Chapter 17 – Elara
The boardwalk pier groans beneath my feet, each creak familiar, whispering old warnings I used to heed. The ocean is restless, slapping harshly against the pilings below as dark, bruised clouds gather on the horizon. Atlantic City is quiet tonight. It shouldn’t be. The calm is deceptive.
I stand at the edge of the pier, fingers gripping the rusted rail. Salt sprays lightly against my face, stinging just enough to keep my thoughts from drifting. Yet they still pull toward Tommy. Not longing—never that. But some scars go deeper than skin.
Nico leans silently against the railing beside me, his presence steadying without any words exchanged. I appreciate his silence. He doesn’t fill space with false comforts. He understands that some things can't be soothed—they have to be confronted.
He shifts slightly, arms crossed casually over his chest, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He doesn’t look at me, but I feel his attention anyway.
“You think he’ll ever really fade?” I ask quietly, knowing Nico will understand exactly who I mean. My voice is steadier than I expect, betraying none of the twisting in my gut.
“No,” Nico answers simply, honestly. He still doesn’t look at me, but his voice is firm, comforting in its bluntness. “But you get stronger. Eventually, his memory won’t touch you anymore.”
I exhale slowly, letting that truth settle in my bones. “Good.”
We stand quietly for another moment, watching the waves churn restlessly beneath us. The railing is slick with salt under my hands. I loosen my grip, flexing my fingers. My scar tightens—a quiet warning, a phantom echo of Tommy’s touch.
“You feel it?” Nico asks quietly, eyes finally flicking toward me, reading me easily.
“Yeah,” I admit softly. “Always do.”
Nico nods slowly, eyes narrowing at the sea. “It won’t last forever.”
I don’t respond, not needing to. I trust his certainty more than I trust my own doubts. A gust of wind cuts through the pier, cold enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. The air suddenly feels sharper, my nerves tingling.
I sense Nico tense beside me. His posture shifts subtly, readying. I follow his cue, senses snapping fully awake, scanning our surroundings.
A shadow shifts from behind a rusted railing near the pier entrance. The movement is quick, violent. A man steps out, gun raised and pointed directly at my chest. His face is vaguely familiar—another ghost from Tommy’s past.
“This is for Tommy!” he shouts, voice shaking with rage and misguided loyalty.
He expects fear. Instead, anger floods through my veins, molten hot. My body moves before I consciously command it.
“You’re late,” I snarl, stepping directly into his reach. He startles, the gun wavering. It’s all the opening I need.
I slam my fist hard into his jaw, bone cracking loudly beneath my knuckles. Pain reverberates up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the satisfaction I feel seeing him stumble backward, blood spurting from his mouth. The gun clatters to the boards, forgotten.
Nico doesn’t hesitate either. His blade flashes silver in the fading daylight, a clean, efficient arc cutting through muscle and flesh. The man gasps, eyes wide with shock as Nico’s knife sinks deep into his gut, twisting brutally. His knees hit the wooden boards hard, hands clutching uselessly at his belly as blood gushes through his fingers.
Entrails spill wetly onto the pier, steaming faintly in the cool dusk. He collapses fully, body jerking briefly before going completely still.
My breath comes heavy, heart racing—not from fear, but adrenaline. The release feels good, cleansing.
“Fuck,” I breathe harshly, stepping away from the body, pulse hammering in my ears.
Nico straightens slowly, eyes meeting mine.
“He’s gone,” Nico says, voice calm, reassuring.
I nod slowly, eyes never leaving the corpse sprawled on the pier. “Marco’s trying to stir ghosts again.”
Nico sheathes his blade slowly, carefully. “Then we bury them.”
I inhale deeply, tasting salt and blood on my tongue, feeling Tommy’s lingering presence recede. It won’t fade entirely tonight—but it's a start.
“He thinks I’m still breakable,” I say bitterly, glaring at the dead thug as though Marco himself could hear me.
Nico steps closer, solid and steady, eyes serious as he looks down at me. “Marco’s wrong. He’ll find that out soon enough.”
I meet Nico’s eyes, seeing quiet certainty there—a certainty that matches my own. We stand silent for a moment, surrounded by the growing shadows, the body forgotten beneath us.
“We can’t leave him here,” I say finally, practicality cutting through the brief calm. My gaze shifts back to the corpse, my pulse finally settling.
“I’ll handle it,” Nico answers evenly. “You don’t have to.”
I shake my head slowly, decisively. “We handle it together. That’s how we survive.”
Nico hesitates only briefly, respecting my resolve. “Together, then.”
I exhale again, shoulders easing slightly. “Together.”
We move quickly, efficiently, Nico taking the man’s ankles as I grab beneath his arms. Blood smears my hands, slick and hot, but I ignore it. This isn't new to us—not anymore.
We swing him over the railing with practiced ease, the body splashing heavily into the churning waves below. The sea swallows him instantly, washing away evidence as if he never existed.
I wipe my palms roughly on my jeans, turning away from the railing to face Nico. The pier is empty again, quiet but not peaceful. It feels like we’re standing on the edge of something bigger, heavier.
“You ready for what comes next?” Nico asks quietly, eyes carefully studying mine.
I straighten, chin lifting defiantly. “I have to be.”
He nods slowly, accepting my answer. “Good.”
A strange, shared silence settles between us again, carrying unspoken words. Finally, Nico’s lips curve faintly, eyes softening slightly.
“You surprised me, Elara,” he admits quietly. “Not many do.”
I raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging my lips despite myself. “Glad I’m not just another number, then.”
“Never,” he answers immediately, sincerity heavy in his voice.
Warmth spreads quietly through my chest, a welcome contrast to the earlier cold. I let myself lean gently into his side, just a momentary indulgence.
“Thank you,” I whisper softly, sincerity cutting through my guarded exterior.
Nico doesn’t answer verbally. He doesn’t have to. His arm curls carefully around my shoulders, drawing me gently against him. I let him, feeling his warmth slowly ease the last tension from my muscles. It’s enough, for now.
We stay there in silence, watching the sun dip lower, shadows lengthening across the water. The horizon blurs between storm and nightfall, promising chaos yet strangely beautiful. It feels like us—complicated, dark, unpredictable. But together, strong enough to weather it.
“Let’s get moving,” Nico finally murmurs against my hair, voice gentle but firm. “Marco’s bound to show up.”
I straighten, stepping carefully from his embrace. I feel stronger now, steadier, despite—or perhaps because of—the blood on my hands.
We’re halfway down the pier when I sense it again—that prickling awareness of being watched. The taste of danger is familiar now, as clear as the salt on my lips, and my body tenses instinctively. Nico feels it too; I see it in the subtle tightening of his jaw, the careful, controlled way he moves.
We stop in unison, turning slowly back toward the pier’s edge. Another figure emerges, younger this time. The boy can’t be older than twenty, eyes wide and wild, hair damp with sweat and ocean spray. He grips a small black handgun in shaky fingers, pointing it straight at my chest.
“You bitch!” he shouts, voice cracked with adrenaline. “You think you can just walk away after what you did?”
His words echo, trying to cut deep but landing weakly between us. He looks like Marco’s new recruit—raw, scared, stupidly loyal. Another boy caught in a war he doesn’t fully understand.
I don’t feel pity. Just irritation.
“You have no idea,” I reply coldly, stepping closer, defiance strong in my stance. I see him flinch at my boldness, confusion flickering in his eyes. He doesn’t expect me to step toward him. His grip falters slightly.
“You took everything!” His voice trembles, breaking slightly, anger masking fear. “Tommy gave me a place. You destroyed that!”
Tommy’s name no longer carries weight for me. Not anymore. I stare the kid down, the wind whipping strands of my hair across my face.
“He didn’t give you anything but lies,” I say flatly. “Trust me. Tommy never saved anyone but himself.”
“Shut up!” He thrusts the gun forward, desperation fueling sloppy courage. “Just shut the hell up!”
I sense Nico’s quiet presence behind me, waiting for my cue. He trusts my instincts; he lets me set the rhythm. I’m grateful for that. I want this confrontation—not for closure, but for clarity. I need this boy to understand that I’m not a victim anymore.
“Listen to me,” I say slowly, deliberately calm. “Put the gun down, walk away, and don’t make me break your ribs.”
The kid blinks, startled by my calm threat. Fear surges again in his gaze. But bravado pushes it back. He shakes his head rapidly, gun wavering again.
“No! I’m not walking away!” he yells, voice rising to a shrill pitch. “Marco said—”
“Marco sent you here to die,” Nico interrupts sharply, his tone cutting through the kid’s false confidence. “You’re disposable. Just like Tommy.”
The thug glances toward Nico, startled at the blunt cruelty of his words. His hands are visibly shaking now. Nico’s voice softens just slightly, carrying a rough-edged truth.
“Drop it,” Nico says evenly. “Last chance.”
But the kid doesn’t listen. They never do. He grits his teeth, narrows his eyes, and pulls the trigger.
The shot rings out harshly, echoing across the water—but I’m already moving. I drop low, spin quickly toward him, momentum fueling my strike. My knee slams viciously into his ribs, feeling bone give way with a satisfying crack beneath the blow. He cries out sharply, dropping the gun instantly, clutching at his side as agony twists his face.
“You could’ve walked away,” I say coldly, stepping back smoothly as Nico steps forward. I don’t need to watch to know how it ends. I hear the quick slide of Nico’s blade, the wet tear of muscle and bone. The boy gasps, chokes, and falls silent. Blood splashes across the pier, steaming faintly in the cooling dusk.
We stand in silence a moment, breath heavy but steady, staring at the corpse sprawled awkwardly on the boards. I feel no remorse—just weary irritation at another senseless death Marco caused, another pointless obstacle thrown in our path.
Nico wipes the blood from his knife methodically, eyes narrowed as he surveys the aftermath.
“Five in one night,” he says grimly, sliding his blade smoothly back into its sheath. “Marco’s getting desperate.”
I nod slowly, feeling a cold smile tugging at my lips. “Good. Desperate means sloppy.”
Nico’s gaze flicks toward me, quietly appraising, approval glinting subtly in his dark eyes. “You’re learning.”
“I had a good teacher,” I reply dryly, gaze holding steady.
A hint of warmth eases the severity in his expression. He nods, just barely, a silent acknowledgment of the bond forged through blood and survival.
“I won’t let him keep coming after us,” Nico murmurs quietly, voice softening slightly. “This has to end soon.”
“It will,” I say, conviction ringing firm and clear. “We’ll make sure of it.”
He studies my face silently, searching for cracks in my resolve, but there are none. I’m tired of running. I’m tired of fighting battles chosen by men who see me as a pawn. No more. From now on, I set my path. Nico sees that clearly.
“You’ve changed,” he observes quietly, thoughtfully. “Not everyone survives that.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I reply simply, truthfully. “Neither did you.”
Nico doesn’t argue, just nods slowly, accepting the truth. He steps closer, gaze intense and quiet.
“No more ghosts,” he says softly, repeating our earlier promise like a vow. “Not for either of us.”
“No more,” I echo quietly, determination solidifying in my bones.
I glance once more at the dead thug, my scar no longer humming, finally silent. Whatever echo Tommy left behind fades a bit more, replaced by the clarity of who I am now, who I choose to be.
“Ours,” I whisper, more to myself than Nico, reaffirming our bond, solidifying our strength.
Nico steps to my side, voice matching mine. “Ours.”
Finally, Nico moves, breaking the silence. “We can’t leave this one either.”
“I know,” I sigh, annoyed by the tediousness more than the violence. “We’re getting good at cleaning up Marco’s mess.”
“We’ll make sure he cleans the next one himself,” Nico replies dryly, lifting the thug by the shoulders.
I grip the legs, grimacing as fresh blood smears my palms again. The body swings heavily between us, over the rail, disappearing into the waves with a heavy splash.
We step back together, breathing deep, tension easing slightly as evidence sinks beneath the surface. Nico brushes gently against my arm, voice low and serious. “You ready for this fight?”
“I’m ready to finish it,” I answer firmly, conviction lacing every word. “I’m not going back to being anyone’s pawn.”
“You’re nobody’s pawn, Elara,” he murmurs softly, sincerity warming his voice. “Not anymore.”
His quiet belief hits harder than any punch. I glance toward him, pulse jumping at the quiet intensity of his stare. Nico never speaks empty words. His truth carries weight, settling deep inside me, strengthening my resolve.
“I know,” I whisper softly, accepting it. “But I had to remind myself.”
He nods slowly, understanding without needing explanation. “Then don’t forget it.”
“I won’t,” I promise quietly. “You don’t either.”
“We’ll remind each other.”
“Good,” I say softly, voice thick with emotion despite myself. I lean gently against him, just for a moment. Nico’s warmth anchors me, steadying my still-racing heart.
The sky deepens from bruised purple to full darkness. Something shifted tonight—inside me, between us. Marco made a mistake sending these men. He showed his hand too early.
“Let’s go,” Nico says finally, gently nudging me forward. “We’ve got work to do.”
We move quietly toward the boardwalk, steps perfectly matched, purpose clear and united. Marco’s days are numbered, the clock ticking down toward a reckoning we both know is inevitable. And for once, I don’t dread it. I welcome it. Because I’m not alone.
Not anymore.