Page 45 of Veil of Secrets

“You think this means you win something?” he says.

“I don’t need to win,” I say. “I just need to survive.”

“Careful,” he replies. “There’s a difference between surviving and living scared.”

“Then maybe you should stop pretending you’re the one we should fear.”

His eyes narrow. But only slightly. He likes the dance. He just didn’t expect me to lead.

I nod once.

Then turn to Nico.

“We’re done here.”

He falls in beside me without a word.

We walk toward the entrance.

No one stops us. No one dares.

The body still lies there, blood spreading toward the velvet carpet.

Behind us, murmurs start again.

The noise returns. A laugh here. A clink of a glass.

The bar tries to forget.

But they won’t.

They’ll remember the girl who didn’t flinch.

The man who cut a throat in front of Marco Salvatore.

And the way neither of us apologized.

We don’t speak until we’re back in the parking lot.

The wind hits colder out here. The heat of the bar replaced by the sting of real air.

My heels scrape the concrete as I walk. I stop halfway between the building and the car.

Nico stands beside me, jacket already zipped. The knife’s gone again. I don’t ask where.

I light a cigarette.

Hands are shaking now. Not visible, but I feel it.

He watches.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” I say, not accusing. Just saying it aloud.

“He touched you.”

“I could’ve handled it.”

“I know.”

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