Chapter 57
Vera’s POV
They clapped me on the back, called me names only they were allowed to, swore they thought I was dead, and told me never to pull that shit again.
Someone even cried.
Antonio wasn’t here, obviously. And Gabriel—he was a ghost now. But the others… they made space for me like they didn’t expect me to walk into it again.
I let them hug me. I let them talk. I let them hold me longer than I usually would’ve tolerated.
Because for the first time since everything broke, I felt the tiniest piece of myself slot back into place.
But even as they pulled me in, patted my shoulders, cursed the silence of the past weeks—
My eyes were already drifting past them.
To the car.
To her.
Claire stood by the driver’s side, watching all of it unfold, arms crossed over her chest, hood pulled halfway over her head. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there—quiet, patient, soft in a world that wasn’t.
Waiting.
Not for thanks.
Not for recognition.
Just for me to look at her.
And when I did—really looked—my chest tightened.
She wasn’t the girl who threw herself into a gunfight for me anymore.
She was the woman who kept showing up.
Every time.
I barely heard the chatter around me when I started walking toward her. The noise blurred out. Faces faded.
Her face didn’t.
When I reached her, she smiled gently and asked, “You okay?”
I didn’t answer.
I just reached up, curled my fingers into the collar of her hoodie, and leaned into her chest.
Just for a second.
Long enough to say thank you without words.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t tease.
Just held me back.
Like she already knew.
Like she’d always know.
Claire’s POV
We walked in side by side.
The old warehouse felt different now. Not threatening or cold—just… alive again. Like Vera’s presence lit a match none of us had realized we were holding our breath around.
The crew gathered fast. Some were already waiting inside. The moment they saw her—really saw her—half of them stood up. A few gave her cautious nods, but most didn’t hesitate. They approached with reverence, like she was a legend that’d clawed her way back from the dead.
Vera didn’t say much. She never needed to. Just a flick of her eyes, a tilt of her chin, and they understood.
She was back.
And she was still theirs.
We ended up in the back room where we usually planned our worst nights. Except now, it felt… warmer. Lived in. A place that remembered the people who’d bled in it.
Vera eased onto the worn leather couch, and I sat beside her without thinking.
Then Miguel cleared his throat.
“She’s not gonna say it, but we will,” he said, looking directly at her. “Claire ran point while you were gone.”
Vera raised an eyebrow, glancing at me like she thought they were exaggerating.
“Every decision. Every move,” Lucia added, arms folded. “She mapped out Leo’s crew, split the teams, took us to Antonio’s hideout herself.”
“She killed to protect you,” Miguel said, voice soft now. “She didn’t hesitate. Not once.”
I tried to look anywhere but at her. My hands were tight in my lap. I didn’t want her to see how hearing that still shook me.
But Vera didn’t look away.
She stared at me like I was something rare.
Like she was proud.
Her fingers brushed mine, deliberate and grounding. And for a moment, the ache in my chest loosened.
Then the silence stretched.
I felt her shift beside me, the weight of something creeping back into her shoulders.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “Where’s Antonio?”
The room froze.
Even the air stilled.
Miguel’s jaw tightened. No one spoke.
Then, finally, he said, “We’ve got him. Locked up in the lower level.”
Vera didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
“Waiting,” he added, “for you.”
My breath caught.
I turned to look at her.
Her face gave nothing away.
But her hand gripped mine tighter.
She was back.
But something was still burning under the surface.
And Antonio wasn’t going to walk out of this untouched.
The hallway felt narrower than I remembered.
Each step echoed louder than it should’ve, like the walls were listening, holding their breath for what was about to unfold.
Claire’s hand was warm against mine. Steady. Unflinching. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
The closer we got to the locked room, the heavier my body felt. Not from pain—though I still ached in places I hadn’t named—but from memory. From every moment I spent in chains while he walked free.
Miguel waited outside the door. He gave me a short nod, then looked at Claire. “You sure about this?”
She didn’t flinch. “I’m not the one you should be asking.”
His eyes turned to me.
I stared at the door. “Open it.”
He obeyed.
The hinges creaked. The scent of damp cement and sweat met us first. Then the sight of him.
Antonio.
Tied to a chair in the middle of the room. His head jerked up at the sound. His eyes widened when he saw me.
For a second—just a second—he looked relieved. Then he saw Claire. And that look twisted into something else entirely.
He laughed, dry and breathless. “So you made it out. Of course you did.”
I didn’t move.
Claire didn’t move.
He looked between us, eyes sharp. “What now? You gonna kill me in cold blood? Let your little pet do it for you?”
Claire’s jaw ticked, but she said nothing.
I stepped forward, slowly, watching how his eyes flicked with every movement—like he was still calculating, still trying to find an angle.
“You know,” I said, my voice cold, detached, “I used to think you were one of us.”
“I was,” he snapped. “I was your most loyal.”
“You chained me like an animal.”
He scoffed. “Leo was going to kill you. I kept you alive.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer, “you didn’t do it to save me. You did it so you could control the fallout. So you could look like the one in charge when the empire collapsed.”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he barked.
Claire’s voice sliced through the tension. “Barely.”
Antonio’s eyes turned to her, seething. “And look who you ran to. The civilian. The stray. You let her lead my crew.”
Claire didn’t blink. “Her crew.”
He spat at the floor. “You think you’ve won something?”
I stepped close enough that he could feel my breath.
“You lost the moment you laid a hand on me,” I said, low. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
He stared up at me, trying to read me, trying to anticipate where this ended.
And truth was—I didn’t know yet either.
I felt Claire beside me, quiet, solid. Waiting.
Not to stop me.
To stand with me.
I turned to her, just slightly. She met my eyes.
Whatever you need—I saw it there.
Kill him.
Spare him.
She would carry the weight with me.
I looked back at Antonio.
“You know what hurts the most?” I said, softer now. “You made me doubt myself. My power. My people. And worst of all—her.”
Antonio’s eyes flicked to Claire, confused.
I leaned in. “You don’t get to take that from me.”
He opened his mouth to speak.
I pulled my knife from my belt and slammed it into the wood next to his head.
He flinched.
Claire didn’t.
I turned to Miguel. “Leave us.”
Miguel hesitated. Then nodded. He closed the door behind him.
Antonio looked up, panic creeping in.
Claire stepped closer, and her fingers brushed against mine.
I stared at him.
Not the man I used to trust. Not the one who’d once stood beside Gabriel and me, swearing loyalty.
No. Just a traitor now. A coward in a chair.
My hand moved before I could stop it, reaching down to undo the restraints around his wrists and ankles.
He jerked like he couldn’t believe it, like freedom might be mercy.
“You’re letting me go?” he spat, voice hoarse.
I didn’t answer.
He stood slowly, blood sluggish in his limbs, eyes darting between me and Claire.
“You think this makes you better than me?” he sneered. “You think letting me walk out of here redeems you?”
I stepped forward.
He didn’t expect the slap.
It cracked through the room, echoing off the walls, and he stumbled back a step.
“You took Gabriel from me,” I said, my voice quiet. Controlled. “And not in battle. Not like a man.”
His face twisted. “That wasn’t—”
“In the worst way possible,” I said, louder now. “You made me believe he was gone because of war. Because of Leo. Because of something beyond us.”
I reached forward, gripped the front of his shirt, dragged him close.
“You lied. You watched me break. And you let me.
And now…” I leaned in, nose to nose, “…you’ll face the same.”
He shoved at me. “You’re insane.”
I shoved back harder. “You’re not even worth insanity.”
Claire opened the door behind me without a word.
I dragged him out into the sunlight.
The crew outside turned, surprised—but no one stopped me.
They parted without a word as I dragged him to the old sedan near the gates.
I yanked the passenger door open and threw him inside, slamming it shut. Locked it.
Claire followed me as I walked around the side of the house. Found the red canister near the generator.
The scent hit first. Sharp. Metallic.
Claire didn’t say a word. She just watched as I carried it back.
Antonio was already pounding on the window. Screaming.
“Vera—don’t do this. Vera!”
I twisted the cap off.
“Please, Vera, this isn’t you!”
I poured the gasoline over the hood, across the windshield, onto the roof. My expression didn’t change.
“This is exactly me,” I said.
He was clawing at the glass now. “Don’t—fuck—please don’t do this! I’m sorry! I was wrong! I was scared!”
I emptied the last of the can onto the ground below the driver’s side tire. Stepped back.
He screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
Claire moved to stand beside me.
“Are you sure?” she asked softly.
I looked at her.
And nodded.
Then I reached into my pocket.
And struck the match.