Page 26 of A Capo’s Love: Featuring A Don’s Love

If I had magic, I’d burn this entire building down.

“I’m not telling you to stay calm… I’m telling you to stay Don.”

Roy’s words landed a little harder than everything else. My breathing slowed, followed by my fists unclenching. Something inside of me had already changed though… My mind was on Vegas and La’Nova carrying my child.

“I already know you leaving within the next couple of hours to go out there and do some wild shit,” Roy let out a weary breath.

I turned to him; he ran his hand across his forehead then offered me his signature smirk.

“I already made a couple of phone calls. Your guards will be close but not visible.” He waved his hand.

“Stop and get you a lemon-ginger tea and drive safe, Luke.” He chuckled.

I closed my eyes and nodded solemnly. I made a mental note to check Roy later about calling me Luke.

“This nigga about to be on some wild shit.” Roy turned to the door, talking in third person to himself. “If I wasn’t about to do some wild ass shit myself, I’d be trying to go with you to witness you going out sad.”

“Roy,” I called out to him.

“Don’t Roy me, and don’t ask what I got planned.” He shrugged his shoulder, keeping his back to me.

“Just make sure you here for Lucille’s last super… I got a woman to kidnap and a funeral to help plan.”

CHAPTER 7

La’Nova

10.05.26- NOBODY DESERVES TO BE PLAYED WITH.

‘Coloring With Nova’

My fingers traced over the cover softly as I eyed it like it wasn’t real. This was something that came from me, and I never remembered ever feeling this proud of myself. The matte finish felt soft under my fingertips as I eyed the way my name sat right beneath the title. It was simple yet still elegant. I opened the first page and automatically felt my emotions rise in my throat before I could stop it.

“You really fuckin’ did it,” I said out loud to myself, proud as hell.

It felt like my soul had recognized something that I wasn’t able to explain. Every page held a piece of silenced trauma that I kept locked in and used to be afraid of letting loose for the world to see.

I was finally in a mental safe space where the silence that used to let my thoughts get too loud finally felt released. I realized that over the years, my trauma had settled so deep inside of me that I stopped recognizing it. Now I was able to place it all in one place and feel the type of freedom that money couldn’t buy no matter the price.

Coloring used to be my only escape. I remembered how my mother and father used to be so excited each time I drew or colored something then handed it off to them to see. The last day I was able to lay eyes on them, I had been up in my room coloring and happy until intruders came in and snatched that happiness and security away from me.

In this moment, I imagined both of their smiles. I could feel them in spirit. My eyes burned as tears slipped free. I knew in this moment they were proud of me. For that reason alone, I didn’t care how childish people thought it was to color as an adult. There were so many women like me that I watched on social media who colored.

In modern day they called it ASMR. I watched those videos late at night after I got done drawing and coloring a picture of my own. Although I didn’t see their faces, I watched their hands color, allowing the strokes of their markers, pens, and crayons soothe me. I had those same videos to thank over and over because they helped me fall asleep faster at night, and it kept my mind off of him…

Coloring, for me, was more than just filling lines neatly and picking pretty colors. A lot of people didn’t know that most women didn’t color because it was something soft and dainty. People judged women that colored and said that they were crazy, coloring to stay sane, or because we didn’t want to think.

While working at the House Of Angels, I saw firsthand how many women carry the burden of others no matter how small a situation might appear to be. We carry everything down to what was done to us, what we should have done in return, and what we wish we didn’t feel.

Me, personally… my mind didn’t rest easy, even with my newfound freedom. I already lived through things that rewired my sense of safety. Drawing and coloring slowed my breathing. It forced my hands to move more steadier instead of shaking every couple of seconds when I had nothing else to do with them. It also taught me how to sit with myself without spiraling. Every stroke of coloring gave me gentle control. It was for me to exist without thinking about a way to escape or fix something out of my control.

I remember the first page I ever designed. It was messy and imperfect. The lines were too thick in some places and too thin in others. I drew a full-figured woman sitting in stillness, her thick kinky hair flowed into the background like it was becoming a part of the world around her. By the time I finished drawing and coloring the picture. I realized that it was how I lived my life for so long. I was used to dissolving into everything I couldn’t handle then I’d think about my freedom and what all I’d do with it once I obtained it.

Now, looking at the finished version, printed clean and beautiful in front of me, I pressed my hand over my stomach and smiled through my tears.

“I finished this for you,” I said lowly.

My baby girl’s foot kicked in response to my voice. I couldn’t help but to laugh softly because she was already something else like me. I shook my head and silently thanked Balani as I flipped a few pages deeper into the book. If it wasn’t for him, this would still be sitting in one of my notebooks somewhere hidden between doubt and hesitation.