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She ended the call, and God was left furious. He hated to be blackmailed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chanel would spend ten-hour days at Jacobi Medical Center in the Bronx with her comatose fiancé. Each morning she prayed for Mateo in the hospital chapel, and her nights were spent in her mother’s bedroom, with Bacardi by her side in her bed. She was afraid of God. She hated him being inside their apartment. She hated that she had to see him almost every day. Seeing those scratches across his back, she suspected he was the monster that raped her. But she wasn’t sure. She did everything in her power to try to avoid him, but with it being a small apartment, it was nearly impossible. So, during the day, the hospital became her safe haven.
Chanel would take the train from Brooklyn to the Bronx, and back to Brooklyn late at night. Surprisingly, Bacardi and Butch would meet her at the station and walk her home safely. There had been a silver-lining behind the tragic incident; she had become closer to her parents and they were finally there for her.
One evening at the hospital, she ran into Pyro outside Mateo’s room. He could see that Chanel was still distraught over the incident. It had been a month, but to Chanel, it would always feel like it was yesterday.
When Pyro went to go hug her, she cringed and shied away from him. He understood. She had gone through a very traumatic experience. But to give her some kind of comfort, he leaned closer to her and said, “One down, and now one to go.”
They locked eyes, and Chanel instantly knew that he was talking about Fingers.
“So, it was them?” she said softly. “How do you know?”
“Mateo knew he needed to get you outta that spot once your sisters came through. And he was right. I did some digging around after what went down wit’ y’all, and those fools are known for violent home invasions. They kill people, Chanel. They did it, and your sister is on my list too. She set you up,” he said.
Chanel didn’t want to believe it. Not Charlie. “No, you can’t. I won’t let you.”
Her response was surprising to him. Why would she protect that bitch? He kicked himself for telling her about Charlie. He should have just done it without telling her anything—but the sad look on Chanel’s face got to him and he’d hoped the news would give her strength.
“Okay, I promise I won’t touch her. I just thought—never mind what I thought. You okay, though? Do you need money or anything? I should have looked out sooner, but I’ve been busy.”
She looked away and replied, “I’m okay.”
“Nah, you ain’t, Chanel. Not when you’re in the same place as that bitch and her nigga. Do me a favor. When you leave here, I want you to go straight to the Manhattan Hotel in the city. I’ll have a room already paid for and it will be in your name. Stay there for a month,” he said.
Chanel didn’t know what to think. It was a lot to process.
Pyro reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred-dollar bills. “Here, take this—for food, cab rides, and any incidentals.”
Chanel feebly accepted the cash. Pyro then took her phone and programmed his number into it.
“Keep in touch. You need anything, Chanel, just hit me up,” he said.
Chanel nodded and walked back into the room to be with Mateo. Pyro truly felt sorry for the innocent girl. Had it been his baby mama, Mateo would have definitely looked out for her—killed those fools and not thought twice about it. They were brothers from a different mother. They loved each other and always looked out for each other. But what God and Fingers did to the couple a few days before their wedding date, it was deplorable and unforgivable, and Pyro could see the remnants of the tragedy in Chanel’s body language. She would probably never be the same again.
That night, Chanel checked into the Manhattan Hotel on the west side. Like Pyro had promised, the arrangements had already been made, and the only thing she had to do was go to the hotel clerk and get her keycard to the room.
The luxury hotel room was a one-bedroom suite with a king size bed, a pull out sofa, a large flat screen, plush carpet, and a beautiful view of the city that stretched across the Hudson River and toward New Jersey. The suite was nearly bigger than her entire apartment.
Chanel was grateful. Finally, she could sleep peacefully without God being in the next room.
She called Bacardi and told her where she was so she wouldn’t worry.
“I’ll bring you some clothes in the morning,” said Bacardi.
“Okay. And, Ma, please don’t tell my sisters where I’m at, especially Charlie.”
Bacardi paused. She wanted to ask why, but deep down inside, she felt that she already knew the answer. The revelation came quickly, only after Chanel’s remark. She agreed to keep Chanel’s location a secret.
The following morning, Bacardi packed a few of Chanel’s things, including a few things for herself, panties, bras, toiletries, and some comfortable clothing, and she kissed her husband goodbye and told him to hold the household down until she came back.
“I’m glad you goin’ to be wit’ her, Bernice. She needs you. Make sure you tell her that Daddy loves his baby girl.”
“She knows.”
Butch earnestly asked, “Does she?”
