Page 37 of Rich and Rotten

“I want you to find a love like Raphael and I had, Jo. You need to settle down with a good girl and have some children.”

I washed down my food with my water. “I don’t think love is in the cards for me, Ma.”

As much as I craved finding real love––the kind that would make me want to let down my walls, the shit also terrified me. I wanted Yalina Blackwell, and she knew it. The only reason I tolerated the cat-and-mouse games we played with each other was because I was scared of her. Yalina had the power to make me break down these walls and let her in. There hadn’t been a woman who had been able to make me fall in love. I mean, they were cool to slut out and shit, but none of them made me want to slide a ring onto their finger. Yalina did. I wanted to give her the dream life––a life where she could be carefree because she knew her man had shit covered.

“Love is for everyone. I keep telling Tatiana that she will find love again, but she doesn’t want to hear it. Maybe it’s why she doesn’t come over often anymore,” she chuckled.

“She’s just trying to find her way since losing Karim. I know coming over here is hard because everything here reminds her of him.”

She rubbed my arm. “I’m teasing with you. I know Tatiana is trying to find her way without Karim. As his mother, even I know it’s time for her to move forward. Karim would want the same for her.”

I kissed her hand. “We love you, Ma. Never forget that.”

She pinched my cheeks. “I know it and can’t ever forget it.”

Carlotta checked on me more than my own mother did. I got maybe three calls a year from my birth mother, and that was usually when money’s low. She was too busy helping and being everything to everyone else.

My adoptive sister had about six kids and lived off my mom. Bitch was lazy and always found ways to milk the system and take advantage of my mother. You would think she would want to focus on taking care of the damn kids she already had, but instead she laid on her nasty back and had more. Always talking about I’m their uncle. Fuck them kids. I didn’t know their asses, and I kept my distance because she wasn’t related to me.

After spending time with Carlotta, I kissed her cheek and headed out. As long as she was good, I was good.

Macy: I’m home if you want to slide through.

I looked at my phone as I climbed into my truck, smirking at the text I received.

Me: On my way.

My fist collided with the nigga’s face in front of me, and he dropped to the floor. He then curled up into the fetal position as I commenced to whipping his ass. All that could be heard throughout the warehouse were grunts and cries of agony as I kept pounding on him. When I finished, I spat on him before stepping back to admire my work. His pussy ass was lying on the ground, whimpering like a pussy while I stared down at him in disgust.

“Stealing from me when I’m the most generous nigga there is. Every time you came to me about some bread, I looked out for you.”

I grunted as I kicked him again, and he let out a loud squeal like a pig on a farm.

It didn’t matter how much money I had invested in real estate, stocks, and businesses; there was nothing like street money. It was faster, abundant, and you didn’t have a bunch of crackers in your face asking questions. It was powerful being in professional spaces with those assholes while knowing you had your hand in other things.

When people met Raphael Sterling, they assumed he made his money legally, and that was true. But there was another side of him that I witnessed––one that wasn’t the Raphael who played golf at the country club on weekends or the one who cracked rich laughs and used words like “alrighty”. They never got to see the man who snapped a man’s neck with his bare hands or waited early in the morning with his hands in his pockets, watching a shipment come into port. He was silent with his shit; you would never hear him throwing around his weight. People just knew he was about that life, and they respected it.

While Malcolm always had to be loud about his shit, Raphael was different. When you were about that shit, you never had to be loud and prove it. Niggas just knew or heard how you got down and didn’t want to be a lesson.

Even with me working for Raphael, he made it so I could step out and do my own thing. He taught me how to fish, so I never had to depend on anyone, not even him. For that, my loyalty would always be to him, and it didn’t matter that he was in the ground.

“Looks like you got some shit on your hands,” Nazir said from behind me.

I kept my eyes on the nigga on the floor and kicked him in his ribs before turning around. As much as I wanted to pull the trigger, I couldn’t because he was my so-called nephew. I didn’t give a fuck about putting him on or trying to push him to do better. He wanted to be out in the streets, so I showed him a better way.

“Fucking stealing from me like I don’t do enough around this bitch.”

I heard somebody clear their throat. “Boss, he wasn’t stealing. The nigga he put on been stealing,” one of my little niggas said, correcting me.

I looked over at him and shook my head. “So, you just bringing thieves into the fold, Matthew?”

A few of them chuckled at me using his real name.

“This nigga’s name Matthew? Dozer, why you ain’t put us on?” one of them clowned.

He strutted around acting like he was the biggest and baddest but had brought a thief into my operation. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t directly involved; this was a lesson to remind him and anyone else who I was associated with that they needed to be solid. Clearly, his ass didn’t do a streetfax on the nigga.

Nazir laughed as he took up space in the doorway. The nigga nearly had to duck to enter the room. I was roughly 6’3”, but he even had me beat when it came to height. It wasn’t just the height, either; the nigga had muscle and could probably crack a skull with one finger. I watched as he looked at all the other knuckleheads laughing, memorizing their faces in case they ever came in his circle again.