Veil 7

The night was thick with the scent of whiskey and cigars, the air heavy with unspoken deals and hidden motives. As I adjusted the strap of my dress, I could feel Helios' gaze burning into my back. He didn't trust me—not fully. And I didn't blame him. Trust was a dangerous thing in our world, and I had learned long ago that giving it away too freely was a mistake.

We were deep in the underbelly of the city, where power was measured in blood and money. Tonight's mission was simple—extract information from a man who held secrets that could expose the traitor we were hunting. The stakes were high, and failure was not an option.

The poker game was already in motion when we entered. I scanned the room, taking in the players—hardened criminals, wealthy businessmen, and a few dangerous faces I recognized from my past. My target sat at the far end of the table, his fingers idly toying with a stack of chips. His name was Viktor Petrov, a mid-level operative with connections to both the Moretti and Volkov families.

I slid into the empty seat across from him, offering a small smile as I placed my bet. Helios remained close, his posture tense. He hated this plan, but he had no choice but to go along with it. This was my game, my way of doing things.

The first few hands were easy enough. I played just well enough to keep Petrov interested, but not well enough to seem like a threat. We exchanged pleasantries, subtle jabs, and flirtatious smiles, all part of the act. The alcohol flowed, and soon, his guard began to drop.

"You're quite the player, Miss...?" Petrov prompted, his eyes dark with curiosity.

"Elena," I purred, taking a slow sip of my drink. "And you, Viktor, are quite the mystery."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "A mystery? Hardly. I'm an open book."

"Is that so?" I leaned in slightly, allowing my dress to dip just enough to keep his attention. "Then tell me, Viktor, what do you know about the recent... disruptions in the Moretti family?"

For a moment, his expression faltered. It was subtle, but I caught it. He knew something. But before he could answer, the atmosphere shifted.

One of the players slammed a fist onto the table, drawing everyone's attention. Accusations flew, voices rising in anger. And then, just as quickly, the first punch was thrown.

Chaos erupted around us. Chairs scraped against the floor, glasses shattered, and fists flew. Petrov took the opportunity to make his escape, but I was faster. I grabbed his wrist, twisting it behind his back as I leaned in.

"Not so fast, darling," I whispered. "We’re not done talking."

Before I could press him further, a strong hand gripped my arm, pulling me away. Helios.

"We need to go. Now," he growled, his grip firm but not painful.

I clenched my jaw but released Petrov, shoving him forward before turning to follow Helios through the chaos. We slipped through a back exit, emerging into the cool night air.

The second we were alone, Helios spun me around, his jaw tight with frustration.

"That was reckless," he snapped. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

I yanked my arm free, meeting his glare with my own. "I had it under control."

"Control? That wasn't control, Elena. That was gambling with your life."

The tension between us crackled like a live wire. We were too close, our breathing uneven. His eyes searched mine, anger warring with something deeper—something neither of us was ready to name.

For a brief moment, I thought he might say something else, something that would shatter the fragile balance between us. But instead, he exhaled sharply and turned away.

"Next time, we do it my way," he muttered.

I watched him for a moment before nodding. "Fine. But don’t ever pull me away again unless you’re ready to fight me for it."

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Deal."

As we walked into the night, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy between us. The game we were playing was dangerous, and trust was a luxury we couldn't afford. But whether we liked it or not, we were in this together. And neither of us was willing to back down.

---

As I slip into the backroom of the casino, my heart pounds against my ribs. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars and desperation. The man I’ve been tailing—Marco Ricci, a mid-level fixer with ties to both the Moretti and Volkov families—leans over a stack of poker chips, his fingers drumming on the felt table.

I smooth down my dress, adjusting my posture as I approach. Confidence is everything in this game.

“Mind if I join?” I ask, my voice sultry, calculated.

Ricci barely glances up before waving at the empty seat beside him. “If you’ve got the cash, sweetheart, you’re welcome to try your luck.”

I settle in, keeping my expression neutral. Helios is somewhere in the room, watching. I feel his presence like a shadow lingering behind me, and the thought irritates me. I don’t need a babysitter.

The game begins, and I play my part perfectly—laughing at Ricci’s jokes, letting him think he’s in control. But just as I’m about to steer the conversation toward the information I need, one of his men leans in and whispers something in his ear. His expression darkens.

“You’re not who you say you are,” Ricci mutters, his tone suddenly ice-cold.

Shit.

Before I can react, he grabs my wrist under the table, his grip like iron.

I force a laugh, masking my nerves. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” he counters, squeezing tighter. “And I think you’re going to tell me who you’re really working for.”

The tension in the air shifts, and I can feel the weight of multiple sets of eyes locking onto me. My pulse quickens. I glance toward the bar where Helios had stationed himself, hoping he picks up on the shift in the mood.

But I don’t have to wait long.

A strong hand clamps down on Ricci’s shoulder, and Helios’ deep voice cuts through the haze of smoke and tension.

“She’s with me.”

Ricci releases me instantly, his expression flickering between recognition and fear. Helios leans down, his breath hot against my ear.

“Let’s go,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I bite back my frustration, but I don’t resist as he pulls me away.

---

The moment we step into the cold night air, I yank my wrist free from Helios’ grip and whirl on him.

“What the hell was that?” I snap, my breath visible in the chill.

Helios narrows his eyes. “That was me saving your ass.”

“I had it under control.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Because from where I was standing, you were about five seconds away from getting a bullet in your skull.”

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “I was getting information.”

“You were about to get caught.” He takes a step closer, his presence imposing. “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I hadn’t stepped in?”

I clench my jaw, refusing to back down. “I don’t need you to protect me, Helios.”

His gaze darkens, and for a moment, something unreadable flickers in his eyes. “Maybe not. But you sure as hell need someone watching your back if you’re going to pull reckless stunts like that.”

We stand there, the tension thick between us. The streetlamp casts long shadows, making the moment feel heavier than it should.

“Next time,” I say, my voice quieter but no less firm, “trust that I know what I’m doing.”

He studies me for a long moment before finally nodding. “Fine. Just don’t make me have to drag your body out of a place like that.”

The words linger between us, unspoken meaning settling in the space where neither of us is willing to acknowledge it.

For now, the mission comes first. But I can’t ignore the way my pulse still thrums from the way he stepped in—like he would burn down the whole damn place if it meant keeping me safe.