2. Roman “Ro” Zore #4
Toothpick Tony lingered off to the side, like he didn’t wanna be part of the official crew. Still chewing that same damn splinter like he’d been working it since the day I left. Rain slid down his cheek, but his hands stayed dry in his pockets—always hiding, always holding.
They started moving the casket from the tent to the grave, boots sucking at the mud with every step. The sound was harshly wet, like the earth didn’t wanna take Sal back. I moved closer without meaning to, my boots falling in step with the slow march.
That’s when Nova caught my eye again. Still standing there, like she hadn’t shifted since I first laid eyes on her. But she wasn’t alone anymore.
Saint had reappeared but now not underneath the umbrella. He was holding the big black umbrella so wide it covered her and the little girl standing in front of her. I still couldn’t believe the shit that I was hearing about him. He may not have been seen, but I heard all about him.
My stomach tightened before my brain could remind me it didn’t matter.
Saint wasn’t one of us. Never wore a patch, never stood under the colors.
But his name had weight in the city—a fixer who could clean up messes before the cops even knew they existed.
He’d been moving around Sal’s orbit the year before I left, always quiet, always in the background, but his eyes missed nothing.
Now, those same eyes were on the casket, but his hand was steady over Nova, keeping the rain off her.
The little girl had since been placed on her feet and shifted closer to Nova’s leg, and Nova rested her hand on the child’s hair without looking down.
I didn’t need to be told whose kid that was.
The air between us already carried that truth.
I should’ve looked away. Should’ve focused on the hole in the ground and the man going into it. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. My jaw clenched so tight it made my ears buzz, and I felt the faint sting of the rain cutting at the side of my neck.
Trigger caught my stare and followed it, his smirk turning into something sharper. “Saint’s keepin’ your seat warm, huh?” he murmured, low enough so the funeral director’s words covered it.
I didn’t take the bait. Just kept my eyes forward, on the men lowering Sal into the earth. The chains rattled as they let the casket down, each clink like a clock ticking off the last seconds of whatever Sal had left above ground.
“From dust we came, to dust we return.” The preacher chanted, his voice catching the rhythm of the chains.
The first shovel of dirt hit the lid with a sound that went straight through my teeth.
The rain swallowed the rest, turning the soil into a heavy, clinging mess.
The pallbearers stepped back, making room for Grams. She moved slow; the rosary still clutched like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
She tossed a single white lily into the grave, and the petals caught on the wet wood before sliding down into the dark.
People started lining up to pay their last touch, some dropping flowers, others just laying a hand on the casket before stepping back. I didn’t move. Not yet. I was watching Nova.
She shifted under the umbrella, saying something to Saint that I couldn’t catch.
He leaned in slightly, listening, his hand adjusting the angle of the umbrella, so it shielded her more.
The little girl—my little girl—peeked around Nova’s leg, her eyes wide and curious, like she was trying to figure out if she’d seen me before.
I felt that hit in my chest like a punch I hadn’t braced for.
The preacher called my name then asked if I wanted to say anything. I shook my head once, no words in my throat that wouldn’t come out as smoke or blood. The preacher didn’t push. Just moved on, his voice carrying another verse into the gray.
When I finally stepped forward, I didn’t touch the casket. Didn’t drop a flower. Just stood there, letting the rain drip off my hair into the mud, looking down at the man who’d raised me rough, taught me how to ride, and then told me I wasn’t fit to lead.
“You were wrong, Sal,” I growled under my breath, the words swallowed before they could carry. “It ain’t the heart that gets you killed. It’s forgetting why you needed it in the first place.”
I stepped back, and my boots slid just enough to catch me off balance for a split second. A hand caught my elbow—Saint’s. I hadn’t seen him move from Nova’s side, but there he was.
“Careful.” He spoke, voice low, steady, with no inflection that gave away anything more than the word.
I looked at his hand, then at him. He didn’t flinch. Just released me and stepped back, the umbrella tilting back toward Nova.
And just like that, I knew this wasn’t the last time we’d have a reason to stand this close.
The rain never let up. If anything, it got meaner—drops hitting harder, like the sky wanted to drown the whole damn gathering before it was over.
By the time the last shovel of dirt slid off the mound, the mud had crept over the tops of some of the polished shoes on the church crowd, and the MC boots were caked thick, every step pulling up earth like they were breaking chains from the ground.
The preacher closed his Bible with a soft thud, said something about “peace beyond the veil,” and stepped back. That’s when the crowd started to break apart, bodies splitting down the middle like oil and water.
I stayed put. Not moving, not giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing me turn my back first.
Grams had already been led toward one of the black sedans parked under the line of bare trees.
The Cruz couple stood nearby, speaking in low tones to Toothpick Tony, who looked like he was chewing his splinter down to dust. Jinx was talking to Trigger, their heads bent just enough to look like a casual conversation, but I knew better.
Nothing at a funeral in Lyon Crest was ever casual. Every word here had an angle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Nova again.
She had one hand on the little girl’s shoulder now, guiding her toward the path that led back to the cars.
Saint moved with them, the umbrella steady overhead, his other hand in his pants pocket like there might be something there that could ruin a man’s day if he needed it.
The girl glanced over her shoulder—at me.
She didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Just… looked. Eyes big and unblinking, like she was trying to memorize me. My throat tightened, and for a second, the rest of the scene blurred at the edges. That was blood staring at me, and she didn’t even know it.
Trigger caught me watching. His smirk twisted. “Cute kid. She yours?”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. Just let my gaze slide off him like he wasn’t worth the words. But my jaw? It locked so hard I could feel the muscles ticking under my skin.
Saint must’ve caught that exchange, because his eyes found mine over the top of the umbrella. No smile. No scowl. Just that same unreadable stare he’d always had—calm on the surface, but with something moving underneath, like a shark circling slow.
He guided Nova and the girl toward a black SUV parked a little apart from the rest. I noticed how clean it was despite the weather—no mud spray on the sides, no grit on the wheels. That wasn’t a funeral car. That was a man who came ready to leave in a hurry if he had to.
Nova didn’t look at me again. Not once. She kept her focus straight ahead, one hand on the girl’s back, the other brushing damp curls from her face as they reached the truck.
Saint opened the door for them like it was second nature.
The girl climbed in first. Nova followed, her leather jacket creaking as she slid onto the seat.
Saint closed the door soft, like even the sound of it might be too much for the moment.
But then he just stood there for a beat, the umbrella tilting back as he looked at me across the lot. The rain was running straight down his face now, but he didn’t move. Didn’t break eye contact.
The 2002 Tahoe’s engine turned over, a deep, smooth hum that spoke of money and quiet power. Saint rounded the front, got in on the driver’s side, and they rolled out without a wheel slip or a second glance back.
The space they left behind felt colder than the rain.
I stayed there until the crowd thinned down to just the Disciples, the Cruz couple, and a handful of stragglers who lingered for the last cigarette or handshake.
“Ro,” Cruz called, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the wet air. “We need to talk.”
I looked his way but didn’t step closer. “Not here.”
He nodded once, like he expected that. But his eyes told me he wasn’t going to wait long.
Trigger was still hanging around, like a dog that didn’t know when it had been kicked enough. “You sure you’re here for your uncle?” he arrogantly quizzed, his tone carrying just enough to let the rest hear it.
I stepped in close, the mud sucking at my boots as I closed the gap between. My voice stayed low, just for him. “Keep testing me, Trigger. You’ll find out I didn’t come back the same man I left.”
He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah… I’m starting to see that.”
We stared each other down for a beat too long, the rain sliding between us like a slow fuse. Finally, he stepped back, flicked the water off his hands, and walked off toward the line of bikes at the edge of the lot.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of exhaust from the vehicles that had just pulled away. I followed it with my eyes, tracking the dark smudge of taillights as they disappeared into the curtain of rain.
Saint might’ve thought he could stand next to her, shield her, even hold my kid under his umbrella. But that was temporary. Umbrellas fold. Rain stops. And when it did, I’d still be here.
I didn’t say that out loud. Didn’t need to. The vow was already carved deep enough in me to bleed if anyone tried to dig it out.
The last of the crowd cleared, engines rumbling to life, tires spitting mud as they rolled out. I was the last to leave the grave, the sound of rain on the fresh mound mixing with the low growl of my bike as I fired it up.
Before I kicked off, I looked back one last time. The lily Grams had dropped was still there, petals heavy with rain, sinking slow into the mud.
“Rest easy, Sal,” I muttered. “I’ll handle what you left behind.”
And then I rolled out, the gravel spitting under my tires as Lyon Crest started swallowing me back whole.