Page 40 of Until the Ink runs Crimson

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “I’ve got you.”

I don’t know what to say to that. What can I say? So instead, I just cling to him. I bury my face against his chest and let him hold me. Let myself feel this strange, vulnerable comfort that he’s offering.

I stay silent. There’s no need for words. The ones I might say slip through my mind like water—I can’t catch them, can’t shape them. But I know one thing for sure: This—this quiet intimacy, this wordless comfort—is the most powerful thing he’s given me. More than the kisses we’ve shared, more than the moments we’ve spent tangled in each other’s bodies. This right here, right now, feels like the thing that matters most.

I’ve never been one to lean on anyone. To let anyone in. But with Lazaro, it’s different. Whatever this is, I haven’t figured it out yet. And maybe I’m not ready to.

I don’t know what’s coming next. I don’t know how this war will end. But I know one thing for sure: Lazaro will be there. And for some reason, that matters more than anything.

I pull away slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes meet mine, softer now. There’s a connection between us that neither of us can ignore. A connection, even if it’s fleeting, even if it’s born out of this mess.

And in this moment, I let myself believe that maybe there’s hope after all.

Chapter 18 – Lazaro

Four days have passed since the incident at the docks. Four days of buried fury, four days of simmering rage that I’ve shoved beneath layers of plans, retribution, and calculated moves. Every minute has been spent preparing for this. I’ve reviewed every detail, every move that needs to be made. The De Corsi family won’t get away with what they did. They won’t get away with using Calista as a pawn.

I stand in my office, staring at the map laid out before me, my fingers lightly brushing over the coordinates of the De Corsi-affiliated warehouse district. There are four locations I’m targeting tonight. Four buildings, packed with weapons, men, and the threat of retribution. It’s not enough, but it’ll make them feel the full impact of what they’ve done. It’ll make them bleed.

My thoughts are sharp, laser-focused, when the door to the office opens behind me. I recognize her without turning. Her scent immediately fills the room, and I can feel her presence in the room before she even speaks.

Calista steps inside without knocking, her footsteps quiet on the floor. She stands there for a moment, watching me, and I can feel her gaze on me. I’ve noticed that she’s never been one to tiptoe around anything. Never been one to wait for permission. Still, her next words catch me off guard.

“Take me with you.”

Her words make me freeze. My mind, so focused on the operation ahead, stumbles over the meaning of her request. She can’t be serious. She can’t.

I turn to face her slowly, studying her face like I’m trying to read her. Trying to figure out what she’s really asking. She stands tall, her expression hard—too hard for someone who just lost everything. Her eyes, though, tell a different story. There’s steel in them, a kind of resolve I haven’t seen before.

I let my gaze linger on her, looking for weakness, for hesitation, for any sign that she’s not serious about this. But all I see is a woman who’s willing to do whatever it takes to feel something other than the grief that’s eating her alive.

I know the toll this has taken on her. I’ve been watching her through the feeds—the way she’s barely eating, barely sleeping, the hollow look in her eyes. The way she’s been pulling further and further away, disappearing into the darkness of her own mind. I hate seeing it. I hate that she’s so fucking broken, and it’s all because of me, because of this world I’ve dragged her into.

But it’s too dangerous. She has no idea what she’s really asking.

“This isn’t just some ride-along, Calla,” I say, my voice firm, even though I can feel the hesitation curling in my chest. “You’ll see things you can’t unsee.”

She holds her ground. No fear. No falter. She meets my gaze directly, her eyes unwavering, burning with something that makes my chest tighten.

“I’m done watching from windows,” she says, her voice low, steady. “I want to see the world I’m meant to burn.”

I can feel the words reverberating through me. I know what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to take control, to make herself feel like she’s not helpless. She’s trying to take the grief and turn it into vengeance.

But this isn’t what I want for her. She’s already too deep in it. She’s already sacrificed too much.

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue. I see the way she’s standing there, resolute and defiant, and I know I won’t be able to stop her. Not this time. Not when she’s already made up her mind.

Her grief is consuming her. I can see that, even in the way she stands there. But maybe this—this operation—will give her something to focus on. It might just help her channel her rage. Even if it’s just for a little while.

“Be ready in an hour,” I say quietly, my voice resigned as I turn back to the map. I’d rather not—but if this will help her, if it’ll pull her out of the spiral she’s in, then fine.

I can feel her eyes on me as I turn back to the logistics, her gaze burning into me like a brand on my skin. But I don’t look at her again. I don’t need to.

XXX

The two black SUVs cut through the industrial outskirts of Veldenport like a pair of shadows. The city is sleeping, but beneath the surface, everything is moving. Everything is on the brink of combustion. The streets are empty, save for the occasional stray car and the lingering scent of diesel. The factory lights are dim, casting long shadows on the ground as we drive past. This place is a wasteland, built on sweat, blood, and corruption.

In the backseat of the first SUV, I glance over at Calista, her figure a silhouette against the tinted windows. She’s dressed in matte black—combat boots, a long coat that barely brushes her knees, her posture tense as she looks out the window. A gun rests on her thigh, the handle almost too familiar in my mind.

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