Page 4 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings

Simpering, she shook her head but did as she was told and padded toward me in a pair of Chanel slides. Her thick ginger curls were pulled up into a ponytail, but I admired how the color contrasted with her creamy, buttermilk skin. Propping the door open to the truck, I stroked my growing dick.

“Take those shorts off,” I told her, pulling my pants down far enough to free my man and strap up with the latex.

“Why you always gotta fuck up the mood with that?” Cyra sucked her teeth.

“You ain’t the one with four kids, mama. You want this dick or not?”

Rolling her eyes and sighing, she climbed into the truck to straddle me. With her hands against my shoulders, she eased her walls down my shaft slowly until I was deep inside her.

“Fuck!” I grunted, fingers digging into her plump ass while she bucked and threw it back on my shit.

She was putting in her best work, and her shit was wet as fuck. This release was much needed and wasn’t about shit else but a nut for me. After about thirty more strokes, she was dripping and gushing all over my shit at the same time I let my shit off in the condom.

“Mmm, damn,” she whined, moving her face closer to mine, trying to kiss my lips.

Giving her my cheek left her rearing her neck.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, dropping her hands against her thighs while I pulled my flaccid dick out of her.

“This ain’t even that, Cyra, and you know it.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” she snapped, lifting her legs and climbing out of my lap and out of the car. “I’m here with you and your kids, and you acting like I’m just some random ass bitch, Static!”

Shaking my head, I fixed my pants and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind me.

She was about to blow my high with this shit.

Static was what they called me in the streets, and that was the part of me I gave Cyra when we were fucking around.

I let her get it off because I didn’t want to be an open book for her.

Ever since my first baby mama, I wasn’t giving bitches any leeway or access to my closed-off heart.

“I thought you wanted me here because we were trying to work on building something. Like a family.”

“You came because you didn’t have nowhere else to go, and I needed help with them while I was here dealing with my family shit. Don’t make this out to be some other shit you had in your head.”

“What am I supposed to do back in Chicago? How am I going to look when everybody finds out that you’re this nigga with all this money and I’m sitting back there in the projects with some dead-end job?”

“Shit didn’t matter to you before when I was just a regular nigga,” I pointed out with a shrug.

“This isn’t fair, Static!” As she stomped ahead of me, I couldn’t help but peep the deep sway in her hips when she moved.

Cyra was bad. Fucking with a bitch less than a dime wasn’t something I could participate in.

Didn’t matter how much I made or what I drove.

My overall charisma could talk the baddest bitch into or out of anything.

My problem was knocking they asses up like a damn fool.

Back then, I was still on crash-out time.

After Rogue, I cleaned my shit up. I didn’t even want no more kids.

My four gave me a run for it on a regular.

Part of me wanted to apologize because I had kind of just disregarded her for my own needs in that moment.

It was when we stepped into the kitchen, and I saw the condition it was in, that I officially snapped.

“The fuck is this! Why this shit look like this!” I demanded, taking in the counters covered in bowls and plates.

Pots and pans were stacked on the stove and there was a sink full of even more dishes. The kitchen table was cluttered with empty boxes of cereal, Ramen packs, and other snacks and empty soda bottles.

“Because it’s four kids here and they have to eat,” she answered, sucking her teeth.

“Why the fuck you ain’t clean up too?”

“Excuse me!”

“Fuck that, Cyra! You been here all fucking day and ain’t doing shit! How the fuck this shit looking like this? The fuck you been doing?”

“You don’t have to yell, Static!” She dropped her hands at her side.

“Daddy!” My youngest daughter, Piaget, raced into the room.

Rogue, who was only four, wasn’t far behind her. The two of them hadn’t changed since earlier today when I’d seen them but couldn’t wait to hug me in their stained-up attire.

“We’re hungry!” Rogue declared, leaving me glaring at Cyra above their heads.

She leaned against the counter and had the nerve to grill me like I was the fucking problem. I had to get the fuck out of here before I snapped her fucking neck.

“Aight, let me get changed. Get your brother and sister and put your shoes on. We’re going to the grocery store to get some more food.”

“Yeah!” Cheering in unison, the two sprinted off together.

“I’m giving you an hour to get this shit right, Cyra,” I warned from the other side of the island counter. “I’m taking them to the store, and when I get back, we got some shit we need to talk about.”

“Oh, don’t keep me in suspense, Static. Speak your mind! You’ve been going around lying and hiding who you are all this time, and now you want to come at me like I’m the issue!”

Swiftly rounding the corner, I snatched her by the throat.

With a locked jaw and lips pursed together in anger, I searched her eyes, suddenly shining with fear.

My fuse was short when dealing with stupidity or resistance.

A nigga played it real cool because I’d tucked the beast inside me in its cage a long time ago.

Every now and then, he would try to escape, and it took everything in me to keep him tucked away. Cyra stayed trying me.

“Bitch, the fuck is wrong with you! You want to know who the fuck I am, keep trying me!”

“Static, you’re hurting me,” she pleaded.

“You don’t know the fucking half of it!” I roared, unleashing a rage that had been brewing in my chest since hearing the reading of that will. “Matter of fact, don’t worry about cleaning shit. Pack your shit and get the fuck out!”

“Wh-what?” she asked, stricken when I pushed her away from me. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“Back to Chicago.” I backed up before I dropped her ass right here on the floor.

“You for real about that? I don’t have anything to go back to! I’m still Rogue’s mother!”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean to me? You ain’t got enough self-respect for me to give more of a fuck about you than you do, Cyra! I want you gone by the time I get back.”

The only reason I’d brought her along was that I needed help with the kids when I first arrived.

I still fucked with her, which was probably the other reason the bitch was crazy.

She had good pussy, and as long as she had some weed, she’d sit with the kids when I needed her to.

Cyra wasn’t the best judge of character.

She was younger than me and spent most of her life trying to please people.

The only reason we hooked up to begin with is because I was crashing out and she wanted to be the one thing to make me forget my past. I popped pills and even snorted a line of coke or two with her.

She was down to party any time and any fucking place.

Eventually, that shit got old, but I’d already gotten her pregnant, so there was no way to go back and change that.

If she focused on being a good mother instead of looking for the next event, she might be alright.

When she was sober, she was cool, and Rogue adored her, but our son was never one to hold his tongue.

He took on a lot of her personality traits that I didn’t like, and, much like myself, was a work in progress.

It took me about ten minutes to slip into joggers, a t-shirt, and my blue Nike Vomero running shoes. By the time I reached the kitchen, the kids were all gathered around the counter looking for snacks through the wreckage.

“Pop, we are starving. Cyra been feeding us frozen microwave stuff all day! How we supposed to live off that?” my thirteen-year-old son, Saga, queried. “She can’t even boil water.”

“That’s no cap either. She let all the water evaporate when we had ramen noodles earlier,” eleven-year-old Tavi chimed in.

I couldn’t help the natural chuckle while examining their turned-up noses.

Snacks and shit were cool, but I was no stranger to the kitchen, so they were used to a good home-cooked meal every now and then.

I hadn’t had the time with the funeral arrangements and catching up with my family to be as present as I wanted to be.

This shit was all new to them too. Cyra was supposed to be taking care of this shit, and she had damn sure dropped the ball.

Had I known she was gon’ be moving like this, I would have prepared to stay with my mama in the main house.

Shit was too close for comfort right now though.

I didn’t want to be there without Justus around.

Didn’t feel right walking in and not finding the smoke from his cigars lingering in the air, or him studying his chessboard near the window overlooking where the horses liked to run by.

“Come on, let’s fix that. When we get back y’all, gon’ figure out this cleaning shit too. Cyra’s going back to Chicago.”

“Aw man, can’t we just hire somebody?” Saga pouted. “Ask Grandma Rossi if we can borrow her maid.”

“You been here a week and think you got it like that already?” I palmed the top of his head and nudged him into the hallway toward the garage.

It wasn’t a bad suggestion. I already knew leaving right now wasn’t an option.

No matter how much resentment I harbored for my father, I couldn’t leave the rest of my family vulnerable like that to his enemies.

It wasn’t right, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to them because I decided to take the easy way out.

I was a Marek, there was no way around that.

I didn’t have to live by my father’s rules any longer though. I could make my own.

“I’m just saying.” Saga shrugged. “We might as well take advantage while we here.”

“How would y’all feel if we stayed?” I asked.

Once I buckled Rogue in his booster seat, I noticed his wild, curly hair was all over his head.

That was another thing. His mama knew how to do hair, yet she let him and his sisters sit around here looking crazy all day.

Saga kept locs in his head, which was low-maintenance enough for him.

He got his shit retwisted every two months, and they easily draped past his shoulders.

Usually, he wore them down or in that barrel style, unless he was shooting hoops, then he pulled it into a manbun.

“You mean like live here?” Tavi questioned, leaning forward beside Piaget and Rogue with wide eyes.

Saga spun in the passenger seat to face me.

“We not going back to Chicago?” Piaget perked up.

“Your grandma and the rest of the family need us to stay. I might be taking over the family businesses and helping run things.”

“For real?” Saga’s eyes grew larger.

“I said I’m thinking about it,” I reminded them.

“I want to stay! I love this house!” Tavi squealed.

“Does that mean we get to ride the horses too?” Piaget asked.

“I’m sure somebody can teach you.”

“Yeah!” Rogue and Piaget screamed.

I made sure everybody was buckled up before opening the garage and backing out for our adventure to the grocery store.

I knew I was in over my head and would instantly regret it, but it had to be done.

I couldn’t sit around Cyra, or she was only going to bring out the worst in me.

Bitch had no problem making up some false narrative to suit herself.

Even when she didn’t know who I was, I did right by that bitch and made sure her nor my son wanted for shit.

Now that she knew I had some real money behind me, the bitch was bound to be a problem I didn’t need, so she had to go.

Now, the decision to stay or leave Oak Bluffs lingered in my brain.