Page 12 of Veil of Obsession
Lockers line one wall, most of them dented and scratched, doors barely hanging on their hinges. I know they’re packed with taped-up gloves, worn-out shoes, and half-empty water bottles left to rot. A cracked mirror hangs over a stained sink, the kind ofmirror that distorts my face and makes me look like a stranger. There’s a faint sour odor from an old roll of athletic tape left unclaimed, and my bag sits next to it, sprawled open with my wraps and towel peeking out.
This place has seen better days. Hell, maybe it never had any to begin with. But somehow, it feels like it’s waiting, holding its breath, just as ready for a fight as I am.
I yank the white tank top that’s plastered against my skin off, throwing it on the floor. Looking back, I find Dom standing there behind me, lifting a brow.
“What? Don’t tell me you wanna fucking watch me take a shower.”
He doesn’t look the least bit amused. “Listen here, asshole. Eli has asked me to tell you that if we can’t figure out who’s killing the girls of New York’s elite after they get involved with you, then we’ll have to send you off somewhere else.”
My lips pull back into a snarl, and I grab him by his collared shirt. “The fuck you mean, send me off somewhere else? Huh?”
“Get your fucking hands off me Lucio,” he growls. “If you hadn’t been so irresponsible, you wouldn’t be in this fucking position in the first place.”
“If mybrothershad trusted me, I wouldn’t be in this fucking position,” I retort, turning back around and grabbing another towel before going into the shower.
“Trust is earned, Lucio. You haven’t shown you are worthy of your brother’s trust. Hell, you haven’t shown anyone you are worthy of their trust. All you do is fuck and act like an entitled brat. You have had this coming for a long fucking time.”
“I won’t be taking advice from a drunk who can’t stop drinking for a second to save his ass.”
Should I have shamed him for his drinking issue? No. Do I regret it? Fuck no.
The loud, unmistakable sound of the changing room doors banging against the wall singles that Dom has left. I finish showering as quickly as I can, pulling on a new pair of sweats and a tank top, then look through the new messages I have. I have a couple from Emiliano, another from Mara, and two from Ma.
Just as I’m about to shut my phone, my eyes land on a text from an unknown sender.
Unknown
I hope you’ve enjoyed my little presents.
The fuck? I shoot back a text.
Me
Who the fuck is this?
What presents?
Unknown
That would spoil the surprise, now, wouldn’t it? Enjoy!
Me:
Who is this?
Of course, I don’t get a response back.
Slamming my locker door shut, I run a hand through my hair, still damp from my shower, before heading out of the changing rooms. The metallic clang echoes around me, a reminder of the place I’m leaving behind for the night. I take the stairs up to the garage, each step bouncing off the cold concrete walls. As soon as I hit the top, I click the “open” button on my keys, hearing my car beep in response across the empty lot.
There she is: my black Huayra Roadster, gleaming under the dim garage lights. Pa gave me this car before he passed. It’s morethan just a ride; it’s a piece of him I still have. Something solid. Something that reminds me of who I am and where I come from.
When I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather hugs me, familiar and grounding. I turn the key and the engine purrs to life, smooth and powerful, ready to take me away from everything for a while.
As I pull out into the streets, the city stretches out in front of me, lights glowing against the darkening sky. The tall, classic buildings stand shoulder-to-shoulder with modern glass towers, each one lit up, reflecting a thousand little stories in their windows. There’s an elegance to the old architecture, arches, and detailed façades bathed in warm, golden light, while the newer skyscrapers soar above them, slick and sharp-edged, their windows gleaming like polished obsidian. A yellow taxi zips past me, and I notice the blurred flash of its headlights against the glossy black of the pavement.
The further I drive, the darker it gets, but the lights only get brighter. Up ahead, the city skyline pierces the clouds, the spire of the Chrysler Building glinting in the dim twilight, standing like a silent guardian over the streets below. Crowds bustle on the sidewalks, small silhouettes against the massive structures around them, while the rumble of traffic and the hum of neon signs fill the air. The glow of headlights reflects off the wet asphalt as I weave through the lanes, my Roadster slicing through the city’s pulse, a shadow among shadows.
As I ease to a halt in front of the towering luxury building, the valet is already at my door, dressed crisply in a tailored suit that matches the sleek aesthetic of the lobby inside. He greets me with a polite nod, reaching for the car door handle. He’s young, maybe my age, and there’s an eagerness to his movements. He clenches his fists, his smile barely contained as he slides behind the wheel and drives off toward the underground parking, thetaillights flashing briefly before disappearing into the depths of the garage.
