Chapter 13 – Elara
The boardwalk’s quiet in the worst way.
Not peaceful. Not sleepy.
Just waiting.
The clubs are shutting down. The neon signs are losing their grip on the sky. Everything's washed in a dull gray haze like the city hasn’t decided whether it wants to wake up or stay hungover.
My boots hit wet concrete as I round the corner, stepping into the alley off Argento Street—the one between the old bait shop and that boarded-up tattoo parlor where no one ever stayed legit for long.
Nico’s beside me. He insisted we pick up some boots before charging into battle.
He's always just a step behind, never lagging. He’s not crowding me either. Just... present. Like a loaded gun within reach.
We haven’t spoken much since the body in the office.
There’s no need.
We’re on the move. And we know what comes next.
My ribs don’t ache tonight. My scar doesn’t either. But there’s a hum under my skin, a kind of alert that doesn’t come from nerves. It’s instinct. Something’s off.
And that’s when it happens.
A figure explodes from the shadows beside the rusted dumpster. No warning. No barked threat this time—just motion, blade gleaming.
It’s not a mugger.
Not a junkie.
I know that face.
Tommy’s crew.
One of his boys who used to hang near the back of the club, grinning at me like I owed him gratitude for not putting his hands on me.
Now he’s screaming and rushing with a jagged blade, mouth twisted into hate and habit.
I don’t think.
I move.
I duck low, step inside his swing, and drive my fist straight into his throat.
He chokes on the sound. Blood spits past his lips like foam. He tries to recover—arm flailing, blade slicing air.
But it’s too late.
Nico’s already there.
He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t posture.
Just drives the blade into the guy’s gut—deep and fast.
He twists once.
Clean.
The man shudders, eyes wide.
Then he folds.
Slumps to the alley floor with a wet thud, blood mixing with the old puddles and bottle caps near the base of the wall.
Steam rises from the mess.
My boot steps back.
One corpse isn’t enough to shake me, but I’ve been on this street too long to think death comes alone.
Nico stays angled near my right—shoulder turned just enough to keep the space between us clean. One blade down, hand still loose by his hip. His eyes are tracking shadows.
Mine too.
Then it happens.
A second body rises behind the dumpster.
Same height. Same weight class. Different kind of stupid.
This one’s quieter. No yell when he moves. No dramatic charge. Just steel in hand and murder in his eyes.
But his mouth opens anyway.
“You’re both dead!” he growls.
I turn before he finishes the sentence.
He lunges. Blade angled too wide.
I twist and slam my elbow into his cheek.
The sound is thick—wet and wrong.
Bone breaks.
He screams.
Blood sprays across my collarbone. Warm. Close.
He crumples forward onto one knee, disoriented, arm hanging dead at his side. The knife clatters to the ground.
He looks up at me with one wild, broken eye.
And that’s all the time he gets.
Nico moves.
One step. One swing.
The blade cuts across the man’s chest like it’s slicing cloth.
It’s not.
It’s skin. Bone. Meat.
He gurgles. Staggers. Then drops fully to the concrete, one hand twitching against the pavement before going still.
His chest splits with the wound, steaming in the cold as his body starts to lose heat.
It stinks like blood and rust and whatever last breath he never finished.
I wipe my cheek with the back of my arm.
The alley stills.
Again.
Only sound now is mine and Nico’s breathing.
I straighten.
We lock eyes.
We don’t speak right away.
We don’t have to.
Then—
Together, same breath, same time—
“Ours.”
It’s not dramatic. It’s not performative.
It’s just the truth.
Nico looks down at the second body. Then back at me.
His voice is low. Cold.
“Two this close together?”
He doesn’t finish the thought.
“They’re moving in,” I say.
“They’re escalating.”
“Let them.”
I shake the blood off my hand. Not all of it comes off.
“I’m done hiding.”
He watches me longer than he should.
I don’t look away.
“You in this for real now?” he asks.
I step toward him. The light from the street catches on the blade still in his hand.
“I’ve been in,” I say. “I just stopped pretending I wasn’t.”
The corner of his mouth lifts—barely. Not amusement. Recognition.
I crouch next to the body. Check his pockets fast. Gloved hands. Taped hilt on the blade. This was planned. Organized.
He wasn’t robbing us. He wasn’t reacting.
He was waiting.
I stand again.
Nico looks at the entrance to the alley. His hand stays near the knife, even after it’s sheathed.
“They’re not testing us anymore.”
I nod. “They’re hunting.”
“We make this the last ambush.”
“How?”
“We take it to them.”
The alley still smells like blood and bad choices. But it doesn’t feel like fear anymore.
It feels like control.
I glance at the rooftop line above. If someone’s watching, they’ve seen what they needed to.
We don’t run.
We don’t beg.
We don’t break.
Nico steps beside me again.
I catch the look he gives me.
Measured. Focused.
And different.
Like I’ve stopped being the girl they underestimated.
Like now I’m a variable no one accounted for.
We walk out of the alley.
Together.
Boots tracking blood through the early gray light.
The boardwalk’s still quiet, but it’s heavier now, like the air knows what we just did.
I glance at Nico. “They’ll send more.”
He nods. “Let them try.”
My lips twitch. “You’re not worried?”
“About you? No.” His voice is steady, eyes on the street ahead.
I feel that in my chest. Not soft. Just real.
“Docks are close,” I say. “Vince and Marco won’t wait forever.”
“Then we don’t give them time to plan.” He checks the alley’s mouth again. “We hit hard. Now.”
I nod. “No hesitation.”
“None.”
We turn onto Argento Street. The car’s parked where Luca left it, under a flickering streetlight.
“You driving again?” Nico asks, voice dry.
“Always.” I grab the keys from my pocket, blood still smeared on my fingers.
He doesn’t comment. Just slides into the passenger seat as I take the wheel.
Luca’s in the back, already checking his phone. “Got word. They’re at the south pier. Meeting’s still going.”
“How many?” I ask, starting the engine.
“Ten, maybe twelve.”
I glance at Nico. “We can handle that.”
He nods. “We will.”
The car pulls out, tires hissing on wet pavement. Rain’s coming down harder now, streaking the windshield.
The docks loom ahead, shadows cutting through the gray light.
I check the knife at my hip. Still there. Still ready.
“They’re not ready for us,” I say, low.
Nico’s voice is calm. “They never were.”
I glance at him. His hand’s on his blade, eyes sharp, like he’s already seeing the fight.
“Together?” I ask.
“Together.”
The word’s a promise, heavier than the blood we left behind.
Luca shifts in the back. “You two are crazy.”
I smirk. “Crazy’s what wins.”
The car speeds up. The boardwalk fades behind us.
They think they’re hunting us.
They’re wrong.
We’re the ones with blades drawn.
We’re the ones who don’t break.
I’m not the girl they thought they could bury.
Not anymore.
The alley’s blood is proof.
And the docks will be next.