Page 34 of Veil of Blood

The way he says it—quiet, certain, like it’s not a question—breaks through every barrier I’ve spent the last year building. My knees go soft. My throat locks up.

I thought I could outrun this.

“I had nothing left,” I whisper. “Everything burned.”

He takes a step closer. Doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t crowd me.

“You faked it,” he says. “You walked away.”

“I had to,” I snap. “Because you weren’t there. Because Sal was the only one who didn’t walk out when the building was still smoking.”

He watches me. Not blank. Not judging. But not comforting either.

He knows now.

Sal played me. He fed me scraps of kindness and safety while cashing in on every movement I made. While I ran in circles pretending I was free, he handed over coordinates and gave intel to both sides.

“You let me live under his roof,” I say, voice shaking, “and he’s been selling my name like it’s a lotto number.”

Rocco’s still holding the binder, but it hangs limp at his side.

“I had no idea Sal was behind this,” he says. “It only clicked for me at the docks—when I saw Vincent.” His voice catches a notch. I can see him putting it together. The payout entries. The photo from the race. The coded drop schedules that match my route.

He kneels in front of me again. Quiet. Steady. No ego. No command.

“Let me help.”

I shake my head.

“You don’t get to offer that now.”

“Chiara.”

“Don’t.”

But I let him take my hand when he reaches out. I let my fingers curl into his like they still know him. Like they remember nights when he kept watch while I slept, back when my name meant something and our world wasn’t soaked in betrayal.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he says.

“I always had to.” I look him dead in the eyes. “Doesn’t mean I wanted to.”

He stays there for a moment, holding on. Then his hand drops, and he stands up. “You’re in danger. From all sides.”

“No shit.”

“I’ll be around,” he says. “When you’re ready.”

I step back. “I’m not done. This doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know.”

He walks toward the door.

Doesn’t slam it. Doesn’t even look back.

That’s worse.

I stand frozen for a full minute. Maybe two. Then I turn back to the bench.

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