Page 46 of Welcome to the Table

“Hell, nigga, and this meeting needs to happen asap before I be sitting with the fucking devil. I’ll send out the fucking text and the address.

Just meet us at the warehouse and dress accordingly because these niggas think we on some hood lil boy shit, so we gotta really show out,” he said and disconnected the phone call.

I knew I had to pull out my big shit, but I was more concerned about the shit that happened while I was ignoring their asses. Knowing Hellcat, he was gon’ wait until the meeting, then air everybody the fuck out.

I knew this nigga was about to show out, so I had to do the same. I grabbed my walkie-talkie that was connected to my lil niggas.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” I spoke into it.

“Copy that,” they said.

I put the walkie-talkie back on the counter. They already knew what that meant, be on alert, and they already had my location, so they knew to not be too far away from me.

I hopped in the shower and took care of my hygiene.

Then I walked into my closet and grabbed my navy blue and black Versace jacket and pants.

I didn’t want to wear the vest because I knew I would wear my armor vest to carry my guns.

I didn’t know what the fuck I was walking into with these motherfuckers.

I had my diamond cufflinks out and grabbed my black Oxford shirt and laid everything on the bed.

My lining was fresh. The previous day, I went to get that together, and my hands were manicured to perfection.

I was that type of nigga. Hellcat thought the shit was gay, but I called it self-care.

I slid on my black Armani boxers and wife-beater.

I put on my pants, then my shirt and vest, and tucked a gun in each holster.

Finally, I slipped my feet into my shoes, put on my jacket, and walked over to my full-length mirror to see what I looked like.

I was impressed. My hair was braided to the back with a bun, and my lining was chef’s kiss.

I put my jacket on, buttoned just the top button, grabbed my phones, keys, and wallet, and headed to my garage.

I wanted to make a statement as I looked over my cars.

I didn’t want a driver tonight; I would be driving myself.

I decided to take my black 2025 Rolls-Royce Phantom with the navy-blue interior.

I bought the car and never got the chance to take it for a drive.

I left the other set of keys on the key ring and grabbed the fob for that one.

The car was so fucking sleek and smooth that nobody would drive this bitch but me.

I hopped in, hit the button to open my garage door, and pulled out.

I looked to my left and nodded at my little hittas, who were walking across the field in full body armor.

To the naked eye, they couldn’t be seen, but I knew they were there.

I enjoyed the car as I drove in silence because I needed it.

The warehouse was located in the Arts District of History.

I had purchased the building and had it renovated, and now it was beautiful but empty and soundproof.

On the outside, it looked like the White House, but the inside held many secrets and meetings that the public wasn’t privy to.

I pulled around the back and pressed the button to open the door so I could park in the underground garage.

As I pulled in, I noticed Hellcat’s Porsche but not Hollygrove’s car.

They must have come together, which was better.

I hopped out of the car, went to the back door, and put the code in to gain entrance.

I entered the lobby and got on the elevator to go to the third floor.

The minute I stepped off the elevator, I heard Hellcat’s loud ass mouth. Their eyes met mine.

“I knew yo’ ass was gon’ be in this bitch looking like James Bond and shit, but you had to know we was gon’ put that shit on.”

I had to admit, they cleaned up very well.

We were all dressed the same, but Hellcat had on red, and Hollygrove had on purple.

It was crazy because we had on each other’s favorite color.

I walked over and took my seat at the head of the table with Hellcat to the left of me and Hollygrove to the right.

Hellcat was fidgeting in his seat, so I knew the nigga had some shit to say.

“Speak, nigga, cuz it’s burning yo’ tongue.” I grabbed the iPad from the middle of the table to monitor the cameras, so I would know when the niggas pulled up. I knew they would be coming soon, so he needed to catch me up, so I could know what the fuck was coming. I hated surprises.

“Well, some shit went down at the club. The Point Dawgs are trying to infiltrate the club with their coke, and Nino caught it. He called us, but yo’ ass was out of commission, so we handled it,” he said, and I knew he was leaving shit out. That was too vague.

“And what the fuck else happened?” I asked.

I looked down and saw a black Suburban pull up in front of the building.

“Never mind. The niggas just pulled up. We will talk later,” I told him as I watched four men get out of the truck and stand in front of the door. I pressed the button on the iPad. “The door is open. Take the elevator to the third floor.”

They looked around, and I knew they were scared shitless.

“This is about to be fun,” Hellcat said as the elevator doors opened.

Niggas really thought they were fucking Scarface. Walking in with trench coats that I was sure carried weapons, but I wasn’t fazed.

“Frenchy, Mancini, have a seat and let’s talk,” I said as they walked in with two other niggas that I didn’t recognize.

My mind went to Thiago, and I noticed that he wasn’t there, which raised a red flag, but I didn’t mention it. They moved as a unit, so that was a surprise. They took their seats, and I put the iPad on the floor beside it.

I pulled the folder from my briefcase and set it on the table, sliding it to Mancini.

I knew he wouldn’t like the deal, but he didn’t have a choice.

I already had the heads up on what the fuck they were trying to do.

He carefully looked over the contract before his eyes met mine.

Hellcat and Hollygrove had a copy too, and they smiled as they read it.

“Ten percent! What the fuck we supposed to do with that shit? You would profit from our product more than we will.”

I smiled because that was the point. I leaned forward in my chair with my elbows on the table.

“Seeing as though you have already started moving yo’ shit through my club without my permission, this is a favor, so you can work with us and not lose yo’ fucking life,” I told him.

“Motherfuckers die for less than that, but I’ll take that as you didn’t know better and take a percentage off what the fuck you previously made,” I told him and watched his olive skin turn different shades of red.

I didn’t give a fuck. My game. My rules.

Mancini smirked. “Don’t you have a fine ass lil sister who just touched down in New Orleans? She has grown quite a bit in the past years.”

The mention of my sister made the vein in my head thump, and I knew shit was about to go left. From my peripheral, I noticed Hollygrove’s chest heaving. That was a first. I ignored it.

“Do you want your fucking tongue to stay in your mouth?” I asked him and nodded toward Hellcat.

He pulled out his knife, swirling it around his finger. The men standing around him pulled their weapons just as we stood and returned the fucking favor.

“Don’t mention my fucking sister, motherfucker, unless you want this contract to be void, and I’ll have ICE escort y’all the fuck out of the United States. Don’t fuck with it.” I still had my gun raised along with Hollygrove, and Hellcat had his knife at Frenchy’s throat.

“Okay, let’s settle down and talk business like men,” Mancini said, but didn’t lower his gun.

“Put yo’ shit down and call off yo’ fucking dogs before it be a blood bath in this bitch. You want a seat at my fucking table, not the other way the fuck around, so I suggest you handle yourselves accordingly before I walk out this bitch and rip the contract up,” I told him.

He slowly lowered his gun and snapped his fingers. His dogs did the same. I nodded at Hellcat, and he let Frenchy’s scary ass go. The eyes never lied, and that dog thought he was dying today. Hellcat went back to his seat, and Hollygrove put his gun on the table.

“Don’t speak on my sister, nigga,” I told him, but he didn’t say shit.

Mancini went into his pocket and pulled out a device that looked like a camera.

He set it on the table and slid it to me.

I looked down and saw that it was a video of Melph with duct tape on his mouth, and he looked to be tied up.

I wanted to air this bitch out, but I kept a stone face.

I gave a half a smile, and Mancini spoke up.

“You see, this was all part of a bigger plan. If you want your father to stay safe, then this deal has to go my way.”

He was calling my bluff, but I wasn’t moved. They didn’t want a fucking war with Melph. That was a different level of monster. Hellcat grabbed the camera, looked at it, and laughed loud as fuck.

“You think we give a fuck about this shit? Because we don’t. Sign the fucking contract. This ain’t got nothing to do with Melph,” he said, sliding the camera back across the table. “Kill that nigga if you want to,” he said, laughing.

This nigga was saying too much. Mancini nodded at Frenchy. He grabbed the pen and went to the last page of the contract.

“Hold up. I got a surprise, and you gon like this shit,” Hellcat said, and I tried not to show my confusion.

I didn’t know what to expect from him. He got out of his seat and went to the door on the far-right side.

One would have to know the structure to know that the door was there.

I watched his every move. He put his finger on the machine to gain access, and the door opened.

He walked in, grabbed something, and walked out.