Chapter 10 – Dario
The alley behind Rossa’s Tap smells like mildew, old whiskey, and memories I can’t wash off.
Viviana walks beside me, arms tucked into her jacket, eyes sharp even though her hands are buried in her pockets. We haven’t said much since the pier. Not since she killed that man and didn’t break apart after.
She’s walking different now. Shoulders back. Chin up.
The storm inside her hasn’t passed—it’s just started taking shape.
I push the metal door open and let her step in first.
The bar’s long closed. Dust clings to the cracked vinyl stools like it never learned to settle. A single red light bleeds through the window slats. The smell of stale beer lingers under the colder scent of winter pressing against the walls.
She pauses in the doorway.
“This where you’re hiding the rest of the bodies?” she asks lightly.
I nod toward the backroom. “Just the ones that matter.”
She doesn’t smile, but her eyes flick to me—watching, measuring.
I lead her past overturned chairs and old crates. A space heater clicks to life in the corner, more noise than warmth.
The room at the back hasn’t changed since the night everything went sideways. Cracked floor. Splintered table shoved against the wall. One bulb overhead, hanging by a wire, casting long shadows over the pockmarked concrete.
“This is it?” she asks, stepping inside.
“Yeah.”
Her voice is quiet. “The drop that went bad.”
I nod once. “The place Massimo bled out.”
She doesn’t move to sit. Just looks around. Like she’s memorizing it. Like she’s seeing it through my eyes before I can even say the words.
I don’t know what made me bring her here. Maybe I’m tired of carrying this memory around like it still belongs to me. Maybe I want her to see the wreckage up close, so she understands why I keep waking up with blood on my hands and ghosts in my chest.
Maybe I just want to see if she’ll leave.
She doesn’t.
I pull the manifest from my jacket and set it on the table. The pages are creased from too many hours of tracing the codes like they’ll spell out salvation if I just read them in the right light.
Viviana steps closer. Her fingertips graze the paper. “This line—SP-7. It’s linked to the earlier shipment, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Same origin trail. Just relabeled.”
She leans down, frowning. “That’s a military-grade architecture ID.”
I glance at her. “You know that offhand?”
“Flower shops don’t pay the rent. I did restoration work for a guy who moved antique tech. I know the old coding.”
I study her face.
She doesn’t look proud or scared.
Just present. Grounded in the moment like she belongs in it.
“Corradino’s not just moving weapons,” she says. “He’s trying to steal experimental builds. No wonder they want this shipment shut down.”
“He’s trying to hijack an entire infrastructure,” I add. “One that shouldn’t exist.”
“And you were part of it.”
“I thought I was getting us out.”
That word hits harder than I mean it to.
Us.
Massimo and me.
She doesn’t speak. Just waits.
“He wanted out,” I say finally. “Always did. He kept believing there was a way to break clean. I told him that was a fairy tale. That no one walks out of Caldera without a toe tag or a blade in their back.”
She sits down, folding her hands in her lap. Doesn’t interrupt.
“We had this one job. Just one. The tech came through a third-party broker we trusted. Corradino signed off. I double-checked the route, the time, the site. I put Massimo in that room.”
My voice drops.
I nod at the floor in front of her.
“That’s where he went down. Face first. Didn’t make a sound. Just dropped.”
The bulb above us buzzes. The heater clicks.
She doesn’t look away.
“I was supposed to have his back. Instead, I hesitated. Took me five seconds too long to draw. They were waiting. Four of them. Clean. Fast. Took the tech and left us like garbage.”
Viviana leans forward. “But you lived.”
“Barely.”
I unclench my fists.
“I was holding him. I didn’t even scream. Just sat there. Couldn’t stop listening to the blood hitting the floor.”
She swallows.
I look down. My voice is rasping now. “I keep replaying it. If I’d checked the call logs earlier. If I’d trusted my gut. If I hadn’t needed one more payout—he’d still be breathing.”
I lift my head, and she’s right there, watching.
Not with pity.
With understanding.
She reaches for my hand.
I pull back.
Just a twitch. Reflex. Stupid.
But she doesn’t flinch.
She waits.
Then reaches again, slower this time.
This time, I let her.
Her fingers are warm against mine.
No panic. No hesitation.
I exhale.
“I thought if I saved you, maybe I could bury him.” Her grip tightens slightly. “But I don’t want to bury you.”
Viviana shifts closer. Her eyes don’t blink. “You’re not going to.”
“You say that now.”
“And I’ll say it again tomorrow.”
The tension in my shoulders starts to unravel. It doesn’t vanish. Just cracks enough for breath to slip in.
Her other hand moves, brushing the edge of my jacket. Then she’s reaching up, touching my face.
I flinch.
Not from pain but from the way it lands—like a balm I didn’t ask for but desperately need.
She tilts her head slightly. “You still think you’re the villain in every story.”
“Because I usually am.”
“You weren’t the night you found me.”
“That doesn’t erase the rest.”
“No,” she agrees. “But it means I’m not here by accident.”
Viviana’s touch stays on my face. It feels right there. Too right.
I step back before I let myself trust it.
The gap between us grows. My chest squeezes tight.
I turn. Cross the room. My hands shake once before I jam them into my pockets.
She watches me. Doesn’t speak.
This is where people leave. Where they break down. Or beg me to change.
She does none of it.
She steps toward me.
Her feet move quiet. Steady. She stops close. Not touching. Just looking.
Her eyes don’t waver. I see it now. What I ignored before.
She’s not afraid of me. She knows me.
I hate how much I need her to stay.
“Go,” I say.
She doesn’t budge.
“I said leave.”
Nothing.
I clench my fists in my jacket. “You don’t want this. You don’t want me.”
Viviana holds my gaze.
Then she steps closer.
“Tell me why,” she says.
I stare. “Why what?”
“Why you keep pushing me away after pulling me in so far.”
“I’m dangerous.”
Her voice stays even. “So am I now.”
That cuts deep. Cold and true.
She’s not wrong. She killed a man on that dock.
I look at her. Really look.
Eyes sharp like green glass. Blood crusted under her nails.
I break.
I move fast. Not to fight. To feel. My mouth finds hers, hard and urgent.
Her hands grab my jacket, yanking me in. The kiss is jagged. Teeth clash. Need pours out, heavy and real.
“Dario,” she breathes against me.
That sound cracks me open.
I shove her jacket off. Rip her sweater over her head. No care. Just hunger.
Her skin glows warm, marked by bruises and heat. My hands roam, rough but careful, tracing her ribs, her spine.
She arches when my lips graze her throat. She tastes like bourbon and steel.
The old couch groans as I push her down, red light spilling through the blinds, painting her in shadow and fire.
I tug her jeans off. My fingers shake, but I don’t stop. She kicks them free, breath sharp.
Her hand slides up my shirt. Nails drag down my chest. I strip it off fast. Drop everything else.
This isn’t about power.
It’s about holding on. Before it’s gone.
She pulls me down. Her thighs part. My mouth trails her collarbone, down to her breast.
“Fuck,” she gasps as I lick her nipple, teasing it hard with my tongue.
“Like that?” I ask, voice low, sucking it into my mouth.
“Yeah,” she moans. “Don’t stop.”
I work her nipple, teeth grazing, then move to the other, leaving it wet and stiff.
Her hands fist my hair. “Lower,” she says, rough.
I slide down. Kiss her stomach, the scar on her hip. My fingers hook her underwear, pulling it off slow.
She’s bare now. Her pussy’s right there, glistening, and I spread her thighs wide.
“Look at you,” I say, voice thick. “So fucking wet.”
“For you,” she whispers. “Touch me.”
My fingers trace her folds, slick and warm. She shudders, hips lifting.
“Right there,” she gasps as I press two fingers inside, deep and slow.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” I mutter, curling them, feeling her clench.
She moans loud. “Faster,” she demands.
I pump my fingers, hard and steady, watching her writhe. “You like that?” I ask, thumb brushing her clit.
“Fuck, yes,” she cries, bucking against my hand. “Keep going.”
I add a third finger, stretching her. She’s dripping now, soaking my knuckles, and I twist them, hitting deep.
“Dario,” she pants. “Eat me. Now.”
I pull my fingers out. Lick them clean, tasting her, then lower my mouth. My tongue drags over her clit, slow and firm.
“Fuck,” she shouts, thighs clamping my head. “Right there.”
I suck her clit hard. Flick it fast, then slow, teasing. She grinds against my face, wild and desperate.
“Yeah,” I growl into her. “Ride my tongue.”
She does. Hips roll, smearing her wetness across my chin. “I’m close,” she gasps. “Don’t stop.”
I lick deeper, tongue pushing inside her, then back to her clit, sucking relentless.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” she cries, voice breaking as she shakes, pulsing against my mouth.
I keep going. Lap her through it, tasting every shudder until she’s panting, spent.
She grabs my shoulders. Pulls me up. Kisses me hard, tasting herself on my lips.
“Your turn,” she says, eyes dark.
I sit back. She climbs over me, straddling my thighs. Her hand wraps my cock, stroking slow.
“Fuck,” I groan. “Harder.”
“Like this?” she asks, squeezing tight, pumping me fast.
“Yeah,” I grunt, hips jerking. “Just like that.”
She smirks. Slides down. Her mouth hovers over my dick, breath hot against the tip.
“Tell me,” she says. “You want it?”
“Fuck, yes,” I rasp. “Suck me.”
She does. Her lips close around me, taking me deep, tongue swirling the head.
“Shit,” I mutter, hands in her hair. “Right there.”
She moans around me, the vibration hitting hard. She bobs her head, slow then fast, sucking wet and messy.
“Fuck, Viviana,” I groan. “You’re killing me.”
“Good,” she pulls off to say, then dives back, taking me to the back of her throat.
I thrust up. She gags once, then adjusts, letting me fuck her mouth.
“Come for me,” she says, pulling back, stroking me with her hand. “I want it.”
“Not yet,” I grit out. I pull her up. Flip her onto her back.
She laughs, wild and low. “Do it,” she says. “Make me scream.”
I spread her legs again. My fingers slide back inside her pussy, three this time, pumping fast.
“Fuck,” she moans. “Yeah, deeper.”
I twist them, curling hard, and rub her clit with my other hand. “You’re soaking me,” I say, voice rough.
“For you,” she gasps. “I’m coming again.”
“Come for me,” I growl, working her faster.
She does. Her pussy clamps down, dripping over my fingers, and she shouts my name, thrashing beneath me.
I pull out. Lick her off my hand. Then lean down, kissing her clit soft, then sucking hard again.
“Fuck, Dario,” she cries, hips bucking. “Too much.”
“Take it,” I say, tongue flicking wild. “One more.”
She grabs my hair. Grinds against my mouth. “Yeah,” she pants. “Right there. I’m coming.”
She breaks again, loud and raw, shaking under me. I keep licking, slow now, drawing it out until she’s trembling, breathless.
I climb up. Lie beside her. Our bodies tangle, slick with sweat.
“Fuck,” she mutters, hand on my chest. “You’re insane.”
“Yeah,” I say, tracing her thigh. “You started it.”
She smirks. Reaches down. Strokes my cock again, slow and lazy.
“Hard still?” she asks, teasing.
“For you,” I grunt. “Finish me.”
She slides down. Takes me in her mouth again, slower this time. Her tongue works me, deep and steady, until I’m groaning, close.
“Fuck, Viviana,” I say. “I’m coming.”
“Come for me,” she whispers, sucking hard.
I thrust once, spilling into her mouth, a low growl tearing out. She takes it all, swallowing, then climbs back up, kissing me softly.
We collapse together. The couch creaks under us, red light washing her skin.
Her hand finds mine. Presses it to her chest.
Her heart thumps hard. Steady.
I look at her. Sweat beads on her temple. Bruises mark her hips.
She looks back. Sees me. Not the killer. Me.
“You stayed,” I say, voice scraped raw.
“I’m still here.”
“Why?”
She shifts closer. Her cheek rests on my arm. “You showed me your worst. I didn’t run.”
“I told you everything.”
“You did.”
I nod.
Her breath warms my skin. She traces the scar on my rib.
“I don’t know what this is,” I say, quiet.
She kisses my chest. “It’s real. That’s enough.”
I close my eyes.
The tension in me fades. No bullets. No ghosts.
“I’ll tear down the world before I let it take you,” I say into her hair.
She lifts her head. Meets my eyes.
“Then let’s take it down together,” she says, voice low, sure.
I pull her closer.
Her fingers lace with mine.
As we lie down together, my phone blinks. I reach out for it.
It is a message.
From Rita
“Caldera’s been shipping weird cargo lately. Quiet loads. No sniffs from customs. That ain’t usual.”
I drop the phone. Tomorrow’s problem.