Page 39 of Heart Of A Goon II

Kora looked at him, and he straightened up. “My personal business isn’t yours to discuss. Zoo told me that whatever you need from us, we’re here to provide.”

“Except, I don’t need you. You have a role, Kora… and I get you stepped up as the head when you and Zoo decided to fuck around, but this shit ain’t for you.”

I half expected Kora to pout like Boobie did whenever she didn’t get her way. Even protest and try to make her point, because whenever Menace said something, that was law. Instead, Kora smirked and messed in her nails before she looked up at her brother.

“You run your shit the way you see fit, and I never question you. I run my shit the way I see fit, and don’t you ever question me… that is how this works, Maverick. We both made that promise.” She held her hand out, and he took it, both doing a handshake.

Menace didn’t reply, he turned to walk towards the entrance of the house with Kora beside him.

How the fuck did she end up running the Kenzotti mafia while being a federal judge?

“You already know Boss lady don’t like talking about her shit,” Trigga snickered, teasing Teflon.

“I like to give her shit from to time… remind her that she’s human, too.” Teflon shrugged.

When we entered the house, the marble columns followed up the double staircase, and matching marble floors. The house smelled expensive as shit, like they put money in the wall plugs to enhance the décor and design of the mansion. The staff greeted us at the front and smiled like it was truly their pleasure to serve us.

“Welcome Mr. Caselli and Mrs. Kenzott⁠—”

“Ms. Caselli,” Kora corrected. “Mrs. Kenzotti isn’t here… should have never even been, but that’s a story for another day with a cigarette and a French 75,” she replied nonchalantly.

Now even more I wanted to know what the fuck she had going on in her life. I was never a nigga pressed to know any woman’s business, other than Boobie’s. Kora was like a mystery that I was trying to piece together. Menace wasn’t as hard to read as everyone thought, and Don was a bit of a mystery. Everyone assumed because he was the youngest and most outgoing out of the siblings that he was friendly. That couldn’t be furthest from the truth.

He had Menace running through his veins but was more calculated with the way he flew off the handle. I guess he was more like Kora in that way. Menace and Zoya didn’t give a damn about how they reacted.

If they felt it, they were going to let it be known, then come to some conclusion that made the least bit of sense. Menace never replied, he just followed behind the lady like the rest of us. Each room we walked through felt like it belonged in a damn museum.

The marble floors stretched from the foyer to each room. Floors were so glossy that you could see the chandelier hanging overhead. White stone with thick gray veins cut through the cracks in it. Every step we took echoed through the massive space.

Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the harbor that sat in the back of the home. Through some bushels of greenery, you could see boats in the distance sailing under the bridge. I stopped midstride and admired a particular painting that me and Khaos had stolen from one of the museums in Queens. We never knew where the paintings went after we had them delivered.

All we cared about were those deposits that made it into our offshore accounts. It was nice to see that my hard work was on display in a beautiful home.

“Stop admiring your work,” Corleon smirked, as he walked past me and continued up with the rest of the group.

Along with the expensive art, the scent of cigars and rich cologne became stronger under the cool central air that was blaring throughout each room.

Everything was oversized: the couches, the glass tables, and the different art pieces of dead men staring at us like they could see through our souls.

We finally came to two grand oak wooden doors with gold handles.

She gave it a knock and waited before opening both doors, and walking through them. “Mr. and Ms. Caselli are here,” she announced our arrival.

Menace didn’t have time for the introductions and pushed past everyone to enter the room. I followed behind him because I didn’t know what to expect, and I made a promise to my baby that I would make sure her brother was brought to them.

I took my promises serious, because at the end of whatever was going down, we would all make it back home to our families.

The same familiar scent of cigars and cologne was stronger in this room. The dark wooden panels covered the walls from floor to ceiling, making the room feel warmer. The dim lighting hung low over the massive table that sat in the center of the room.

It was the focal point of the room. The solid mahogany table was long enough to sit at least fifteen people comfortably. The gloss was so shiny that I could see my reflection as I took a seat.

I could only imagine the shit that was discussed around this table. The amount of people’s lives that hung in the balance while these three men had to make decisions. Ashtrays were scattered across the table, some with half-finished cigars sitting in them. Leather chairs surrounded the table, some pushed back slightly, the others occupied by Ghost Davis and Rahmeek Vanducci.

Their half empty glasses of liquor let me know they had been here for a while. Guns casually resided beside them, as if they were cellphones. Ghost sat at the head of the table, and watched as we all filed into the room.

“How’s Chef?” he looked directly at me and questioned.

Did it surprise me that my uncle knew these men?