Page 61 of Veil of Smoke

She studies me. Not with suspicion. Not even with relief.

With understanding.

She nods once. “Good.”

I take the chair across from her. My coat drips water onto the floor.

“He said it wasn’t meant to happen that way,” I tell her.

“Liar,” she says.

I nod. “Yeah. But even liars bleed truth when they’re scared.”

I tell her the rest.

How Ignazio let her be watched. How her shop became a waypoint without her knowing it. How her flowers turned to signals. How the badge on his chest didn’t keep him from offering her up to men like Corradino—only wrapped it in clean excuses.

She doesn’t cry.

She listens.

Then she says, “He’s not part of this anymore. He doesn’t get to be.”

I don’t argue.

Because she’s right.

I move to the kitchen. Pour us both a drink.

Whiskey for me. Water for her.

When I come back, she hasn’t moved.

“Do you hate me for it?” I ask. “For letting him walk?”

Her eyes flick to mine.

“No,” she says.

I wait.

“I hate that you had to decide.”

I nod. I can live with that.

I sit beside her. Our knees touch. She doesn’t pull away.

Chapter 13 – Viviana

The rooftop smells like burned plastic and scorched metal. Ash skates across the corrugated tin in soft hisses as the wind shifts, dragging smoke up from the yard below. I crouch at the edge, fingers tight on the wire coiled in my palm. Not for grip. For control. The metal is cold, but steady. Unlike my pulse.

Beside me, Dario rests one elbow on his bent knee, watching the flicker of firelight dancing across the skeleton of the warehouse. A stack of crates smolders on the cracked asphalt below—Corradino’s shipment, or what’s left of it. His contact had barely turned his back before we torched the drop. Message sent. Fire speaks louder than warnings.

I catch Dario studying me again.

He doesn’t say anything. But I can feel the question stretching between us.

“I’m fine,” I murmur before he can ask. “Still breathing.”

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