“Nah… think on that shit, Zoya. Know what you really want. I told you that I don’t give second chances and here I am giving you that.”
I kissed her cheek and walked backwards toward my bike. “Be careful, please.” she called behind me.
“I plan to.”
Duke stood outside the jet and waited for her to board before he got on behind her. We rode toward the exit and waited, watching the jet slowly head toward take off. It turned around the roundabout and increased speed as it took off. I watched it fly down the runway until it was up in the sky.
I kissed my fingers and held it to the sky, watching the jet continue higher and higher. That was my baby.
“Get the fuck out of lovey dove land… Corleon sent that signal. Huntington House museum.” Khaos said out the window.
I nodded, letting him know I heard him, as Capone pulled out the gates and I followed behind them.
In and out was always the rule.
If one of us got jammed up, then the other was to continue without the other. As much as Khaos hated the rules, he played by them. It was better for one of us to get caught than both.
Mommy was always in the back of my head, and we needed one of us on the outside. My uncle lived a life where he could be here today, Jamaica tomorrow, or fucking prison the next. The nigga never lived a consistent life, and we learned to deal with that. Whenever we needed him, and he wasn’t locked up, best believe the nigga was going to come.
In his older years, he had been chilling lately.
Like now, we were both sitting in Fern nursing a cup of water. Well, I was nursing a cup of water, this nigga had hundred proof rum and was knocking it back like the shit didn’t burn his throat.
I continued to nurse my water while listening to Shante tell some nigga that this week was her last week, and she was moving away. Every week this chick was claiming to move away, knowing she would still be here the next week.
After she did that bullshit with Capella and then tried to mix Cappadonna in that shit, she lost family privileges. Bitch worked and then got the fuck on, so I wasn’t surprised if she was really moving.
She knew Quasim wouldn’t hesitate to snap her neck and introduce her to the real him. I lifted my head and saw Papa swagger into the bar. He nodded at Shante and then held his hand out, smirking.
“Wah gwaan!” Papa dapped my uncle up.
“Oh shi, rude boi, wah gwaan, Bredrin,” Chef chuckled, as they embraced and Papa rounded the bar.
“G, the fuck up with you?”
“’Chillin, OG… you good?”
He popped open the cork of a bottle and smirked. “I’m always good. Day is new, wife is fine, kids is straight, and grand babies are even better.”
Papa had always been on go, never in one place for long. He had adapted this neutral face where you never knew if he was good or not. Every time he came around, it was always the same look.
With Mina being misdiagnosed, and now better, his sons with wives and families of their own, we were all witnessing a brand-new Papa Inferno.
“Love to see that shit for you, OG.”
“How Sharon’s mean ass?”
Me and Chef laughed. “She ain’t mean, she just don’t fool with you always fucking with her.” I called his ass out.
Papa knew my mother before I even knew who he was. Since he and Chef ran together back then, Chef always made sure his sisters were straight. If you knew Chef, you knew his sisters were his heart, and he’d fuck some shit up behind them both.
“You know, I would have been your daddy if she stopped playin.”
Chef lunged at him playfully. “I box yuh mouf.”
Papa laughed and tossed back his drink. “I’m fucking with you.”
It was funny because Papa was both Quasim and Quameer. I witnessed him being stoic and serious like Quasim was mostly, then he had that playful side where he was always busting out jokes and fucking with people like Meer.
