Chapter 48
Vera’s POV
The pain didn’t kill me.
The silence didn’t break me.
But the waiting… the not knowing… that was starting to wear through the steel in my bones.
Days blurred. The fever pulsed. The wound on my side ached like it had become part of me. I didn’t scream anymore. I didn’t beg. I barely spoke.
But I still counted the footsteps.
When the door opened this time, I didn’t look up. Not right away.
I waited.
Antonio’s voice hit the air like a knife dragged across cement.
“You look like hell, Vera.”
I lifted my chin slowly, my jaw tight, my mouth dry.
“Better than you looked when you cried after your first kill,” I rasped.
He smirked but didn’t deny it. “Still got the mouth. Good. I was worried the fever ate your brain.”
He paced the cell like he owned it. Like he owned me.
“You know,” he started, tone casual, “you’ve lasted longer than I expected. Most people break by the second week. Beg for water. For light. For mercy. But you just keep sitting here like you’re waiting for someone.”
I didn’t move.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
He stopped in front of me. “Here’s the thing, Vera. I’m done playing.”
I finally met his eyes. “Then start dying.”
He didn’t laugh this time.
He knelt.
“I want the routes. The warehouse codes. The offshore names.”
“You want my legacy,” I said, voice thin. “You’re not man enough to build your own.”
He leaned in. “You’re not in a position to insult me.”
“I’m not in a position to care.”
Antonio’s eyes narrowed. “You think this is noble? Starving in a hole for a girl who’s already forgotten you?”
Something flickered in me. The photo. Her smile. That lie burned into my memory.
I looked away.
And for the first time since he dragged me into this place… I faltered.
“What if I trade?” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t speak, but I felt the interest shift in the air like static.
“I give you names. Locations. One piece at a time.” I turned my head back slowly. “But in return… I want out.”
A long silence.
Then: “You want freedom?”
I nodded once.
“You’re not worth shit outside this cell.”
“Then make it conditional. Kill switch. Insurance. Whatever makes you sleep at night.”
He looked at me for a long time. Then stood, brushing his hands together like it was already decided.
“You want to negotiate?” he said. “Fine.”
He turned at the door.
“We’ll start with this.”
He glanced back, his voice flat. Cruel.
“You give me something useful… and maybe I let Claire live.”
My blood froze.
He smiled at the way my face changed—just for a second.
“That’s the real trade, isn’t it?”
And then he was gone.
The door slammed shut behind him, sealing in the weight of those words like smoke.
Let Claire live.
Like she was still a pawn on his board.
Like she’d ever be his to spare.
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel fire.
I felt fear.
Because if I gave him anything…
It meant Claire was already in danger.
And if I didn’t—
I might be the reason she doesn’t survive.
Claire’s POV
The coffee was cold.
I hadn’t touched it since it hit the table fifteen minutes ago. My fingers were wrapped around the mug just for the warmth. The café was quiet, the kind of tucked-away spot Emilia liked because no one looked twice at you here.
But I couldn’t shake it.
That feeling again.
The same prickle at the back of my neck. The same slow twist in my stomach like someone was threading a needle through my spine.
I looked down at my phone. Unlocked the screen. Kept it tilted just enough to catch the reflection in the black back glass.
There. A glint.
Metal.
Far across the street. Up on a rooftop or high balcony. Too quick to see clearly—but unmistakable.
A scope.
Camera?
Gun?
I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
Someone was watching me.
My heartbeat doubled.
I kept my expression neutral. Tried to look down again. Sip the coffee. Breathe.
But my thoughts were already spiraling.
Why?
Why would anyone still be watching me?
Leo and Dominic were gone. I killed one. I watched Valeria slit the other’s throat. Their men had scattered. Their empire crumbled. I wasn’t part of that world anymore—not without Vera.
Unless...
Unless this wasn’t about them.
Unless someone was still cleaning up the mess.
Unless someone was still trying to make sure I didn’t start digging.
But I hadn’t.
I’d stayed out of it. Swallowed my grief. Stayed small. Tame. Out of the way.
So why keep watching me?
I pressed my lips together, the answer creeping in like ice water down my spine.
The only reason they’d still be watching me…
Is if she’s still alive.
My fingers tightened around the mug, a soft clink of ceramic tapping the table as my hand shook.
Alive.
Vera.
She didn’t die.
She couldn’t have.
They needed her gone. Quiet. Forgotten.
So they made it look final. Brutal. Hopeless.
And I believed it.
I let them trick me into mourning her.
But if she’s alive… then she’s been trapped somewhere. For two whole months. And I’ve been walking around pretending I could move on. Smiling for cameras. Fixing model’s hair. Drinking coffee.
I felt sick.
I stood too fast, the chair scraping beneath me. My body moved before my mind caught up, legs numb as I headed for the door, one hand still gripping the phone tight in my palm.
They were watching to make sure I didn’t interfere.
But interfere with what?
And what would happen when I did?
I didn’t care.
Because now I knew.
And if she’s alive—then I’ve already wasted too much time.
I knew what Valeria would say if I told her.
She’d tell me to stay out of it. To let her handle it. That this wasn’t my world. That Vera wouldn’t want me walking into danger for her.
But what the hell did she know about what Vera wanted?
Because Vera let me into that world. She made space for me in it—even when she didn’t want to. Even when she hated that she cared.
And I lived there. I breathed in it.
So no, I wasn’t going to sit quietly and wait for someone else to care enough to look. Not this time.
I slammed the front door of Emilia’s house behind me and went straight to my room.
The drawer stuck for a second—Lucia had warned me about that months ago—but I yanked it open anyway. There, wrapped in an old scarf I never wore, was the weight I’d almost forgotten.
The gun.
Small. Matte black. Compact. The one Vera gave me when she said, “Only point it if you’re willing to use it.”
I slid it into the back of my waistband, the grip firm against my spine. Then I reached into the closet and grabbed her jacket. The leather was stiff, worn in places. Still smelled like her in the folds.
I shrugged it on and didn’t flinch when my fingers brushed the collar.
I didn’t leave a note.
Didn’t say goodbye.
I just took the car, checked the mirrors, circled the block twice to make sure no one was on my tail, then headed toward the last place anyone sane would start.
Her world.
The map of it still lived in my bones. I knew her safehouses. The old meeting points. The motels she used when she wanted to disappear. I drove to each one like I was chasing shadows.
Empty.
Doors sealed. Dust in the corners. Forgotten coffee cups and chairs that hadn’t been sat in for weeks.
Nothing.
I broke into one with a rusted crowbar from the trunk. Another, I had the old key still on my ring. I knew the smells, the echoes, the way the light hit the floor through cracked blinds.
And she wasn’t in any of them.
Each one I checked, the weight in my chest got tighter. The silence louder.
Then—
At the fifth place, tucked near the docks, behind a caged-in storage yard—I heard the click of a safety being disengaged.
I turned slowly.
A gun was pointed at me.
Not Vera’s.
The man holding it stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
He recognized me a second later.
“Shit,” he muttered, lowering the weapon. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I didn’t back down.
“Why?” I asked. “Because it’s not safe?”
He gave me a look, tired and tense. “You know it’s not.”
I stepped forward, chin lifted. “And I came anyway.”
His mouth tightened. He glanced around, like he wasn’t sure who else might be watching. Like someone might shoot him for just talking to me.
“I’m looking for Vera,” I said, voice even. “Where is she?”
His jaw twitched.
“Jefa’s gone.”
The words landed like a slap, but I didn’t blink.
“I don’t believe that.”
He shook his head.
“I haven’t heard anything,” he said quietly. “None of us have. Since that night… silence.”
My heart sank, but not enough to drown out the fire already building in my chest.
“Then what have you heard?” I asked.
He glanced around, edgy. “Not here. Come with me.”
I hesitated, just for a second. The city had already swallowed Vera. But this man—he’d known her. Fought for her. Lowered his gun when he saw me.
That was enough.
I followed.
We moved through alleyways slick with rain and old shadows. The streets narrowed until we came to a cracked building with boarded windows and rusted steps. He knocked three times in a rhythm, then opened the door and stepped inside.
I followed—and instantly froze.
The metallic click of three guns met me.
My breath caught, hand twitching toward the one at my back, until—
“Lower it,” he said firmly. “It’s Jefa’s girl.”
The tension broke. Slowly, cautiously, the barrels dropped. Familiar faces emerged from the shadows—people I remembered from behind Vera in smoke-lit meetings, watching me with silent curiosity while pretending not to care.
Now?
One of them grinned. “Look what the wind dragged in.”
Another laughed, stepping closer. “Thought you went back to that clean-laundry life. Forgot all about us.”
“I didn’t forget,” I said, brushing off the sarcasm. “I never left.”
Someone offered a chair. I didn’t sit.
“I need to know what’s been happening,” I said instead. “And I need the truth. All of it.”
A silence passed between them.
Then one of the older ones—Miguel, I remembered—shrugged. “It’s the kind of shift that happens when a name like Vera’s disappears. The lines blur. The small fish come up for air.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And has anyone succeeded?”
He laughed once, dry and bitter. “Not yet. They’re all still bleeding.”
“So who’s in charge now?”
The room shifted. Some looked away. Others crossed their arms.
Then someone said it.
“With Gabriel gone… and Jefa not coming back… Antonio took over.”
My blood turned cold.
“What?”
I stepped forward, breath shallow.
“Antonio? Antonio is leading you?”
“You didn’t know?” someone asked, cautious.
I shook my head, mouth suddenly dry. “Antonio was the one who handed me over to Dominic. He betrayed the crew. He sold Vera out.”
The room exploded in voices—some shocked, some denying it, others silencing them.
“Enough,” Miguel said sharply. “If she says it, we listen.”
Another voice chimed in, low and guilty. “I… I did see you get in his car that day.”
I turned toward him, fire crackling under my skin.
“Then you know I’m not lying.”
The silence settled again, heavier this time. They looked at one another like pieces were starting to fall into place.
I took a step back, breathing hard. “Where is he now?”
One of them looked at the door.
“He’s on his way here.”
A car pulled up outside.
My blood ran cold.
I reached for my gun.
Because if Antonio walked through that door…
One of us wasn’t walking out.