Page 102 of Veil of Secrets

“You picked an interesting ally,” Marco says casually. “Nico Drago. Loyal dog. Shame he's backing the wrong side.”

“Funny,” Nico says evenly, voice steady and cool. “Vince had his doubts about me, too. Right before he died.”

Marco’s smile falters for a moment, a flicker of genuine surprise flashing through his eyes. Then he recovers smoothly, shrugging one shoulder dismissively.

“Vince was always too eager. Should’ve known he'd go first,” Marco says lightly, as if his top lieutenant’s death meant nothing. “But loyalty’s cheap these days. Even yours, apparently.”

I feel Nico tense beside me, but I step forward again, taking Marco’s bait deliberately. “You think this is about loyalty? It's about you thinking you own everyone who steps into your club.”

Marco laughs openly, genuine amusement echoing through the vault. “And what about Nico? You think he’s different? He's been buying and selling people just like me. You think he's your knight?”

“No,” I reply bluntly, my voice calm but steel-sharp. “I think he's here. And your numbers are dwindling.”

Marco’s smirk fades into a sneer. His fingers tighten slightly around his gun. “You’re not going to like how this ends.”

“You’re right,” I agree, stepping even closer, keeping my eyes locked firmly on his. “You won't.”

Marco raises his gun slowly, deliberately, aiming it directly at my chest. But his arrogance makes him slow, predictable. My heart thunders, but fear isn't controlling me anymore. He expects me to cower, to beg, but I’ve left that girl far behind.

“You're bluffing,” he challenges, voice steady but his eyes uncertain.

“Try me,” I say softly, dangerously, keeping my gaze unblinking.

He hesitates. One second too long.

In a fluid motion, I grab a heavy steel pipe from the cluttered table beside me, swinging it in a brutal arc before Marco’s finger even tightens around the trigger. The metal connects solidly with his arm, snapping bone with a sickening crack. The gun clatters uselessly to the vault floor, spinning away. Marco howls, a guttural, animal sound of agony as he stumbles backward, clutching his shattered limb.

“You bitch!” he spits, voice distorted by pain. Blood pours between his fingers, staining his crisp white shirt crimson.

Nico moves swiftly beside me, blade already in hand, lethal calm radiating from every motion. Marco tries to stagger back further, eyes wide now, desperation stripping away his veneer of control.

“You—you can't do this,” he stammers, voice frantic. “You don't understand what you're doing—”

“I know exactly what I'm doing,” Nico interrupts sharply, blade gleaming coldly under the flickering light. “Taking out the trash.”

Marco’s last scream cuts off abruptly as Nico’s blade finds its mark, slicing cleanly across his throat. Blood spurts hotly, splattering across Nico’s chest, pooling on the gleaming vault floor. Marco’s eyes widen with shock, mouth open uselessly, voice silenced forever. His body crumples to the ground, a grotesque heap of limbs and failure.

The guard behind him drops his gun immediately, hands up, terror plain on his face. Nico flicks his gaze toward him dismissively. “Get out. Now.”

The guard doesn’t hesitate, bolting for the vault door, abandoning his post and loyalty in a heartbeat. The heavy steel door clangs shut again, leaving us alone with Marco’s rapidly cooling body.

I stare at Marco’s corpse, adrenaline pulsing violently in my veins. His empty eyes stare back accusingly, but they hold no power over me now. He’s gone, reduced to nothing more than a messy heap on his own vault floor. The satisfaction I feel isn’t cruel—just final. A clean cut severing every chain he once tried to wrap around me.

I step forward slowly, standing over his body. My breathing slows, pulse steadying. Nico wipes his blade calmly, methodically, watching me carefully from the corner of his eye.

“You alright?” he finally asks, voice gentle beneath the cold exterior.

“Better now,” I reply truthfully, feeling lighter, clearer. I finally look up at him, meeting his gaze directly. “It had to be us. No one else.”

He nods slightly, understanding completely. “Always was.”

A quiet moment passes, heavy with finality, but not regret. We did what we had to. I finally broke free, and Nico stood beside me. The vault around us no longer feels oppressive—it feels conquered.

I glance back down at Marco’s body, contempt curling my lip. “He thought I’d always belong to him. Even now, at the end.”

Nico steps closer, voice firm, grounding. “He was wrong.”

“Dead wrong,” I whisper, turning fully toward Nico now, taking strength from his presence.

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