Page 48 of Veil of Blood

Chiara knuckles her jaw, chest heaving. She kneels beside him, examines his wound. She stands, pressing a finger to her own lips.

“He’s gone,” she says, voice flat.

I nod. My eyes scan the ledger in my hand, then drop to Marco’s body. I step closer and pull the notebook from my pocket, flipping to the final entry I never read: his signature, ledger page—it’s his name and mine, forever bound.

He thought he could cut us both out. He thought he could kill our names. Now I hold his name—the real Ferrano weapon—in my fist.

Chiara stands beside me, silent. We look out at the dock’s expanse—empty now, save for crates and scattered debris. Waves crash beyond the pier. A lone seagull squawks as it dives.

Rage still hums in my veins. But revenge is quiet now. Final.

I close the ledger, lock eyes with Chiara, and nod.

He won’t get far.

Chiara slumps against a crate, breathing hard. Sweat beads at her hairline.

I rise and kneel beside her. I offer my shoulder. She leans in, resting her head there.

“We keep moving,” she says, voice soft but firm.

I wrap an arm around her. “We’re not done,” I reply.

She lifts her head, nods once. “But we’re alive.”

We share a long look. Then I lean in and kiss her—no urgency, no passion’s wildfire. It’s messy, real, survival-tied. She pulls me close, arms winding around my neck.

“Close the door,” she says between breaths.

I rise and lock the warehouse door behind us. The lock clicks. We stand in metal silence, sealed from the world outside.

Next, we find the office: stripped-down, one small window high on the wall, a desk, and two chairs. We block the door with a crate. No sound escapes. Inside, we shed our clothes and war gear. We lie skin to skin on the cold metal floor, scars pressed together. Her arm bandaged, my temple scar brushing her rib.

Words aren’t needed. Each breath, each heartbeat, speaks of battle won and battles ahead. We’re bound by blood and names.

I close my eyes, resting my cheek on her shoulder. She fits against me like a promise.

She stiffens, then turns slightly. “You’re not leaving?” she asks in a whisper.

I press a kiss to her temple. “I’m not letting go.”

She smiles against my skin. Her fingers trace over the fresh bruises on my arm.

A distant crash of a wave reaches us through the vents. The smell of gunpowder and sweat lingers in the office’s stale air.

We lie there, side by side, half-dressed and spent. The Ferrano secret weapon has been named.

Dino!

The war has changed—and so have we.

Chapter 15 – Chiara

It took us a lot of digging to find this place, to find Javier. Concrete walls sweat under the humid night. A single oscillating fan buzzes above, slicing stale air that smells of cigar smoke and sweat. Neon stripes from a sign outside cut through gaps in the blinds, painting the room in jagged lines of red and blue. A radio in the next space babbles faint salsa, clashing with the tension tightening my shoulders.

Rocco pulls the door open for me. We step through a narrow back entrance into a cluttered storeroom. Boxes of contraband sit stacked high. Heat presses in from every corner. We pause where the fan’s breeze trickles through a crack in the door. He tilts his head, voice low.

“We’re in. Two thugs front left. Javier’s at the center.”

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