8. Smoke Signals
369 Words
Nico had seen enough bruises in his life to know when someone was trying to hide them.
But Sienna?
He wasn’t sure what shook him more—the faint discoloration under her sunglasses, or the way she looked right through him like she was holding her breath beneath layers of survival.
He didn’t know what Dario had done.
He didn’t know if it was as bad as his gut was telling him.
But her eyes had told him something he couldn’t unsee.
Fear.
Not the kind born from violence.
The kind born from normalizing it.
Still, he didn’t follow her.
Didn’t say her name.
Because if he got close now, he wouldn’t be able to play this smart.
And smart was how you buried men like Dario Vega.
---
That night, Nico met with Luca and two of their oldest associates in the backroom of a high-end cigar lounge.
“Word is, Dario’s moving product through the port,” Luca said, lighting a cigar. “Big shipments. Off the books.”
“Arms?” Nico asked.
“No. Women. Eastern Europe. Young.”
Nico’s jaw tightened. “He’s crossing a line.”
“He’s burning the whole rulebook,” the other man said. “You gonna let that stand?”
Nico didn’t answer.
He stood, walked to the window, and stared down at the city lights. Dario had always had a taste for power—but this was greed bordering on madness. Too loud. Too messy.
And if he was willing to drag innocent girls through shipping containers just to feed his empire… what else was he doing behind closed doors?
What is he doing to her?
The thought came uninvited. It lodged there.
Nico shook it off.
“I want eyes on the docks. Every crate, every ship.”
“And if we find something?”
Nico turned, cold and clear.
“Then we burn it.”
---
Later, in the silence of his apartment, Nico poured a drink and stared at the glass without drinking it.
Sienna’s image haunted him—elegant, broken, proud.
The bruise. The scarf.
He didn’t know the full story.
But he was starting to suspect it had always been written in blood.
- Writer
