Page 84 of Veil of Blood

“Tie me up,” I pant, and he grabs his belt from the floorboard, looping it around my wrists, pulling it tight, the leather biting into my skin, pinning my hands above my head.

The restraint heightens everything, my body at his mercy, and he chokes me again, harder this time, his fingers pressing just enough to make my head spin, my pussy clenching around him, dragging him deeper.

“Fuck, Chiara, you’re gonna break me,” he groans, his voice raw, his thrusts erratic, his control shattering.

I come again, harder, my body convulsing, my pussy milking him, my scream tearing through the car, the windows rattling, the shocks squealing.

He follows, his cock pulsing, spilling inside me, hot and thick, his groan loud, primal, his hands tightening on my throat, my hips, holding me close as he rides out his release, the car shaking, the leather torn, the frame creaking like it’s seconds from collapse.

We collapse together, panting, sweating, the car a wreck around us, the windows fogged, the leather shredded, the shocks still trembling.

His head rests against my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin, and my fingers, freed from the belt, trace down his spine, grounding us both.

I press my back into the torn leather seat, tracing the frayed stitches as my breathing steadies. The salt air drifts through the open windows, carrying the ocean’s roar and the promise of dawn.

I tug my shirt down over my skin, fingertips lingering where his hands had been. He slides his jeans on, each button a deliberate beat between us. He doesn’t look away—his eyes hold mine as he finishes dressing.

I brush a strand of hair from my face, voice low. “This… was real.”

He exhales, fingers curling around mine. “It was.” His hand is warm, comforting, even now.

I meet his gaze for a long moment, words caught in my throat. Finally, I whisper, “I have to go.”

He nods slowly, sliding down the seat to kneel beside me. His forehead rests against my knee. “I’ll keep waiting,” he says, voice steady. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

My heart clenches. I raise his chin gently, meeting his eyes. “Don’t track me,” I say, voice firm but soft. “I need this alone.”

He swallows, eyes dark with understanding. “I won’t follow,” he promises, “but I’ll be here.”

I press a kiss to his temple, tasting salt and something bittersweet. “Then go,” I whisper. “Before I change my mind.”

He pulls to his feet, lingering for a heartbeat, then turns and walks toward the road. I watch until the moonlight swallows him, the engine’s growl fading into the night.

I slip from the car and press my palm to the cool metal door.

I take one last breath of the sea-scented air and step away, the night stretching wide, our separation stretching wider. Yet in the hush of my chest, I carry his promise: he’ll wait. And I carry mine: I have to walk this path on my own.

Chapter 30 – Rocco

I step onto the rooftop just after midnight and leave the ladder behind me. Concrete presses under my bare feet. I wear a dark tank top and worn jeans—my uniform for nights like this. A cold beer rests in my right hand. I lift it to my lips and feel the brisk chill as I take a drink.

I move to the metal railing that wraps around the edge of the roof. Below, neon signs buzz and streak along Biscayne Boulevard. Headlights spill onto sidewalks where people laugh and hurry past parked cars. Somewhere, a car alarm squeals; a shout answers it. The city pulses with energy that I used to ride alongside, back when everything meant conflict. Now I watch.

My old Ferrano ink peeks from under the sleeve of my tank. It snakes from shoulder to bicep, dark lines forming a crest. I let my thumb brush over it, recalling every burn and every lesson that mark still holds. It isn’t a brand I wear proudly. It’s part of my history, neither forgiven nor forgotten.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the leather loop connected to Luca’s charm and Chiara’s keychain. The metal casing shines in the streetlight. I hold it between my fingers, fingerprint edges smoothed by contact. I whisper her name.

“Chiara.”

I close my eyes for a second, listening to the night. Somewhere down below, a motorcycle rumbles past. Glass clinks inside an open window. Footsteps echo on the pavement. Idon’t imagine her voice calling back. I simply acknowledge what was and what remains.

Wherever you are…I hope you’re still outrunning the bastards.

I tuck the keychain back into my pocket. It rests above my heart, safe there. I lean back against the railing, cradling my beer in both hands now. The city lights shimmer in patterns, revealing streets and alleys, rooftops and parking lots. In one building, a neon sign blazes “Damiani’s.” My garage, where I work late on weeks when the night stretches long and empty. Sometimes I take jobs I don’t need just so I can keep my hands moving, instruments tuned, engines alive.

I stretch my spine and let the breeze slap against my skin. Salty air drifts up from Biscayne Bay, catching in my hair and tugging at my tank top. I feel its pull, cool contrast against my heated skin. It reminds me that the world keeps shifting, but my ground is steady.

The garage below glows like a beacon through its windows. Inside, tools hang ready for tomorrow’s work. Right now, it’s dark except for a single lamp over the bench where I stashed spare parts. I know who will walk through that bay door next: a kid chasing a dream, an old friend returning for help, or maybe an adult with a family to protect. Each one carries their own story, but they share this space with me. It’s built for them as much as for me.

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