Page 41 of Veil of Ashes

Dante rises from his chair, his movements steady and sure as he comes to me.

He stops in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder—warm, heavy, like a final stamp on a contract. His fingers press firm, then ease off.

“You’ve served me well,” he says, voice low and cutting through the chilled space. “But loyalty is a living thing.”

His eyes bore into mine, searching for a flinch I won’t give.

Gia cuts in, her smile sharp and gleaming. “And sometimes, loyalty bleeds,” she says, leaning back in her chair, champagne flute tilting in her hand. Her words hang there, taunting.

I stand rooted, face carved from stone, but my mind spins fast. Trust is gone—leverage is my only play now. Dante’s hand lingers in my thoughts, a signal I can’t ignore.

He steps back, arms folding across his chest. “If this burns me, I’ll bury you in this vault,” he says, voice dropping cold and hard. His gaze stays locked on me, unyielding.

I nod once, keeping my stance solid. Gia’s eyes follow me, hunting for weakness.

“You’ve got balls, Santoro,” Dante says, turning back to the table. He picks up the ledger again, flipping it open, fingers tracing a line. “Let’s hope they’re not just for show.”

I watch him study the pages. The guards by the door stay still, rifles catching the light, a quiet threat in the background.

Gia sets her glass down, the clink loud in the hush. She crosses her legs again, dress riding up her thigh. “He’s always been good at playing both ends,” she says, voice smooth and biting.

“Focus on your drink,” I say, glancing her way. My tone stays flat, but irritation flickers beneath it. She laughs, a sound that grates my nerves.

Dante shuts the ledger, dropping it onto the felt with a soft thud. “You’ve got my attention,” he says, facing me again. “Don’t waste it.”

I shift my weight, ready to leave. “I don’t plan to,” I say, keeping it short.

He waves a hand, dismissing me. “Go,” he says, turning back to his cards. “We’ll see how this plays out.”

I head for the door, boots striking the stone floor steady and loud. The guards part, letting me through without a word. Steel swings shut behind me, a heavy clang.

Gia follows, her stilettos clicking sharp on the corridor’s polished surface. She catches up quick, her presence a shadow I can’t shake. Her perfume hits me, floral and too strong.

She leans in close, lips near my ear. “She marks you, Kieran,” she whispers, voice soft but edged with poison. “You’ll die for her. They’ll make sure of it.”

My teeth grind hard, tension locking my face tight. We weren’t lovers—we were each other’s weakest link. And nothing has ever pissed me off more.

She hovers there, breath warm against my neck, then pulls back. Her heels echo as she retreats, fading down the hall. I keep moving, climbing the stairs, steps firm.

Casino noise trickles down—slots chiming, voices blending into a dull roar. I reach the main floor, pushing through the crowd, cigarette smoke stinging my nose.

Bright lights flash overhead, gamblers hunched over tables, oblivious to the stakes I’m carrying. My hands flex at my sides, restless, itching to grip something solid.

I weave past a row of slot machines, their bells ringing sharp. Sylvara’s face flashes in my head—her fierce eyes, her skin under my hands last night, her trust in me now.

Gia’s words claw at me—Sylvara marks me, and they’ll use it. My gut twists, not for me, but for her, caught in this web because of what we’ve become.

The vault’s chill sticks to me, even up here in the heat of the floor. Dante’s threat echoes—bury me in that vault, her first. I feel the edge we’re balancing on.

Protecting her means turning on Dante, cutting ties I’ve held for years. Staying loyal means risking her—her future, her breath, her everything.

I push through a group of tourists, their laughter grating against my focus. The ledger’s clean and passes for truth, but clean doesn’t mean safe—not with Dante’s games, not with Gia’s eyes.

My boots hit the carpet harder, driving me toward the exit. Sunlight waits outside, harsh and unrelenting, but my mind stays locked on her, on us.

Chapter 14 – Sylvara

The Strip always smells like neon rot and charred luck. Out there, it’s all noise—slots clanging, voices shouting, tires screeching on hot asphalt. But here, three blocks past the chaos, the rot feels older, more real.

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