One
The bass from Montana’s 700’sWhite Onesthundered throughout the club. The infectious beat had all the young niggas singing the lyrics in unison like a church choir. Irish shook her head at all the men gathered with a bottle in their hand while holding up their sagging jeans. Drawing attention to themselves was The Legacy Mafia’s specialty, even from the police.
Niggas…
Irish thought this was some ghetto shit. Inside the club, she was tucked in a corner while nursing her glass of Hennessy and lemonade. The night was young, but she was exhausted. Between her hectic workday and time spent at the salon, the slumber that settled in her eyes was winning the bout. Shaking her head ever so slightly, hoping to keep her exhaustion at bay, she looked and noticed her friend, Cali, walking through the section. Her jet-black pixie cut was perfection as she smiled at Irish with a flawless set of teeth.
“You always ducked off,” she noted, taking a seat next to her. “I knew your weird ass was gonna be in a corner looking like a serial killer.”
Cali had the face of a model. Like the kind that walked the runway in Milan during fashion week. Almond-shaped eyes, Nubian nose, and the poutiest lips were the highlight of her cacao-toned face.
Irish giggled before taking another sip of her drink. “Girl, I’m tired. Fuck what you talking about.”
“Why you so tired?” She grinned. “Did Jovanis take all that energy of yours?”
“Hardly.” Irish smirked, laughing at an inside joke that she couldn’t share with Cali. “I’m sure you're doing enough for the both of us.”
Cali’s jaw descended, making Irish double over in laughter.
“Oh, bitch, don't come for me, especially when Rio’s ass is a few feet away. He don't know that I’m about to spin his ass and go meet up with my sneaky link. Somebody about to call me with an emergency.” She winked.
Irish gave her a warning glare. “You gon’ get caught.”
“I’m not. I’m too slick. Besides…” She paused. “You know what? I can’t tell you right now. We’ll have to meet up for lunch so I can spill my own tea.”
Irish nodded, deciding not to question her any further. She lived vicariously through Cali’s hectic life. The ups, downs, and rollercoaster ride was a thrill that Irish loved hearing about. Knowing she had some tea to consume left her in anticipation.
“There goes your husband with his lil’ cute ass. You and him are gonna have some pretty babies, sis.”
Irish turned her head, staring at Jovanis making his way through the crowd. She smiled at him, silently appreciating how she had scored big in the husband department. Not only was he a good person but he was Irish’s best friend. A confidant that would give up his life before he put her in harm’s way.
“You sleepy,” he noted, taking a seat next to her.
Irish smirked, hating how well he knew her. She could never hide anything from him.
“Just a little.”
Jovanis gazed at her with his whisky brown eyes. There was a language he spoke with them. One that Irish was fluent in.
“You ready to get outta here?”
She nodded, grateful for the invitation to leave. “I was hoping you didn’t stay all night.”
Shaking his head, he scanned the crowd before giving her his attention. “Nah, I’m ready to go lay up.”
Irish sat her glass on the table and turned to Cali. “Call me tomorrow. I’m calling it a night.”
“Okay, girl. Be safe. Bye, Jovanis.”
He gave her a peace sign before grabbing Irish’s hand and leading her out the section. Nights like this were bound to get rowdy. Not only was The Legacy Mafia scattered all through the club but their rivals, Saint Street Gang, were also in attendance. That was too much testosterone for Irish to be around. Niggas were bound to fight or even worse, engage in a shootout. Irish had been in many of those before, and she wasn’t in the mood to dodge bullets.
Some would say her life was dangerous, and she wouldn’t oppose it. Ever since Jovanis had become a lieutenant for The Legacy Mafia, the stakes had been raised. For years, the organization was plagued with corruption and disorder. Many of the head hunchos had been either taken out or locked up, leaving the rest of the members to run amuck.
Hand in hand, Jovanis and Irish exited the club. It was a muggy night in St. Parklynn as some of the patrons hung outside the building. There was a man selling counterfeit designerclothes, hoping to turn a profit. A woman hung out of her food truck, making tacos for the drunk people who’d indulged in too much alcohol. Despite it being chaotic, Irish loved it. Jovanis led her down the sidewalk until they approached a group of men surrounded in front of an all-black truck.
Jovanis walked over and the crowd immediately split, creating a path for him. Irish’s gaze was quickly pulled to Noble, who leaned against the hood of the truck. Regal, commanding, and downright sexy, she studied him, hoping her face didn’t express how good this man looked. Everything he donned looked expensive. His jewelry was simple, opting to wear a single diamond chain and a gold watch. His hand cupped the other while he surveyed the scene with his intense gaze. Jovanis approached him, offering a handshake. Obliging, Noble shook his hand and shared a few words with him. Irish watched in silence, collecting all that she could from this brief encounter.
Noble was the general of The Legacy Mafia. He had come in and turned the organization into a well-respected association. Many didn’t like the changes, but Jovanis told her it was for the better. Irish swallowed hard when the two men shook hands once again. Noble’s deep gaze found her, inciting a heap of jitters to nurse her belly. Irish willed herself to look away, but her eyes betrayed her. Noble watched her for a moment before his attention landed elsewhere.
