Veiled Amor by V. Theia
THIRTY-ONE
“You’re focused on the wrong thing, brother.” - Rider
There was no purpose to a ride through Aurora other than it took some of the steam out of Capone’s brain. When he got there, it was the middle of the night almost.
Not knowing what the fuck he wanted, he turned his bike around and headed back to Armado Springs, making it to the clubhouse within the hour.
Few were around. Prospects and Erin, the house mouse, who seemed to keep weird hours, or she had no one to go home to. He hadn’t taken the time to find out. And he didn’t stop to say more than “hi.”
Capone was too tired and didn’t want to get drunk, but he still headed to the bar and started up the coffee machine. Programming a double espresso, he straddled a stool, keeping his back to the room, putting his ‘do not fucking talk to me’ sign out.
He had so much to unpack in his head, he didn’t know where the fuck to start.
So much loss.
So fucking much.
Some days he thought the grief would cave his chest in. But this was more than grief because Capone was pissed off too.
They’d lost so much before they had a chance.
He thought he’d feel relief knowing Lucia was only his. She’d never been with Santi and dios, he did feel relief, though he’d loved her even assuming what he did. How many chances they could have had if only he’d known the truth made a hollowness inside.
He didn’t know who he was angry with.
Himself mostly.
The biggest mistake was leaving her behind.
He could have fixed everything by bringing her with him.
And Capone fucking hated himself.
He couldn’t swallow past the stone of emotion in his throat, feeling it gut him from the inside like twin knives slicing him up.
If he’d stayed at home, he would have said something he regretted, and he wouldn’t hurt Lucia more than he had already.
Fuck him.
Lucia. His Lucia with the most amazing eyes.
She was probably unaware of how many emotions she carried in them, like looking through two glass windows. And he’d walked out last night looking at her tears he’d put there because he was so fucking frustrated.
If Santiago were around, he’d kill the little bastard.
Only he wouldn’t because he’d always loved his baby brother.
Capone loved his family, and he missed them.
The crack of his grief yawned open, the wound he tried hard to keep stitched shut. At any point, Santiago could have come to him or their other brothers for help. They would have dug him out of trouble without question.
The Mercado’s weren’t perfect saints, but they stuck together.
How the fuck could Capone fix this?
Even now, though he knew he’d fucked up so many times, all he could think about was crawling into bed and pulling Lucia into his chest so she could pin him to the bed. Most mornings, it was how he woke up. For a small woman, she was like a tank when she slept. He didn’t mind at all.
Dios, why did his heart fucking hurt?
Could he have a heart attack at his age?
“You’re here early, Cap.” He heard and saw Rider striding over.
“Sí.” He answered. “What about you?”
“Heard from Pretty-Boy about your shop. What’s happening?”
That showed how messed up his head was that the break-in wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He’d been alerted about it on the ride into Aurora. “The back door was kicked in. The alarm must have scared them off, it doesn’t look like they got inside. I had the door repaired and there’s a camera being installed tomorrow.”
“Probably kids.” Then Rider added, “or Fielding.”
“Maybe she objected to the prices for a Spanish foot long.”
The Prez grunted his annoyance. “She’s got to go. Charlie suspended her for her bullshit arrest, but it didn’t slow her down.”
“I don’t disagree, hermano.”
“Seeing as you’re here, you fancy doing some recon with me?”
“Sure,” Capone asked, cocking a brow to Rider, who had a devious glint in his eyes. It could mean a whole shitload of something, “Where we headed?”
“Not far. The cop needs to learn if she messes with us, we mess better.”
Capone chuckled and stepped down off the stool.
“If we get arrested, I’m blaming you.”
Rider smirked, and the pair strode toward the door. It wasn’t light yet.
Capone was missing his Lucia.
He could turn his head to a bit of crime while he decided what to do next.
It was disgustingly easy to grab photos of the cop coming out of the Mayor’s private home at stupid o’clock. Easier still to drop those photos into her mailbox, letting her know they had eyes on her too if she wanted to continue with her one-bitch campaign.
Lucia was never far from Capone’s mind, though.
His wounds were wide open.
And his thoughts packed with a lot of what-ifs.