Page 25 of Veil of Smoke

He watches me closely. “What if the one who walks into your shop every Thursday in a pressed coat, orders peonies, and smiles like he’s harmless—what if he is?”

I do a double take. “Ignazio?”

Dario shrugs. “I’m not saying it’s him. But you had to think it before I said it.”

I don’t answer.

He steps forward. “You need to understand—Caldera isn’t a gang. It’s a city beneath the city. It has doctors. Lawyers. Cops. Bankers. You don’t call 911 to fight Caldera. You get swallowed.”

“So what then?” I ask. “What are you offering me?”

He tilts his head. “Not much. Just survival.”

I scoff. “Protection?”

“For now.”

“No partnership? No warm welcome into the underworld?”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “Hard pass.”

“Then what do you want from me?” I demand.

“Nothing,” he says. “I want to keep you alive long enough to untangle the mess you fell into. After that—you go your way.”

“And if I don’t want your help?”

“Then you’ll be dead before morning.”

I stare at him. “You said that already.”

“It doesn’t make it less true,” he says.

I drop into the metal chair beside the table, exhaling hard.

He watches me. “I don’t need you to trust me.”

“Good,” I mutter.

“Just don’t run,” he says. “You won’t get far.”

“You’re very comforting,” I reply, voice flat.

“I’ve been told that before,” he says.

I glance at the burner phone. “So what now?”

“We stay off grid for tonight. Tomorrow, I move you somewhere less exposed.”

“Witness protection, mafia edition?”

He smirks—just a flash. “Something like that.”

He pours another drink, but doesn’t hand it over.

I stare at his hands. They’re steady. Scarred. Cleaned of blood, but not of violence. They flex once, then still.

I stand again. He doesn’t move.

---