Page 45 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings
Cruising through the worn-out Garden Grove projects with Tupac’s “Hail Mary” ringing in our ears, we blew on a blunt.
The complex was made up of five or six four-story buildings.
Only half of them were occupied. Given the conditions of the buildings that did have residents, seemed like it was only a matter of time before they were boarded up too.
Garbage and broken bottles littered the pothole-filled streets.
Glancing at the sky, I noticed the sun had vanished behind dark clouds, and thunder rumbled as thick raindrops fell against the windshield.
The already grim area took on an even more ominous appeal.
This was the perfect night for this shit.
Staten parked a block over, and we all hopped out assembled and ready with facemasks.
Gas, who was ex-military, had all our men suited up and ready, coming at Chino’s building from all sides.
From what I knew of this four-story building, the first two floors were reserved for the crackheads so that they could get high.
On the third floor was where they cooked the dope, and on top was where Chino and his men kicked it and bagged the coke and counted money.
I hit up my favorite crackhead from the neighborhood, a nigga by the name of Crisp that everybody fucked with.
Crisp and my pops went way back. Justus always felt bad that he went the way he did, so he made sure that we always looked out for him.
In return, Crisp was always ready to ride for us, for some money or dope, of course.
I’d already arranged for him to slide through and cop some work so that we knew what was what when we went inside.
The last message I got, he told me that there was four men on the perimeter then a nigga on an exit on each floor of the building, which meant we had to drop twelve niggas just to get to Chino and his crew.
Crisp said those niggas kept a twenty-four-hour party going though, giving us the advantage.
Moniece, our cousin and tech genius, was able to access their outdoor cameras for us too and switch the feed so that it appeared as if nothing was going on outside when we ran up on these muhfuckas.
My brothers and I hung tight and let our men go in ahead of us.
Within sixty seconds, our shooters on the rooftop had taken out each man on the perimeter, giving us access inside.
The crackheads were so high or on the verge of getting there that a lot of them just lay there like zombies when we passed through, while others saw the guns and our attire and scattered like roaches.
Mildew, crack smoke, and dust permeated the air when we crept through.
One of the guards on the second floor got caught slipping and having one of them base-head hoes sucking his dick in the hallway.
Staten shot a hollow one through both of their heads.
The bass from the music only seemed to amplify the closer we got to the top floor.
After we hit the guards on the third level, Brick secured the doors to the apartments where they were cooking the dope.
None of these bitches were getting out of here alive.
After we handled Chino and his boys, this whole building was going down.
Staten stepped out first, giving the two guards on the door to one of the apartments direct head shots that sent them to the ground.
My brother was in kill mode, and that shit had my adrenaline going.
Blood splattered against the walls as we kicked down door after door, fucking up the party with Chino and his boys.
They never even saw us fucking coming. Bitches were screaming, scattering half naked, and catching strays as we let off assault rifles and Swiss cheesed everything in proximity.
“Look at this shit,” Brick’s muffled voice said as he waved his gun at our coke product and pills being packed on the tables and scattered about like fucking party favors.
“Oh, these niggas was having a good time trying to double up on our shit.” I picked up a pack and one after the other started to stuff it in my bag with my guns and ammo. “Get all this shit!” I barked to the rest of our crew.
“Shit! The fuck, man!” Staten yanked Chino out of the apartment across the hall and dragged him over by the neck to the unit where Brick and I were packing dope.
“Get on your knees, you bitch ass nigga!” my brother growled, tossing him like a toy and aiming his gun at his head.
“Look, you don’t know who you fucking with,” Chino whimpered like a bitch, cowering and curling up on the floor.
“One more time. On your knees, or I blow both them bitches off!” Staten barked.
Chino did as he was told, sitting up on his knees with his arms up in surrender.
“I work for Jacob, aight. Whatever you want, he can get you.”
“Bitch ass nigga, you think we give a fuck about what that nigga can do for us? This right here is what we came for!” Pow! The .45 to his head blew his brains from his skull. “Get the rest of this shit. Y’all got sixty seconds before this building is done.”
Me and Brick moved like we was on fire, grabbing the last of the product and sprinting off behind Staten out the door.
We reached the ground level and strolled off down the block like nothing had happened as the whole building went up in flames behind us.
After we dropped the dope off to a new location, my brothers and I dapped each other up and parted ways.
The meeting with the other families would take place tomorrow, and I had a feeling things were going to take a turn.
Staten didn’t run things like Justus. A new era reigned as far as the Marek legacy, and muhfuckas were just going to have to get used to it.
Instead of going home to my wife, I changed back into my suit back at the bunker and decided to pull up on Emerald.
Posted in her parking lot with a perfect view of her building, I blew on a fat one as the rain slowed down.
Shifting in my seat, I exhaled slowly, growing frustrated that I’d been sitting here this long and hadn’t made a move.
Jordan called me like five times. I wasn’t ready to deal with her just yet.
Tonight’s situation had me re-thinking all this shit.
This was wrong. I hated that what I felt for Emerald was what I was supposed to harbor for my own fucking wife, and it didn’t come close.
I waited years for Emerald, and now I was supposed to deprive myself of her?
How the fuck could I keep faking this shit with Jordan?
Just as those thoughts haunted me, headlights flashed in front of my car.
I watched the SUV roll up and park in front of the building.
Sapphire hopped out the back, and moments later, Emerald emerged with some lanky nigga that got out to open her door for her.
He spoke to Sapphire for a minute, and they dapped each other up before he went inside, leaving Emerald alone on the sidewalk with this nigga.
Her smile could light up any room, and I didn’t like how she was flashing that shit with that muhfucka.
I was still on an adrenaline high from the shit my brothers and I had to do tonight, so I remained on edge watching him reach out and tug on one of her locs.
Picking up my cell from my lap, I scrolled to her number and shot her a text message.
Me: Make sure that’s the last time that nigga touch you.
In the middle of their conversation, she paused and dug her phone out of her purse.
She tapped at the screen and froze. Her man said something to her, but she was shook as she lifted her head from the device and peered around anxiously.
I assume she told him goodnight abruptly, because she rushed off to the building entry and left homie standing there confused.
I decided to finish my blunt, but I wasn’t going to fuck with her tonight.
Emerald thought that my words didn’t mean shit.
She needed action for reassurance, which I was more than willing to give her.
The constant battle of trying to please everyone was weighing heavily on me, and the only time I felt light was when I was with her.
I’d fucked up, and I was petty, but that didn’t stray from the fact that I loved that girl.
I knew that with every part of me, there wasn’t a single doubt.
It was nowhere near the same with Jordan.
She was still someone I would go to war over, and I would protect her as long as the same was reciprocated, but our relationship seemed more obligatory than anything.
I was in love with everything about Emerald Crane, and that shit went back further than any dream of having children with Jordan.