses, knees hitting concrete, then face, blood pooling fast. The room smells like hot metal, sharp and thick, mixing with the cigar smoke.
Elara doesn’t step back. She stands steady, knife in hand, eyes locked on the body like she’s memorizing it. Her breathing’s even, chain swaying slightly. She’s not shaken. She’s in it, same as me. Our eyes meet, and she grins—small, sharp, real.
“You always this graceful under pressure?” she asks, voice dry.
“Only when it counts.”
I grip her arm, firm but not rough. “Elara.”
She meets my gaze, unflinching. “Nico.”
We hold that for a second, the room heavy with blood and neon. Violence is our language now, and we’re fluent. She doesn’t need me to lead her. She’s right here, step for step.
“Why’d he come alone?” she asks, nodding at the body. “Dumb move.”
I glance at the door, then back at her. “Not alone. Backup’s close.”
She raises an eyebrow, stepping over the thug’s arm. “How many?”
“Enough to keep us moving.” I check the door, hand on my blade. “Pier’s still the target. This was a distraction.”
“Then we don’t get distracted.” Her voice is sharp, eyes burning. “We hit them now.”
I step closer, voice low. “You sure you’re ready for what’s waiting?”
She tilts her head, chain catching the light. “You think I’d be here if I wasn’t?”
I grin, quick and rare. “Fair point.”
She moves to the door, pausing to glance back. “You trust me to lead this?”
“More than anyone.” I follow, boots sticking slightly in the blood. “You’ve earned it.”
Her lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Keep up, then.”
“Try me,” I say, matching her pace.
We’re almost at the door when she stops, turning to face me. “What’s Marco expecting? Us to run?”
“He’s expecting us to hesitate. He’s wrong.”
“Damn right.” She checks her knife, then looks at me.
“Luca’s got the car. We’re five minutes from the pier.”
“He better not be late,” she says, following. “I’m not in the mood to wait.”
I open the door, rain hitting my face. Luca’s there, leaning against the car, jacket soaked. He straightens, eyeing the blood on us.
