Page 13 of Veil of Secrets

“Elara Ricci.”

Not a prayer.

Not a warning.

Just a decision forming in real time.

Let’s see what kind of trouble you’re really built for.

Chapter 3 – Elara

The mirror’s cracked at the top left corner. The line splits my reflection in two, and I can’t decide which side looks more exhausted.

I swipe the glitter off my cheek, the pad of my thumb already stained with the mix of powder and sweat. It doesn’t come off clean. It never does. Not even with the wipes. It’s like the shimmer has burrowed into my skin.

The music from the club still hums through the wall—bass-heavy and flat. The last set wrapped an hour ago, but a few girls stayed to hustle VIPs for private dances. Not my gig.

I’ve got my own noise to deal with.

My chain swings every time I shift. It’s restless tonight, like it knows something’s coming.

I lean closer to the mirror, roll my shoulder, and press into the old scar just below my ribcage. That bastard ache again. It’s dull now but still there. Like a bruise you forgot about until someone touches it too hard.

Nico’s voice plays back in my head. “I want loyalty.” Like it’s a choice I can spare.

And then the guy’s guts hit the ground and Nico just... stood there. Calm. Efficient. Like cleaning up messes is just part of his job.

It wasn’t a pitch. It was a warning.

He didn’t say what he’d do if I said no. Didn’t have to.

I toss the wipe into the overflowing trash and tug off my bra from under the tank top, letting the wet elastic snap loose from my ribs. I exhale. Not relief—just less restriction.

The door creaks open behind me.

“Still here?” Giorgia says, voice soft, dragging like smoke.

She’s got a towel over her neck, hair damp, lipstick wiped clean but glitter still crusting her collarbone. Her heels are off. She walks like her feet hate her.

“Yeah,” I mutter, grabbing another wipe. “Wanted a minute without hands trying to grope me or men asking if I come with the stage.”

She chuckles, then nudges my shoulder lightly as she walks past to her locker.

“Tough crowd tonight,” she says.

“Same crowd. Different stink.”

She hums, then tilts her head toward me.

“Word is, Drago’s been asking around.”

I go still.

She keeps digging in her locker like she didn’t just toss a grenade on the floor.

I roll my eyes. “That right?”

“Yeah.” She pulls out a shirt and sniffs it, winces, and tosses it back in. “You made an impression.”

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