Page 9 of Veil of Secrets

The door groans open behind me.

“Pacing again,” Luca says.

He’s still in last night’s jacket. Dark leather, a little too new for a guy who’s supposed to be laying low. His eyes sweep the room, then land on me.

“You look like shit.”

I light the cigarette. “Didn’t sleep.”

“No kidding.”

He drops into the busted armchair by the window and kicks his feet up on the milk crate we use as a table. Cracks open a warm beer. The guy never changes.

“You gonna tell me why you’re staring holes through a map of a strip club?” he asks.

“Not a strip club.”

“Fine. A cage-dancer joint with blood on the floor.”

“She’s not part of it.”

“She stabbed a guy last month. You know that, right?”

“She didn’t stab anyone,” I say. “She cracked his jaw. I saw the footage.”

He snorts. “And that’s your recruitment strategy now? She hits hard and doesn’t panic. Let’s bring her into a criminal organization?”

“She moves like she’s still surviving,” I say. “That matters more than half the guys we’ve got.”

Luca rolls his eyes. “You know who else is good at surviving? Roaches.”

“She’s not a roach.”

“No, she’s just a hot girl in leather who doesn’t scare easy. That makes her what—Queen of the Damned?”

“I don’t need her to be a queen,” I say. “I need her to be sharp. Uncompromised.”

“Jesus, Nico,” he mutters. “You’re serious.”

“She’s not clean. But she’s not corroded. Not yet.”

Luca throws his head back. “You sound like a bad commercial.”

I take another drag, lean against the table. The cigarette burns too fast. I ash it into a glass we’ve been using as an ashtray since last week.

Footsteps upstairs. Slower. Heavier.

Vince.

Of course.

The door creaks again and Vince steps in like he owns the place.

Hair slicked, suit too expensive for a man who claims to be broke. His tie is off, hanging loose around his neck, and his shoes are polished. Always polished. I never trust a guy whose shoes never get dirty.

“Smells like frustration in here,” he says, grabbing a chair and flipping it around to sit on it backward.

“Go home,” I tell him.

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