Page 69 of Veil of Blood

Footsteps echo behind me. I press back against the cold steel wall, finger brushing the Glock’s trigger guard. Then I hear Chiara’s breath, steady and sharp. I spin, weapon raised, and see her standing two meters away. Her hair is tied back tight, eyes locked on mine. In one hand, she holds her knife; her other fist is clenched. She did not hesitate to follow.

“Ready?” I whisper.

She nods, sliding into a crouch beside me. We move together without speaking. I take the right route; she circles left. Two more guards stand near rusted drums, whispering to each other. One carries a pistol. The other grips a tire iron, muscles tense.

Chiara springs first. She lunges at the man with the tire iron and slashes her knife across his throat. His eyes go wide with surprise. He falls forward, blood soaking his shirt. I do not hesitate. I fire once, straight into the chest of the guard with the pistol. His rifle clatters as he collapses, legs folding under him.

We keep moving. Another man dashes from behind a stack of crates. I intercept him at the edge of a shipping container and grab him by the collar. The impact rattles my shoulder. He spits blood, defiant. I shove him to the pavement, Glock pressed to his temple.

“Where is Ferrano?” I growl.

The guard twists his head and spits a curse. “You can’t kill me fast enough.”

I squeeze the trigger. The bullet tears through his throat. He crumples, eyes rolling back, blood spraying across the floor. Chiara steps over his legs, heels clicking on the concrete.

“He wasn’t lying,” she says quietly. “He said this place is where we find him.”

A cold haze settles in the warehouse doorway. Flames from a tossed torch behind me crackle against metal walls. I glance back and see a crate burning, sparks sending embers into the air. Chiara’s gaze flicks to me. I nod. This is where we finish.

We press against the side of the warehouse. Chiara’s shirt is damp with sweat; I can’t tell if it’s blood or just rainwater from earlier. She looks at me. “You sure?”

I swallow hard. My ribs throb from yesterday’s wound, but I push the pain aside. “He took everything from you. Tonight, we take it back.”

She nods and slides the blade from her belt. I grip the pistol between both hands. We approach the door together.

I reach for the handle and kick it open. It crashes against a storage crate. Light and smoke pour in from the burning crates behind. Inside, machinery hums under failing lights. Men turn at the noise, rifles swinging up.

We fire on instinct. Bullets tear through the air. The first man staggers backward, pistol dropping from his hand. I move forward, firing twice more—each shot precise. He collapses before he can scream. Chiara is already moving, slashing her knife across the throat of the second guard. He falls in a heap.

Six more men emerge, firing wildly. I fire twice, each burst hitting center mass. They drop, one by one. Gunpowder and fear hang in the air. The warehouse smells like copper and hot metal.

Smoke thickens near the ceiling. I slide down against a support beam, pressing my back against cold steel. My vision blurs for a moment, but I force myself to stay alert. I hear Chiara’s footsteps as she walks over.

She crouches beside me, breathing hard. “We got them all,” she says, voice steady despite the chaos.

I nod once. “Only one left.”

Flames flicker near the far wall where a hidden door stands half-open. He steps out—Dino Ferrano himself. His shirt is soaked with blood, chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. In his hand is a pistol, pointed at the floor. He surveys the carnage with narrow eyes.

I stand, Glock trained on him. “It ends tonight.”

He doesn’t flinch. “You think killing my men means you win?” His voice is calm. “I built this empire from ruin. You cannot destroy me that easily.”

I take a step forward. Every muscle is tense. “We will.”

He lifts his pistol, swinging it toward a nearby stack of crates. Sparks from the derelict machinery ignite the crates, flames leaping higher. Smoke curls around us.

Chiara moves to his left. I advance. “Give it up,” I say.

He laughs, the sound bitter. “Give it up? You’re fools.” He ducks behind a crate, firing once. The bullet slams into the concrete support beam next to me, shrapnel spraying sparks. I leap aside, heart racing.

Chiara springs at him, blade raised. He fires again, grazing her shoulder. She staggers back, crimson blossoming on her shirt. But she counters with a swift stab, blade driving through his gun arm. He cries out, dropping the pistol. Blood drips from the wound. He wrestles to stay upright.

I fire twice, bullets ripping into his thigh and then his side. He collapses to one knee, clutching the fresh wounds. Blood seeps through his fingers.

He gags, slumping forward. Chiara stands over him, blade still pressed against his throat. Flames dance across the walls, reflecting in his staring eyes.

“You took everything,” Chiara says. Her voice is cold. “Now you answer for it.”

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