Page 95 of Veil of Secrets

“Another one?” he asks, voice dry.

“Handled,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat.

Elara takes the driver’s side, keys in hand. “We’re going to Pier seven. Fast.”

Luca climbs in the back.

She smirks, pulling out. The tires hiss on wet pavement, rain blurring the neon. The city’s watching us move. I check my blade, still warm from the thug’s blood. Elara’s hand’s steady on the wheel, eyes sharp, like she’s already seeing the pier.

“How many you think they’ve got?” she asks, voice calm.

“Ten, maybe more.” I lean back, watching the street. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Numbers never do.” She glances at me. “Just us.”

“Just us,” I say, feeling the truth of it.

Luca snorts from the back.

“Pier’s close,” I say. “We go in hard.”

“Hard’s my favorite,” she says, voice low.

I check the paper from the first thug, names and times burned into my head. “They won’t expect us this soon.”

“Let them be surprised.” Her grin’s sharp now. “Makes it easier.”

I nod, hand on my blade. “We end this tonight.”

“No other way,” she says, eyes on the road.

The car cuts through the rain, the casino’s neon fading behind us. Marco is waiting, thinking he’s set the trap. He’s wrong. This room was his move, and we turned it into ours.

The pier’s shadow looms ahead, cutting through the gray rain. I feel the weight of the fight, the blood, the city. We’re not just hunting now. We’re claiming.

“Ready?” I ask, voice low.

“Born ready,” she says, pulling the car to a stop.

I grin, stepping out into the rain. She’s right behind me, knife ready, chain glinting. Marco doesn’t know what’s coming.

But he will.

Chapter 17 – Elara

The boardwalk pier groans beneath my feet, each creak familiar, whispering old warnings I used to heed. The ocean is restless, slapping harshly against the pilings below as dark, bruised clouds gather on the horizon. Atlantic City is quiet tonight. It shouldn’t be. The calm is deceptive.

I stand at the edge of the pier, fingers gripping the rusted rail. Salt sprays lightly against my face, stinging just enough to keep my thoughts from drifting. Yet they still pull toward Tommy. Not longing—never that. But some scars go deeper than skin.

Nico leans silently against the railing beside me, his presence steadying without any words exchanged. I appreciate his silence. He doesn’t fill space with false comforts. He understands that some things can't be soothed—they have to be confronted.

He shifts slightly, arms crossed casually over his chest, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He doesn’t look at me, but I feel his attention anyway.

“You think he’ll ever really fade?” I ask quietly, knowing Nico will understand exactly who I mean. My voice is steadier than I expect, betraying none of the twisting in my gut.

“No,” Nico answers simply, honestly. He still doesn’t look at me, but his voice is firm, comforting in its bluntness. “But you get stronger. Eventually, his memory won’t touch you anymore.”

I exhale slowly, letting that truth settle in my bones. “Good.”

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