Page 62 of Veil of Secrets

All fake.

All Vince.

He didn’t even bother to hide the quality. It’s just clean enough to trick someone who wants to be fooled. The handwriting is familiar—his. The ink’s too fresh. The text messages are too exact. The kind of precision that comes from someone who doesn’t know how real people talk.

But the names?

Mine. Hers. Marco’s.

Those land like punches, even if I know they’re hollow.

Elara doesn’t pace. Doesn’t fidget.

She stands on the other side of the table, arms crossed, her eyes fixed on me like she’s not sure whether to say something or let me say it first.

The last time we stood this close, I had my hand between her thighs.

Now?

Now we’re trying to figure out if a man I’ve known for years just tried to turn her into a traitor.

“He’s trying to pin this on you,” I say.

My voice is steady. It has to be.

“Falsified logs. Meeting times you never had. Calls you didn’t make.”

Her jaw doesn’t move. Her fingers flex.

“Then he picked the wrong bitch to corner.”

I nod once.

“He wants me doubting you. Wants the Brotherhood to fracture.”

“Let him try,” she says. “I don’t break that easy.”

We hold each other’s stare.

The paper rustles between us, caught in the draft from the busted window above.

She picks up one of the sheets. Reads it.

Her eyes narrow.

“Marco’s name here,” she says. “This location. I was never near this address.”

“I know.”

“He’s betting you won’t ask.”

“He’s betting I’ll flinch.”

She tosses the page back onto the table.

I feel her fury more than I see it. Like standing next to a fuse that’s already lit.

Then the warehouse door bangs open.

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