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That information perks me up. “Oh, make sure you tell Uncle Elijah I said hello and give him my love as always.”
“I will. I just hope he is paroled this year. Uncle Clinton has always been like a father to me, but I would love for my pops to get out so we can do some father/son shit, you know. He’s getting older and I just want to spend as much time as I can with him outside of that fucking prison.”
Gripping his shoulder, I tell him, “I know you do, cousin and we’ll keep praying that this year will be the one the two of you can do that.”
“I hope so,” he sighs, pulling into my driveway, then parks. “Do you need me to walk you in?”
We stared at each other before laughing.
“You got jokes. Hell no, I don’t need you to walk me in,” I continued to laugh. “If some poor asshole thinks they can run up on me, then they must be new to the neighborhood, lost, or just plain stupid.” I tap my purse.
I have a three-bedroom house off the Red River, and I love it. I have my own personal dock in the back, and I love being on the water riding my jet skis or inviting the few friends I have over to party on my Pontoon boat.
“All right then, African warrior,” he jokes.
“Whatever, I’ll see you later. I’ll have your cut of the take tomorrow. Be careful cousin and I love you.”
“Love you too, big head,” he laughs. “Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” telling him as I get out of the car with my purse and the briefcase. After closing the door, I start up the sidewalk to my front door. Booker remains with his headlights shining at the door. After unlocking the locks and opening the door, I give him a wave before stepping inside. After disarming my security system, I closed the door.
Despite having to kill a backwoods asshole at Blue Bayou and meeting the handsome Mr. Deluca, who I plan on not dealing with in the future because of the company he keeps, I’d have to say I had a good night.
After kicking my heels off, then hanging my purse on the coat rack, I reset the alarm and made my way to my master bedroom.
What a fucking night.
Chapter 4
Domencio
Rolling over in bed, I groan as the rays of the sun peek through my window. Laying on my back, I stare at the ceiling. The shit that went down last night has never happened since I bought the casino and started the high stakes Poker game.
After my men arrived and took Smitty’s body away, Batista and I sat at the bar going over the events that transpired.
“Who would’ve thought S. Morgan was a woman,” he said before throwing back the shot of aged Cognac.
