Page 126 of Veil of Secrets

“Someone’s gotta,” I say, chain shifting as I lean closer. “You get ideas otherwise.”

“Only good ones,” he says, voice low, hand brushing my arm, steady.

The breeze picks up, cool against my skin, but his touch is warm, grounding. I look out again, city waking slow, cars starting, voices rising faint below. “What’s it look like to you?” I ask, nodding at the skyline. “When you think about protecting this.”

He thinks for a moment, eyes narrowing, not unsure, just careful. “A place we don’t have to fight every day. Where the name means something—trust, not fear. Where we can breathe.”

I nod, seeing it too—streets we walk, not watch, a crew loyal, not bought. “I want that,” I say, voice firm. “Not just for us. For whoever comes after.”

His hand finds mine, fingers lacing, rough from fights and tools. “Then we make it real. Step by step.”

“Yeah,” I say, squeezing back, feeling the pulse of it—us, the city, what’s ours. “No rush, though. We’ve got time.”

“For once,” he says, laugh rough, pulling me closer, his shoulder against mine.

I lean into him, just enough, chain glinting as the light grows. “You think Luca’s got anything new on those stragglers?”

He nods, still holding my hand. “Talked to him last night, after…” He trails off, grin flickering, knowing I remember. “Said some of Calvetti’s old runners are hiding south, near the docks. Small fry, but they’re talking.”

“Talking what?” I ask, straightening, chain shifting against my thigh.

“Trying to rally,” he says, voice sharpening. “Won’t amount to much. Luca’s got eyes on them.”

I nod, thinking of the bar, the garage, blood on our hands. “We let them talk? Or shut it down?”

He rubs his thumb over my knuckles, steady. “We watch for now. Hit Calvetti’s safehouse cleaned out most of their spine. These guys are just noise.”

“Noise can turn,” I say, meeting his eyes, knowing how fast grudges grow.

“It won’t,” he says, voice firm. “Not with us here.”

I hold his gaze, seeing the steel there, same as mine. “Good. I’m done with surprises.”

“No surprises,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Just us, calling the shots.”

The skyline’s brighter now, gold spreading wide, rose fading as the sun climbs. I feel the city below, alive, ours—not perfect, not safe, but earned. My scars don’t itch, my chain’s light against my skin, and Nico’s here, not pulling, not pushing, just standing with me.

“What’s today look like?” I ask, turning to him, breeze tugging my hair.

He thinks, eyes on the water. “Check the garage, finish that engine. Meet Luca later, go over his report. Maybe eat something that’s not bar food.”

I laugh, rough, nudging him again. “You’re dreaming big.”

“Got to,” he says, grinning. “Keeps me going.”

I step back, still holding his hand, looking him over—grease on his shirt, eyes bright, no weight in his shoulders today. “You’re not bad at this,” I say, voice low. “Building, I mean. Not just fighting.”

“You’re better,” he says, pulling me close, voice warm. “Always were.”

I shake my head, chain glinting. “Together, maybe.”

“Together,” he agrees, his grip firm, like it’s a vow.

The breeze carries salt, the city hums louder now, but up here, it’s just us, the rooftop solid under our boots. Calvetti’s stragglers, the docks, the fight—it’s all waiting, but it’s not here now. We are, and that’s enough.

“Let’s head down,” I say, stepping back, hand still in his.

“Yeah,” he says, falling in beside me, boots scuffing the concrete. “Work’s waiting.”

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