Page 24 of Veil of Smoke

“This. Hideouts. Safehouses. Secrecy.”

“I’m good at it,” he replies, deadpan.

“You’re terrifying,” I say.

He doesn’t smile. “That’s why I’m alive.”

He grabs the bottle from the table, pours two fingers into a chipped mug, then sets it down in front of me.

“For the shock,” he says.

“I’m not in shock,” I reply.

He watches me. “You’re pale. You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“Right.”

I lift the mug. The whiskey bites down my throat, harsher than I expect. It hits my chest like a match to a soaked log—slow to catch, then smoldering deep.

I set it down. “Now what?”

Dario leans against the edge of the table. “Now I tell you why you’re still breathing.”

“Because you dropped two men in an alley?”

“They weren’t the first.”

“That’s not reassuring,” I say, stepping closer.

“It’s not meant to be,” he replies.

I stop two feet from him. “Start talking.”

He folds his arms, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You were never supposed to get that envelope. It was marked for someone inside Caldera’s supply chain. One of mine. Your courier screwed up.”

“Then I’m just an accident.”

“A very public one,” he says. “You walked into a drop point with eyes on it. Corradino was already watching. Your name is now part of a conversation you were never meant to hear.”

“And now he thinks I’m one of you?” I ask.

He nods. “Or someone’s asset.”

“I’m not anyone’s asset,” I say firmly.

“You are if they believe you are,” he says.

I start pacing. “So you’re telling me I’m a florist who accidentally walked into a criminal operation and now has a hit on her head.”

“Yes.”

“I should go to the police.”

Dario doesn’t flinch. “And if the cop across the desk is already on Caldera’s payroll?”

I freeze.

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