La Bella Mafia (5 page)

When her son asked the question her entire body quaked. He was old enough to realize that Monroe wasn't around. He missed his father and Leena's lip quivered as she searched for a response. “Daddy's . . .” she paused, unsure of what to say. She gripped her son's hand and took a deep breath.
Get it together. You have to keep your shit together for your baby. You're all he's got now. Do not break down in front of him,
she told herself. “Remember when I told you about God and how he has angels by his side baby?”

Her son nodded innocently. “Well God loved daddy so much that he needed him by his side baby. Daddy is resting now. He lives with God and we won't be able to see him anymore. More he's always with you. He's your guardian angel and if you close your eyes and listen to your heart you'll feel him. He is always watching over you baby. Do you understand?”

Monroe Jr. nodded and smiled as he closed his eyes, squeezing them tight as he said, “I feel him mommy! I feel him!” He opened his eyes excitedly. “Close your eyes too mommy! Hurry, hurry!”

When Leena closed her eyes she felt the tears drop out of the sides of them but she didn't make a sound. Her heartbeat increased and she sobbed silently, not wanting her child to hear her grief. “Keep them closed baby. Just be with daddy for a little while,” she said. She opened her eyes and saw her driver extending a handkerchief to her. She mouthed the words,
thank you,
and wiped away her tears. Taking a deep breath she said, “Okay baby. Its time to go inside now. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The smile of her child put the strength in her legs that she needed to stand on her own two. She reached into her bag and pulled out the Xanax she had been prescribed. She needed to take the edge off a bit. She placed it inside of her mouth and took a swig of her son's apple juice before she readied herself to face the world or rather the underworld of Miami.

Miamor sat behind the windows of the tinted Maybach. She was last in the procession of fancy escorted cars. The fleet had cost them almost $50,000 but she had spared no expense. Bulletproof everything was not a luxury it was necessity and she took an extra measure of security by putting Leena in a car with the kids because she knew that no one would target her. They saw her as a grieving widow not a member of the Cartel. Leena would be the last to be hit if anything did go down.

Miamor hadn't actually gotten time to process the plane crash just yet. She was in shock. So many things had fallen apart simultaneously that the only thing she could do was go into autopilot. She was handling the Feds, the organization of the memorial, a newborn baby. It was all so overwhelming and time consuming that the fact that Carter was never coming home to her had not yet hit her. She would never see his face again and still no emotion had materialized within her . . . not just yet. Miamor knew that once she allowed herself to feel that she would feel it all and falling apart was not an option at the moment. She would mourn him in private, after the memorial was over, but right now she had to protect his legacy. She had to protect his seed, his sister, and what was left of their family. She clicked her gun off safety and placed it inside of her Chanel bag. She wanted to wear it on her body, but the black Herve Leger dress left no room for her to tuck it inconspicuously. Miamor hoped she wouldn't have to use it but in any case she would be prepared to pop off. She herself had once walked into a Cartel funeral with the intent of murder so she didn't put it past anyone. The Cartel was weakened by the death of their men, it was the perfect time for infiltration. She looked out of the window at the massive crowd that was filtering out of the church. Even the mega church wasn't big enough to accommodate the amount of people that had come out to pay their respects. Everybody was there, but not all that attended came out of love. She was sure a few enemies lingered in the crowd to confirm the deaths. The Feds were lurking. She could sniff out the pig bastards from a mile away. They were so obvious that she almost wanted to go and say hello. But the majority of the attendees were Cartel affiliates. Wives, girlfriends, hustlers, runners, muscle, groupies. Everybody was out and dressed to impress. If the mood wasn't so somber it would have been a hell of a party. Even in death Carter commanded respect. It was one of the many things she had loved about her man. She climbed out of the car and watched as Leena, Breeze, and the kids did the same. The bodyguard that Miamor had assigned to Leena and the younger ones escorted them in first as Breeze and Miamor trailed behind. Concealed behind designer shades they all made their way into the church and with heavy hearts they said good-bye to the men that had ruled not only the streets of Miami, but their hearts like no other before them.

“It didn't feel like a funeral,” Leena said. “Their bodies. Where are they? Am I the only one that feels like maybe this is a mistake? Maybe they're alive?”

“They're not alive,” Breeze said. “No one could have survived that wreckage.”

“And I've been to a funeral where there was a body but no death,” Miamor said, reminding them of Monroe's fake funeral years prior. “We just have to accept what is. The kids are asleep. I'm going to bed. You're more than welcome to stay the night if you want. Choose a room,” she said, motioning to her massive mansion. She secretly hoped they would stay. With Carter gone it felt ominously empty . . . void of color . . . of life . . . of hope. She used to dream of filling every room with Carter's bobble head babies. She imagined that their girls would have long, curly coils, and big brown eyes. Their boys would be dark and strong with serious temperaments like their father. Now, she saw nothing. She couldn't even imagine what tomorrow would be like let alone foresee far into the future. Time stood still. Death would do that to you. She remembered the healing process when her sister was murdered. It had taken years for her to get over the loss. Feeling hurt every moment of everyday made days feel like weeks and weeks like months. It was all just so unbearable. It was worse than any physical torture that she had ever encountered. She would need something to help her sleep through the night and a bottle of wine was the only remedy. She walked into the finished basement and then down another set of stairs where Carter had insisted on building a wine cellar. She would have preferred a gun chamber but his incessant passion for fine wine had quickly rubbed off on her. She grabbed a vintage bottle. It was one that he would have never allowed her to open had he been alive. She pulled it down as she thought,
you shouldn't have died on me.
A tear fell down her face as she carried it up to the basement. She couldn't wait until she got upstairs. She sat at the basement bar and frantically uncorked the bottle as she poured herself a full glass. As the bitter redness entered her mouth she felt her emotional dam breaking. She lowered her head as she gripped her wine and let her tears flow. Finally, it hit her. Carter wasn't there to chastise her over his expensive bottle of wine. He wasn't there to hold her. To love her. To help her find her way as a new mother. She was by herself. It was how she had started out. She almost wished she had never loved Carter because losing him was worse than never having him at all. She wished that she had a fast forward button to push her past this part. When she felt pain she liked to inflict pain, but as a new mother she could no longer follow that pattern. Miamor was in unchartered territory. She didn't know how to be this girl. She didn't know how to live this life without Carter there to guide her. She had become the type of woman he could trust, but now that he was gone she didn't trust herself. She had loved him so hard that she had lived her life in accord to his liking but he was gone now.
Where does this leave me?
She thought sadly.

Before she knew it the entire bottle of wine was empty and she had cried so many tears that her eyes burned. She hated being so weak, it didn't suit her. She walked upstairs, bumping the walls along the way from her drunken state. She wasn't for this sulking shit. Her emotions were getting the best of her and she didn't like it. She located her Chanel bag and pulled out her pistol. She was glad that the memorial had gone peacefully but the pop off queen in her needed a release. She found Breeze sniffling quietly on her living room sofa.

“You're still awake?” Miamor asked.

“Can't sleep,” Breeze responded with a shrug. The evidence of her loss was written all over her face.

“Come on,” Miamor said. She went into the hall closet and pulled down a case that held a 9 mm inside. She passed it to Breeze.

“What are you doing?” Breeze asked, confused.

“Showing you the perfect stress reliever. Follow me,” she answered. Miamor led Breeze out of the back of the house and out into the vast yard.

“Where the hell are we going?” Breeze asked.

“Whenever I feel overwhelmed I come out here,” Miamor said. The amount of land that they had was unbelievable. Huge lots weren't common in Miami, but Miamor had acres. Carter had wanted a large yard and a big house to raise his family in but today it hurt to even breathe the air inside. When they were far enough away from the house Miamor stopped walking and pointed to a ledge that held bottles on top.

“Pulling a trigger is a stress reliever for me,” she admitted.

“Figures,” Breeze shot back with a smirk. “Let's go ahead and test your theory.” Breeze aimed.

BOOM!

She hit nothing.

Miamor chuckled. “We need to work on your aim. I thought Zyir taught you how to shoot.”

“Not in the middle of the night,” Breeze said. “Give me a break. You're drunk. You probably can't do any better.”

Miamor aimed.

BOOM!

The glass broke as Miamor hit her mark effortlessly.

Breeze threw up her hands incredulously causing Miamor to laugh out loud. Her laughter turned into cries as Breeze's eyes watered. The two women embraced, leaning on each other. They were sisters, not by blood but by street law and at this moment all they had was each other.

 

Miamor sat in her son's nursery as she swayed gently in the wooden rocker. Her emotions were all over the place. Here she was holding the newborn child of the man that she was supposed to spend the rest of her days with, yet he was gone. It seemed as if they had just reunited. They hadn't had enough time together before Carter was taken away. “A plane crash,” she whispered still in disbelief. She was still getting used to being a mother. Her body, her emotions, her view on the world . . . it had all changed the moment she gave birth. She had prepared herself for her life to alter drastically, but not in this way. She would never get used to raising her child alone. All she wanted was forever with Carter but it seemed that forever was elusive. Miamor wanted to break down, but everything seemed to land on her shoulders. With the absence of the male heads of The Cartel, the empire was in need of leadership. Breeze had come up around the game, but she had never been a player in it. She was a pampered princess. All she knew was the money and the reputation that she got from being affiliated. She knew nothing of the stripes that it took to lead an army of street niggas. Then there was Leena. A pretty face who had stood on the arms of made men for years. She had been around, but Miamor was almost sure that she was just like the average hustler's wife, she knew no details. Leena wasn't street, but could still prove valuable because she was sharp, and she seemed to be loyal. Still, she lacked the raw courage that it took to run things. In an organization as infamous as The Cartel, there couldn't be weakness. Miamor was used to running with a pack of thoroughbreds. Leena and Breeze were a far cry from The Murder Mamas. Miamor had trusted them with her life, she wasn't sure if Breeze and Leena could compare.

The doorbell rang causing Miamor's body to tense. Her son was so in tune with her body that he erupted with cries simultaneously. “Shh!!” she whispered as she stood to her feet, her maternal instincts to protect kicking in. “Shh, its okay.” She ran into the panic room that was attached to the nursery and put in a code quickly, her hands shaking violently. Miamor was normally so rational, so meticulous, but having another life to look out for besides her own made her emotional. Just the ring of a doorbell scared her. Normally the security cameras would have announced the identity of whoever was ringing her bell, but the Feds had disarmed all of her cameras when they had hit her with the warrant. The streets knew that Carter was gone. There was no telling who would come to her door trying to usurp her kingdom. Miamor was on edge. She placed her baby in the bassinet inside of the panic room and then rushed to the safe. With her hands free she calmed herself slightly as she punched in the combination. She grabbed the loaded .357 out of the safe and rushed out, locking her crying child securely inside. It was two o'clock in the morning. Nothing good could possibly come to her at that hour and whoever was at the door was about to feel her wrath. Miamor rushed to the door and pulled it open swiftly, ready to pop off, her gun aimed, arm steady.

“Whoa!! Whoa!”

Miamor popped off, shooting past the kid's ear only missing his head by an inch.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked.

The kid grimaced as his mouth fell open from the deafening ringing in his ear. “Whoa ma, chill out. Fuck! You gon' blow my fucking eardrum! Who are you? Femme Nikita or some shit! You busting at niggas,” the guy responded with his hands still raised to show he had come in peace.

“You've got five seconds to tell me who you are and why you at my doorstep in the middle of the night,” she demanded, voice cold, finger wrapped securely around the trigger.

“I'm a friend. My name is Fly Boogie. I was with Zyir the day that he ran from the Feds. I distracted the cops so that Zyir could go meet Carter and Monroe. I swear on everything I'm a friend. I ran one of the trap spots,” Fly Boogie said. The words flew from his mouth so quickly that Miamor knew they had to be true. He was fearful of his life. He wanted to give her no reason to pull the trigger. “Can I put my hands down now?”

Miamor eyed him suspiciously and then grabbed his collar and put him against the brick wall. Her pistol kissed the back of his skull. She felt his waistline for a gun. He wasn't carrying. “I don't got shit on me. I just got out of county. They locked me up for the high-speed chase I took them on the day it all went down. Look, I know it's late and I shouldn't have come but I came straight here as soon as they let a nigga go. I received this post card in prison. Your address was the return address but there was no message written on it. I know the game. Seems like I was supposed to deliver this to you.”

Miamor lowered her gun and Fly Boogie lowered his hands while breathing a sigh of relief. She snatched the post card out of his hand. She knew that he was right; this was no incident. She hadn't sent the post card and there was only one other person who could have.
He's alive,
she thought. She looked down at it and saw a Desert Oasis printed on the front of it. Her hand shot to her mouth, covering it in disbelief.
Are they in Saudi Arabia? Could this be for real?
she thought as she read the wording on the front
.
Her worry transformed to relief as the ball of tension that her body had become melted. She looked up at Fly Boogie, unable to stop the tears from glistening in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you for not blowing my brains out,” he replied with a sense of humor before walking off of the porch. Miamor closed the door, locking it securely behind him. She rushed upstairs, heart pounding, eyes clouding with tears of uncertainty.
Oh my God please let him be alive. Let this postcard mean what I think it does,
she thought as hope flared in her chest. She rushed up the stairs to retrieve her son and then picked up her phone to call Breeze. She paced back and forth, child in one hand, as she held the cell to her ear.

“Miamor?” the rasp in Breeze's voice cracked in the late night hour and she cleared her throat.

“I can't speak to you over the phone. Call Leena. Come now. It's important,” Miamor said. She hung up the phone before she could receive protest. She wouldn't have taken no for an answer. She was used to leading and if Leena and Breeze wanted the legacy of the Cartel to continue they had to get used to following.

Within the hour Breeze and Leena arrived with little Monroe in tow. Miamor took the sleeping toddler from Leena's arms. “I'll put him upstairs in my bed,” she whispered. After ensuring that he was comfortable she joined the ladies in the kitchen. The smell of mocha thickened the air as Breeze grinded fresh coffee beans. “We'll need it,” Breeze said when Miamor entered the room. “Seems like it's going to be a long night.”

Leena leaned over the island that sat in the middle of the room. She folded her hands atop of the counter as she looked up at Miamor anxiously. “What's going on Miamor?”

Miamor pulled the post card out of the pocket of her Ralph Lauren plaid pajama pants. She slid it across the counter.

Leena picked it up and turned it over, surveying the front and back. Frowning in confusion she said, “You made me pull my son out of his bed at two in the morning to look at a postcard. What we doing? Taking a vacation?”

Breeze crossed the room and took the postcard out of Leena's hands. “Saudi Arabia,” she read. Her brow furrowed.

“A li'l nigga named Fly Boogie dropped it off here,” Miamor started . . .

Breezed nodded. “I've heard Zyir mention the name before . . .”

Miamor continued, “He said it was sent to him anonymously. I think Carter is in Saudi Arabia with Monroe . . . and Zyir.”

The entire room seemed to freeze as Leena and Breeze looked up at her, eyes wide, mouths open in shock from the possibility.

Leena shook her head in denial. “They found a plane in the middle of the ocean Miamor,” she whispered. “They couldn't have survived a plane crash.”

“What if they were never on it? They didn't recover any bodies,” Breeze said hopefully.

“I know Carter. He's reaching out to me. This postcard says nothing but says so much all at the same time. It isn't flashy, it isn't loud . . . it isn't anything that can be traced, but its enough. It's a whisper that only I can hear. I think Carter is alive. They all are but they can't come back here, unless that case goes away.”

Exasperated Breeze flopped down on one of the bar stools that lined the kitchen island. “D.E.A is all over us. The workers are snitching, they have photos, and evidence . . .”

“The case is strong,” Leena finished. “If their return depends on that we'll never see them again.”

“The case has to go away,” Miamor said.

“And then what?” Leena asked. “I'm so tired of this life. This isn't how I envisioned my life. Even if this case goes away and they get to come back . . . it is only a matter of time before something else tears this family apart. I don't know about the two of you, but I've had enough of the drug business. We have money. We have respect. It's time to move on from this.”

Breeze was quiet as she pondered Leena's words. The Cartel had been her life for as long as she could remember. She had been born into it. Continuing the legacy allowed her father to live on, even in death, but was it worth it? By honoring their father, their family was diminishing before Breeze's very eyes. The streets would eventually make the Diamond clan extinct.
She's right, it's time for a change,
Breeze thought.

“The guys aren't here to guide our footsteps ladies. It's time that we made the decisions that we think are best for this family. It is time to take The Cartel legit. I don't want to lose any more loved ones. I want to live without worry and as long as we're in the drug business that will never happen.”

The three women sat in silence, each haunted by their own thoughts. The ache in their hearts from their missing partners resonated within them.

Miamor looked around at their fractured group. They needed their men back.

“I'll make this case disappear, one way or another. After we bring the men home we'll talk about getting out of the game . . . for good.”