Page 85 of Veil of Secrets

His head lifts slowly as I step forward.

He’s groggy, but his eyes find mine quickly. They always were sharp, always calculating. Even now, tied down and bleeding, he looks at me like he thinks he can still talk his way out of this.

The lightbulb overhead swings gently, shadows dancing across the damp walls. Water drips steadily, counting down seconds none of us have left.

Elara stands near my shoulder, eyes narrowed, holding the ledger we took from Vince’s crew at the docks. Her fingers curl around the papers so tight the edges crumple in her fist.

“Wake up, Vince,” I say quietly.

He shifts, the chains scraping against the metal chair. The noise echoes in the cramped room.

He coughs once, spits blood onto the floor, and leans back. His smile comes slow, bitter, stained.

“Nice setup,” he says, voice scratchy but arrogant. “You always did prefer theatrics, Nico.”

“I’m not here to play games,” I tell him. My voice is low, measured. “Games ended the second you sold us out.”

He chuckles softly, like he’s hearing a bad joke. “You call it selling out. I call it ambition.”

“Ambition?” Elara steps closer, holding up the ledger, shoving it towards him so he can see. “This isn’t ambition. It’s betrayal. You’re feeding Marco our routes. How long did you think we wouldn’t notice?”

Vince shrugs as much as the chains allow. “I got tired of eating scraps while Nico acted like there was nobility in rotting at the edges. Marco offered more. Money. Power. Real territory.”

I move closer, hand tightening around the knife at my side. The steel feels cool, heavy, familiar. A weapon passed down through my bloodline—a symbol as much as it is a tool.

“You sold us for what, Vince?” I ask, my voice even quieter. “A bigger paycheck? A seat beside Marco? You’re too smart for this kind of stupidity.”

He smirks, lifting his chin defiantly. “I was tired of waiting, Nico. You said loyalty was everything. But loyalty doesn’t fill pockets. It doesn’t earn respect. Fear does that. Money does that.”

“No,” I say calmly. “Money buys silence. Fear buys hesitation. Loyalty buys survival. You forgot that.”

He laughs again, weaker this time. Blood drips from his chin onto the front of his shirt, soaking into the dirty white fabric. “Maybe. Or maybe I just realized survival wasn’t enough.”

I take another step forward, until we’re inches apart. I watch him carefully, noting the stubborn defiance still burning behind his eyes.

“You had loyalty once,” I say softly. “You had trust. Family. You had all of it, and you threw it away.”

His gaze falters for half a heartbeat, shifting quickly to Elara before coming back to me. Something flickers there—resentment. Jealousy. Disgust. It’s subtle, but clear.

“And you think you still have it?” he asks. His tone is thick with venom. “With her?”

“Careful,” I warn quietly.

Elara steps in even closer, ignoring my caution. Her voice sharpens like glass. “Say what you want about me. At least I never stabbed people in the back for a bigger cut.”

Vince tries leaning forward, chains clinking as he struggles. “You’re pretending to be one of us now, Elara? You're a dancer from The Cage. You think standing next to Nico changes that? You think you're untouchable now?”

Her response is quick, brutal. Her fist snaps out and hits him square across the jaw. Blood sprays sideways, staining the concrete floor.

His head jerks, and he laughs weakly. “See? You already learned to fight his fights.”

She steps back, face tight. “You’re done talking, Vince.”

He leans his head back, eyes rolling toward me again. He’s breathing heavier now, blood dripping steadily down his cheek, pooling at the base of his neck.

I lift the knife, letting the dull basement light catch the blade’s edge. It gleams faintly, cold and unforgiving.

“You had a choice,” I say, “and you made it. Marco bought you. And this?” I gesture at the chains, at the blood, at the shadows that curl around us. “This is the cost.”

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