Blood and Vows

concrete and steel under a sky bruised purple by dusk. Neon flickered from dive bars and pawnshops, casting sickly glows on the cracked pavement. She adjusted the strap of her duffel bag, the wei

g on the glass. "I'm here, Dad," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Starting over. Like you wanted." She didn't say the rest-that he wasn't here to see it, that the questions about his death still gnawed at her like a splinter she couldn't pull out. The official story was a car accident, a slick road on a rainy night. But the whispers she'd overheard at his funeral, the way Teresa's eyes darted when Gianna pressed for details-they didn't add up. She'd stopped asking after a while. Digging hurt too much. Her stomach growled, pulling her out of the spiral. She hadn't eaten since a stale bagel at a rest stop hours ago. The kitchenette yielded a single packet of instant coffee and a chipped mug, but nothing edible. She'd need to find a diner or a corner store-something quick before exhaustion pinned her to the bed. Grabbing her coat again, she headed back into the night. The streets of San Vero pulsed with a rhythm she didn't yet understand. A group of guys in leather jackets lingered outside a bar called Vito's, their laughter sharp and loud. One of them tracked her with his eyes as she passed, a slow appraisal that made her skin prickle. She kept walking, her pace steady, her hand slipping into her pocket to grip the pepper spray she always carried. Old habits from a life she'd sworn off. A neon sign blinked ahead: Mona's Diner - Open 24/7. Good enough. She pushed through the glass door, the bell above it jangling, and slid into a booth near the back. The place was half-empty-a trucker hunched over a plate of fries, a waitress with tired eyes wiping down the counter, a guy in a hoodie nursing a coffee in the corner. The air smelled of grease and burnt coffee, comforting in its familiarity. The waitress-Mona, her nametag read-ambled over, notepad in hand. "What'll it be, hon?" "Burger. Medium. And a Coke," Gianna said, keeping her voice low. She wasn't in the mood for small talk. Mona scribbled it down and shuffled off, leaving Gianna to stare at the scratched tabletop. Her fingers traced a groove in the Formica, her mind drifting back to the photo. Her father's death had been five years ago, a wound that should've scarred over by now. But moving to San Vero felt like picking at it, peeling back the edges. Teresa had warned her against coming here, her voice tight over the phone: "That city's got shadows, Gianna. Shadows your father knew too well." Gianna had brushed it off. She needed the job, the distance. The shadows could stay where they were. The burger arrived, a greasy slab on a bun with a side of fries she hadn't asked for. She ate mechanically, the food filling the hole in her stomach but not the one in her chest. The guy in the hoodie glanced her way once, his face shadowed, then went back to his coffee. She ignored him, focusing on the hum of the jukebox in the corner-some old S