Page 49 of Veil of Blood

His words are precise, with no wasted motion. I adjust the ledger tucked under my arm. It holds every secret he sold—mine, Luca’s. It guided us here. Now it’s bait in his trap.

I nod. “Let me handle him.”

Rocco doesn’t hesitate. He taps his pistol, then steps back into the shadows. I advance alone, each footfall measured.

Past two thugs leaning against wooden crates, I slip into a larger room. Cigars smolder in ashtrays on a low table. Leather chairs circle it. Javier Cruz sits shirt open at the collar, legs crossed. He lifts a crystal tumbler of whiskey without looking up.

I stop in the doorway, ledger against my hip. My boots echo on the tile. He finally meets my eyes and smiles—a slow curl of amusement.

“Falcone,” he says, voice smooth. “Alive and furious. I knew the ledger was bait, but I bit anyway.”

I step forward until the neon light fractures my reflection across his glass. “You should’ve choked on it.”

He sets the glass down and reaches into his jacket. He tosses a photo at my feet. It spins across the floor before coming to rest. I look down. It’s me, helmet off, mid-race. My face clear against screeching tires.

Javier watches me study it. “Nice picture. You always looked better in motion.”

I kick it away, leather sole sending it skidding under a chair. My fists tighten. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stands, slow, graceful. His silk shirt catches the light. “I have to hand it to you. You moved well—too well. Ragged the Cubans and Ferranos in one night. I respect that performance.”

I step forward, every muscle alive. “Performance ends now.”

Rocco’s voice cuts in behind me, sharp as a blade. “Enough.”

He appears at the door, rifle lowered but ready. His eyes flick to me, then to Javier.

Javier inclines his head, unshaken. “This was always a show. But you’re the star, Chiara.”

I slip the ledger onto a nearby table. Pages spread wide, every single lie laid bare. “I’m here,” I say. “You wanted me.”

He claps once, slowly. “I did. And now I have you. Right where I need you.”

My heartbeat thuds. Fear sharpens my focus.

“Where is Dino?” I ask.

He looks up, a little shocked that I know the name.

Then he smiles sheepishly. “You’ll never know, never see him coming. He is Ferrano.”

I barely feel Rocco’s hand slip to his holster. Javier’s gun imprint at his waist tells me he’s already reaching.

My body moves before I think. I lunge. The pipe swings low.

Metal meets wood. Javier curses. His pistol clangs as it falls to the floor.

Rocco spins, rifle rising. The two thugs rush in from the front left, engines of violence primed.

Gunfire breaks loose.

Bullets tear through drywall. I hear Rocco shout a warning, but there’s no time. Two armed men charge at us from oppositesides. My fist tightens around the pipe. Rocco’s pistol rises at my back, steady as rock.

He fires first. A shot cracks the air, and the man on my right staggers, clutching his chest. He collapses against a stack of boxes, his body folding in on itself. No hesitation. Rocco’s already tracking the second attacker.

He’s closer now, swinging a baton. I step in and bring the pipe down hard. It connects with the base of his skull. The crack echoes below the fan’s buzz. His legs buckle. He slumps to the floor.

No breath, no plead. Just the echo of violence settling.

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