by Love Belvin
I pretended to push back my cuticles as Sadik descended to the blanket, across from me. He went straight to the basket and lifted a bottle of wine, scanning the label.
“You prefer red, white? Sweet or dry?”
My shoulders lifted in indecision. “I’ll let you choose.”
“A man—and especially one my age—shouldn’t be caught sipping sweet wines,” he mumbled, searching the humongous basket for his preference.
Once selected, I watched him deftly open the bottle of white with an opener. He poured my glass before his. He then pulled out a tray that didn’t resemble one picked out of a grocery store, which made me wonder who packed the basket.
“Oooh,” I breathed. “Grapes, strawberries, cheese, crackers…” My eyes ran the length of the platter. “Nuts and spread. I’m impressed. There are four types of cheeses here.”
With playfully narrowed eyes, he joked, “I’ll tip my assistant.” Sadik pulled out real plates and cloth napkins. “Help yourself.”
As he searched through the basket, I lifted my glass, but didn’t drink from it.
“So.” He inhaled, a glint of inspiration in his eyes.
“So?”
He shifted to face me. “Time for our questions.” My face fell. When he was able to perceive my bemusement, he reminded me, “The three questions of truth we agreed to.”
My mouth formed an “O” as my regard slipped over to the band on stage.
The show had begun, though we were at a distance to other attendees. I was sure that was by design. We could still hear each other and had privacy.
“You ready?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes while grinning. “I guess. The question is, are you ready?”
Broadening his chest perceptively, he gave the posture of transparency. “I’m always ready. Would you like to go first?”
I shrugged, lips pouted to mask my smile. Though prepared, suddenly I felt embarrassed. “I would let you do the honors, but the one I’m leading with may bring all of this to an end.” I eyed him closely.
“I would hope not, unless you’re going to pull out your dick.”
I snorted, stupidly finding that hilarious.
“No. I’ve heard about your family.” Again, I watched him carefully.
His chin dipped and eyes pinned to me. “What have you heard?”
“That you’re Google’able.” I jerked my head to the side, feeling smug. “So, I Googled you all. There are a fair number of articles about your father, dating back to the nineties. After reading the context of them, I’m sure there are even more, but they were published before the big Internet era and aren’t as easy to find. But if I were to ask my IT friend to search, he’d come back with more charges, arrests, and other legal factors that paint your father as a drug lord, I’m sure.”
Sadik didn’t react other than to lift his glass for a nip of wine, but I was confident I had his attention.
“In fact, some argue he was the biggest Black kingpin in New Jersey. Earl Ellis is estimated to have been worth forty-million dollars at the height of his reign. His drugs fueled the state, from High Point State Park to the surfers in Cape May from the early eighties until—” I felt my face harden when I couldn’t recall the end of his supremacy. “I guess…until. But from before I was born until…I don’t know…” I shrugged. “…maybe a few years ago, there are documented arrests, convictions, and affiliations. Your father did prison time in the early nineties.”
According to one article, Earl Ellis, aka Double E Bags, had been convicted of drug possession before he became the reigning king of the state. What he’d been convicted of was severely light, compared to the business he grew after his release.
Sadik’s expression remained implacable as he listened in silence.
“Another Ellis faced a conviction,” I continued. “Your brother, Iban. He was sent to prison for murder.”
The only reason that fact didn’t freak me out to the point of me declining seeing Sadik again was, foolishly, because the pictures I saw of him online weren’t of your typical hardened criminal. Eighty percent of the images I was able to gather of Iban Ellis had him dressed in impressive formal wear. Suits, shoes, and sometimes even ties were staples of his ensemble. According to an article on his arrest and booking, Iban was six foot two and one hundred-eighty pounds. That meant he had to be a tad bit taller than his younger brother, Sadik, here, who I estimated to be just under six feet and possibly weighed just as much. And although Iban was convicted of murder, his countenance was much like his brother’s here: nondescript, debonair, unassuming.
Safe…
After a spell, a single muscle on Sadik’s body finally moved. His brow line lifted, and he licked his lips before reaching for the food tray.
“Well.” He swiped cream onto a cracker with a knife. “I’m glad we got that out in the open. You don’t have to hide all the gory details you’ve heard—”
“Learned,” I countered.
“Heard,” he clarified. “Not everything Google told you is one hundred percent factual.” He tossed the cracker into his mouth.
The entire cracker.
And I couldn’t help my fixed gaze on his mouth as he chewed and swallowed it in record time with complete insouciance of how enrapt I was.
So…male…
“Really?” I challenged, snapping out of that torpor. “I doubt much of what I read is false.”
“Two-hundred, fifty-eight million.”
“Huhn?” I hummed.
“According to the federal prosecutors, my father’s operation netted two-hundred, fifty-eight million dollars annually at its height.” My mouth fell to my lap. “And I can tell you categorically, that isn’t true.” He popped a grape into his mouth. As my brain whirred with the figures, I couldn’t rip my eyes away from his full churning lips as he chewed. His jaw flexed like a machine and eyes darkened. “Like I said, it’s good you have an idea of my history. You would’ve become aware, at some point. Now, I don’t have to worry about you running or crying later down the line when it becomes clear.”
“Later down what line?”
Sadik didn’t respond right away. He cast his attention to the stage, where the band had transitioned into a new song. It gave my roiling belly a moment to settle.
“You should eat something.”
Mechanically, I grabbed a block of cheese and bit off just a small corner of it. Sadik’s usual intense gaze, for once, wasn’t on me.
“Okay.” He brushed the palms of his hands together. “My turn.”
“Wait! You’re not going to address what I just shared?”
“You never asked a question.”
My head drew back. “Do I need to?”
“To adhere to the agreement, yes.”
Was he serious?
“Okay? How much of that drug empire were you involved in?”
“None,” his answer came swiftly. “While my father is an integral part of my life and the man I am, I have my own business.”
“Which is?”
“For starters, I have a third-party logistics firm. Any and all physical articles coming into or leaving the country must be documented and approved by the government. It’s a multifarious process to implement, hence my role. I employ two customs brokers, licensed with CBP—Custom Border Protection, that is—and a support team. Together, they prepare and submit documentation to notify or obtain clearance from government agencies for international goods trafficking. We transfer and store goods at my warehouse and arrange for dispensing them, according to my customers’ preferences. And that’s completely legal and non-drug related.”
Customs…
“I didn’t know that…” My voice faltered.
“Not many do. It isn’t the most understood and popular industry, such as teaching or law, although just about everyone in the country benefits from my service in some way or another. I’m sure you don’t quite get it either, and I can understand why. It’s rather complex, but I work hard and have
been successful at it.”
“How long have you been in business?”
“Since about a year out of school, so over fifteen years.”
“School?”
He flashed a faux smile, disturbingly alluring considering he was being sarcastic.
“Yes. The son of a reputed ‘drug lord’—” He used air quotations. “—was afforded a college education. Twice, actually. After I got my bachelor’s, I dabbled in real estate—investment purchases—before starting my customs business. It was supposed to serve as a small project, mild income while I worked on other pursuits.”
“How were you able to dabble in investment real estate without earnings from a real job?”
“My grandmother I mentioned to you. When she was tired of living alone as she got older, she gifted me her house in West Orange. Not having a need for it, I sold it in college. Used a little of that money to invest in projects a couple of my friends, who were recent BU alums had going on. That paid off, doubling my outlay.” He smoothed down the front of his shirt, gazing across the park. “I had a few lucky opportunities, one being an apartment building in one of the most prime neighborhoods in the City.” His head bobbed, implying he did well.
My face folded. “The fireplace rooftop spot?”
Sadik gave an affirmative nod this time. “I bought up shit, flipped some of it, and moved on. Real estate doesn’t move me.”
“And what does?”
His gazed journeyed to me, face blank as he reached for more nuts. “Apparently, Somali women.”
With flamed cheeks, I averted my gaze. Hearing that was weird for me. While I was very much aware of my heritage, I identified as American. It was like the Somali piece of my identity was distant. I’d never visited and didn’t have much family in my world to keep me attached to the culture.
“Can I go now?” His deep tone resembled a wearied child’s.
Winded by the information just uncovered, I didn’t have it in me to decline. So, I nodded, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Why don’t you have a man in your life—romantically?”
“Who said I didn’t?” My rushed words made it clear I was defensive. Sadik grinned sinisterly, popping a grape into his mouth. I reached for my glass, needing a mental blur immediately. “I have…” I lowered my chin, feeling all kinds of defensive. “I have friends.”
“Really?” There was that glint of inspiration in his honeyed irises again as he inclined himself to me.
“Really.” I nodded, taking the first gulp of my wine. “In fact, you should be lucky I was able to carve out this time for you. I don’t see guys during the week.”
“Really?” he repeated.
“True story!” I pouted, eyes locked to the stage.
“What type of guys do you…see?”
I shrugged. “There’s a range. A short one.”
“Be more specific.” His entire frame faced me.
“Well, driven men, of course. I mean…there are only two I take seriously.”
“Right. Because you told me that night in the diner women of your age and education, who lack baggage like kids, are left with little to no options when it comes to your male counterparts. Remember, you’re overlooked by men who look like you?” Sadik pretended to examine the skin on his hands. He even went to the extent of touching his face to prove the point of us being the same race.
I rolled my eyes. “I said little to no options, not no options. I have options.”
“Tell me about them,” he pushed.
“One is a…” How could I describe Damien, who hadn’t asked me out or exactly pursued me? “An entrepreneur. He has a…security firm,” I embellished. “We’ve known each other for about six years now and have just been taking it slow.”
“Is that it?”
“No. There’s another. He goes to my school…graduates next month, too. We’ve been…dating,” I stretched the truth. “…for about two years now. Again, I see no need to lock in a relationship at this point in my life.” I shook my head, hating the inclination to lie. I couldn’t remember the last time I told them consecutively. “My turn for question number two.”
He reached over to pluck a few grapes off the vine, a stream of his delicious cologne wafting into my nostrils. “Go for it.”
“How often do you have security around?” My gaze shot over to Rory, glancing away after trying discretely to gain his attention.
Sadik followed my line of vision to her. Rory looked at me, then her boss before she flashed the face of a cell phone.
Is she telling him he had a call?
“Is she your security?” That question suddenly settled over me.
Rory was a tiny woman. I couldn’t imagine her being effective in taking down an attacker.
Sadik shook his head at her, communicating a “no” before turning to face me. “Rory’s one of my assistants. She may be tiny, but she’s trained to protect.” He tried for a smirk.
“Why do you need protecting in your line of work?”
“Because of who my father was. It’s an expensive assurance, but a number of us in my family have security most of the time.” Then one cheek rose sheepishly. “If you make me number three on the dating circuit, I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to them. Believe me, at some point, you will.”
My pulse galloped. Looking for a distractor, I plucked the rest of the cube of cheese I’d been holding forever into my mouth. “Your turn.”
With a sober expression, Sadik nodded. “If there was one thing in the world you could have that you don’t already possess, what would it be?”
My eyes squinted as I thought about that. I found myself twisting, attention going toward the stage. Blindly, I watched the big-bellied guy blow hard into the saxophone. His effort appeared great.
“I didn’t know we were going…deep,” I murmured.
“Is it deep for you?”
I turned to him again. “Doesn’t have to be.”
“Apparently, it is. We agreed to honesty. To get it, you have to give it,” he delicately warned.
I took a deep breath, slightly annoyed again by his probing questions. When I turned, I found him peering into me with that intensity I’d become accustomed to from him. It was the type a girl could get used to. Get lost in. It was in that penetrating gaze that I found safety, for some strange reason. They were caverns I could escape into.
“Something silly.”
“Nothing’s too silly.”
“It’s something money can’t buy.”
“Try me.” His eyes darkened, and his nostrils flared just slightly.
I scraped my bottom lip through my teeth, deciding to just go with it. “Family.” My lashes fluttered and head shook to correct myself. “My family.”
“Your parents? Brother?”
“Told you it was silly.” I rubbed my lips together to smooth over the gloss, curling my legs more beneath me.
Suddenly, his hand palmed my knee and a shiver coursed my spine. “Don’t close up on me, Bilan. I find you fuckin’ fascinating,” I swallowed hard at his elongated pause. “Just because I can’t explain why doesn’t mean you should put up guards against me.”
I scoffed. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s just…personal, Sadik. It’s something meaningful to me that could come off as silly to someone else.”
“Not someone who sincerely wants to know,” he argued.
“My family wasn’t perfect, but we accounted for each other. We were present every day. Our fights were just as predictable as our meals. Our fears were just as identical as our features. We were a unit. I don’t have that anymore. I don’t have anyone.”
“You’re lonely?”
I shook my head, firm on the answer from my recent revelation. “Alone. My schedule is flexible and demanding at the same time. I fill in the hours by staying busy. It would be nice to come home to the people I feel connected to.” I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes wide to ward off th
e heavy emotion encroaching upon me.
There. I shared it with someone and didn’t cry…
My attention went out to the solo violin number renting the air softly. When I faced Sadik again, his heavy gaze was to the blanket; ruminating, it appeared. I told him it would be silly to him. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to be grateful for a listening ear. I could never share something so vulnerable with Randi. And it seemed Sadik’s reaction was rude. Maybe he was still processing my crazy.
I didn’t realize I’d turned away from Sadik again until, out of nowhere, we locked eyes. And again, there was a glint of inspiration in his honeyed irises.
“Your last question is up,” he warned forlornly.
“I’m sure you’re happy.”
“Your questions have been painless. We should do this again.”
“Again?”
His eyes were on the stage when he asserted, “Yeah.”
“Why are you so interested in me—and you can’t say to be my friend.” His eyes rolled toward the sky, and the most adorable grin split Sadik’s face. It caused my own unexpected chuckle. “I’ve researched your name. I get it now. You’ve probably used that line on a million women.”
That sobered his expression, and Sadik’s eyes were on me again. His head shook softly, and his eyes softened with passion. “I’ve never said that to anyone before you.”
My face tightened. “Then why me?”
His regard dropped to the wine glass beneath him. “I’ve been asking myself the same question for days now. To be real, the only answer I could come up with is there’s something about you—something you try to hide from the world—that I can sense, and it appeals to me.”
“On what level?”
“Is that your final question?”
“No!” My head bobbed on my neck with that one syllable.
He fingered the mouth of his glass as he murmured. “I don’t know. There is more than one, but one’s definitely…sensual.”
“Sensual?” I stabbed my chest with my index finger. “Me?”
That’s when he did that thing with his eyes. The muscles around them tightened, and his jaw flexed. It made him appear either angry…or repressed. “Why not you, Bilan?”
