Page 10 of The Millionaire Mortician

I woke up to the sound of the front door alarm briefly going off, so I immediately reached for my phone to check the cameras. That’s when I saw Daija walking to her car. It was only seven-thirty in the morning.

The bed felt lighter and emptier, and when I reached across, all I felt was the cool side of the sheets where Daija had been. When I passed my hand, I felt a piece of paper. It read:

Good morning, my love,

I’m off to an early start. I have a client first thing this morning and want to be prepared. I hope you have a great day. Think about me because you’ll be on my mind. I love you.

P.S. I made dinner reservations at Del Friscos at eight p.m. See you later.

-Dai

Damn, this is new , I thought.

I laid there for a second, staring up at the high ceiling.

I wasn’t used to her moving like that — out the door before I even blinked the sleep out of my eyes.

For the past year, I’d wake up to her asking me if I wanted breakfast, doing little things that reminded me she was right there.

Now she had her own spot to run, a whole business that demanded her time.

Although I was happy for her, it was something I had to get used to. Growth never came without change. Adjustments needed to be made on both ends.

Now that Daija’s spot was officially open for business, that was one worry out of the way. Dealing with that, my own business, keeping an eye on Dave, and coming up with a solid business proposal for the Venezuelan connect had my mind in a scramble.

I rolled out of bed, stretched, and hit the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and trim the beard just enough to keep it sharp.

Quickly hopping in the shower and washing my skin, I was out in no time.

I came out and got into my suit, double-checking myself in the mirror, then made my way downstairs.

Usually, as soon as I opened the bedroom door, the smell of food would slap me in the face, but that day was different. I just heard movement from Nadia cleaning as I descended the stairs.

“Mr. Marcano, would you like breakfast?” Nadia asked as soon as she saw me.

I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

That was Daija’s thing, but I guess it was going to be a Nadia thing moving forward when I did wake up hungry.

Grabbing my phone, wallet, and keys, I exited the house.

Looking across the street, I looked at Don’s SUV.

Once I saw him flash his high beams three times, I knew it was clear to go to my whip.

I made my way to my Benz truck — the same one I had just bought Daija — hopped in, started it up, and then easily pulled out of my parking spot with Don trailing behind me.

The ride to the funeral home was routine, but my mind wasn’t.

Mallo’s words kept circling in my head. His stepping out to move to the west, and leaving that position wide open, was a surprise.

As a distributor, a direct line to Venezuela would’ve been an epic move.

It wasn’t just weight we were talking about.

It was a whole seat at the table, and seats like that didn’t stay empty for long.

If Maverick and I didn’t make the right move, someone else would.

The wrong somebody in that position could throw everything off-balance.

We had always moved cleanly, steadily, and without drawing too much noise.

That’s why we lasted as long as we did. If Frost or some other reckless nigga filled that gap, everything we built could get shaky.

With my thoughts swarming me, I didn’t notice I had arrived at the funeral home. Opening the gate, I pulled in and parked directly in my spot, while Don parked in his. Before I could properly get out of the truck, Parys came rushing out with his iPad in hand and a mouthful to say.

“Good morning, boss,” he started.

Everything else, he stated, started to sound like a mummer, but he kept on going as we entered the building. I made my way into my office to change into my scrubs and signed whatever paperwork Parys shoved in my face. Then I made my way to one of the embalming rooms.

The mortuary smelled like it always did — sterile chemicals, a hint of flowers from the lobby, and the cold scent of still flesh waiting for me. I clocked in mentally, letting go of the outside world’s thoughts for the time being.

One of my embalmers was there prepping a body for me.

“Good morning, Mr. Marcano. Here’s a forty-seven-year-old man who suffered a heart attack. As usual, the family wants him to look like he’s just sleeping peacefully,” Greg informed me.

“Good lookin’, G. I got it,” I told him as I started to get suited up.

Once my protective gear was on, I adjusted the lights and started the process — arterial embalming with careful touches to restore what was lost. There was a rhythm to it all.

With my line of work, it was a kind of patience that most men didn’t have.

I always told myself it was God’s way of keeping my spirit balanced — dealing with death so I could see life clearer.

About an hour in, I heard the door creak open. I didn’t look up right away because I sensed no threat, and I knew that pace of footsteps. Maverick never waited for an invitation to enter anywhere.

“Still at it,” he finally spoke, leaning against the wall.

“Always,” I replied, not looking up from the needle in my hand. “I gotta give the people what they want.”

Mav nodded as his eyes scanned the room. He always looked out of place around the bodies like he was too restless, and he had too much live energy running through him to be comfortable in the stillness.

“Have you thought about the plan we came up with? Mallo said any day now we’ll get a text with a location to meet the connect,” Mav inquired.

After some time, I came up with a dope and discreet plan that would guarantee us the seat.

“If you’re good with it, I’m great with it,” I answered confidently. “Ain’t no way that nigga would turn down what we have to offer.”

We had used the bodies in my funeral home to store our drugs for the longest, which gave me the idea to take things up a couple of notches.

We would use bodies to transport the drugs from Venezuela to New York undetected.

They would just have to supply us with dead bodies, and I’d make sure the paperwork matched up as a US citizen’s remains returning to the country for proper burial.

“He’d be a fuckin’ clown ass nigga if he did,” Maverick shot back, sharp and certain.

I finished what I was doing, finally set my tools down, and turned to face him. “Once we’re in, we gotta move correctly so that we stay in. We gotta move with strategy like Mallo did, or better.”

Maverick’s jaw flexed. “You already know I’m ready. We’ve been waiting on a lane like this,” he assured me.

One thing about my brother and me was that although he was hot-headed as fuck and acted on impulse, he was a smartass nigga, and we made the perfect team.

“That’s what I like to hear.” I shot him a solid head nod.

Maverick looked at me for a long second, then glanced at the body on the table. “You good, bro?”

“Yeah.” My tone dipped softer. “Daija dipped out of the house early this morning before I woke up, and that shit kind of fucked with me,” I confessed.

Maverick chuckled. “She’s moving like us now, huh? Out the door before sunrise, making plays.”

“Facts.” I looked down at the body and smoothed the sheet over his chest. “It’s an adjustment for sure, but she deserves it. I gotta let her shine without me pulling her back and shit.”

Mav slapped my shoulder lightly. “She’s straight, you’re straight, and we’re gon’ be more than straight once we make this move, aight?”

I nodded, though my eyes stayed on the work in front of me. Death didn’t wait, and neither did opportunity.

It was one body at a time, and one move at a time. Still, in the back of my mind, I knew it was coming. Maverick and I were stepping into something bigger than what we had ever touched. And once we did, there was going to be no turning back.

I had just finished closing a woman’s mouth when my phone buzzed across the counter. I glanced at the screen and saw it was an unknown caller. Since it was my business trap phone with a limited number of persons with the number, I knew it had to be of some importance.

I quickly stripped the gloves off my hands and slid the bar to pick up the call.

“Yo,” I answered.

“We’re meeting tonight at nine o’clock. Make sure and call Maverick and let him know,” Mallo’s voice boomed through the phone. He rattled off an address on the Upper East Side, then hung up abruptly.

I stared at the phone for a second. Did that shit just happen so fast?

I immediately called Maverick on my office’s secured line. As usual, he picked up on the second ring.

“What’s good?” he answered.

“I got that call a minute ago. Meet me at this spot tonight at nine o’clock.” I repeated the address Mallo told me.

“Bet. I’ll see you there.” We hung up.

I wrapped up what I was doing, ensuring everything was done correctly, and then headed back to my office.

One of the luxuries of owning the funeral home was having my own setup — a private shower, clean suits hanging in the closet, and everything tailored for a man who might need to switch gears quickly.

I turned the water on hot, letting the steam fog the mirror while I washed away the day. Death clung to you if you let it, and I wasn’t about to walk into a meeting with a Venezuelan connect smelling like embalming fluid.

Since I had only worn it to work, I threw back on the same black-on-black suit I had worn earlier that morning, making sure the cufflinks were secured properly.

I checked my watch and saw it was twenty minutes past eight.

Not wasting another second, I grabbed my things and dipped out of the office.

Getting into my truck, I signaled Don to follow me as I pulled off the compound.

By the time I hit the road, the night had already laid its hand over the city.

The ride to the Upper East Side was about thirty minutes, so I arrived with a few minutes to spare. When I pulled up to the building, Maverick’s car came gliding in from the other direction. Perfect timing , I thought. It was always like that with us. Most people called it twin energy.

Getting out of our whips, we dapped each other up outside before heading in.

“You ready?” he asked with a grin.

“I was born ready, nigga,” I replied with a smirk.

Walking inside, we peeped that security was tight.

Four guards were stationed at the door. As we approached them, they gestured that they had to search us.

They gave us a full pat-down, checked our jackets, and ensured that no metal followed us upstairs.

Of course, Mav and I had our heat on us, so they took it, assuming we’d get it back on our exit.

Once we were cleared, one of the guards escorted us to the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse. The ride up was silent as Maverick and I stood shoulder to shoulder, both calm, both locked in. By the time those doors opened to the penthouse, we were already in character.

Mallo was waiting, seated on a leather couch. As soon as he saw us, he stood and made his way to us, flashing that cool smile. “Right on time.”

He gestured us over, and that’s when I noticed the older man seated across from him.

The man was in his mid-sixties, perhaps, with slick hair combed back, olive skin marked by the lines of a life lived both rough and rich.

His suit was lighter than mine. It gave summer weight, but the way he sat made it clear — he wasn’t just some rich old man.

He was the kind of man who had people killed with a wave of his hand.

Mallo made the introduction in Spanish first, then in English. “This is Don Rafael. The man who would decide if you not only still got your supply, but if you’ll replace me and be an extension of him.”

Don Rafael’s eyes slid over to me, then Maverick, sharp as blades. He didn’t speak right away. He just sat there measuring us, waiting to see if we’d flinch. We didn’t, though. We weren’t built soft.

I sat down across from him with my back straight, ready to handle business.

“So, I know Mallo told you we’re interested in taking over his position. We ain’t here to overcomplicate nothing. We’re here to keep the line solid.”

His eyebrow arched slightly. “And how will you transport the product?”

“Through channels already in place,” I informed him.

“Funeral services give us clean transport. Nobody questions coffins or medical shipments. We diversify storage — some at the morgue, and some through warehouses tied to other businesses. No heavy congregation in one spot. Everything is split and layered. That way, if one box gets cracked open, the rest stay untouched.”

He nodded once, his eyes still fixed on me.

“And distribution?”

“That’s where we shift up,” Maverick cut in with his voice sharper and his energy humming.

“We already got trap houses running clean. We scale them, making small timers buy through us instead of competing with us. Keep the streets organized so that it’s less noisy.

Everybody eats, but they eat through us. ”

The Don let a small smile creep onto his lips. He looked between Mav and me — my calm, Maverick’s edge. “Two brothers,” he spoke softly, accent thick. “One with fire, one with water. Balanced.” He nodded slowly, turning his gaze to Mallo. “You have chosen well.”

Mallo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So it’s official, y’all will be the new North-east distributors for Don Rafael.

But understand, this ain’t no corner boy business no more.

Those rivals y’all got? They’re clients now.

Don’t treat ‘em like enemies. Treat ‘em like accounts.

Small beefs? Leave ‘em be. You two are bigger bosses now. Act like it.”

His eyes locked on me when he said that last line, like he knew I understood it better than most.

I gave a slight nod. “We hear you.”

Don Rafael reached into his jacket, pulled out a cigar, and lit it with a flick of a gold lighter.

He puffed once, then said, “I will give you all the weight you want. You will give me results. Fail me, and you will not see another sunrise. Succeed, and you will build an empire larger than you imagine.”

The smoke curled in the air between us.

Maverick and I both nodded in agreement.

Empire . That word sat heavy in the room, heavier than death. And I knew right then, our lives had just shifted into a new chapter.