by Marcus Weber
Antonio sensed he was still holding something back. Some hurt between him and Emil that was still too painful to talk about. Antonio was confused. Shit, what was the problem? Jackson had the love of his father, something Antonio never had. If Emil had made Jackson his right-hand man, why was he still not all the way cool?
“Pop, on some levels, is generous, smart, and rich, but he is also egotistical, mean, and sometimes straight-up cruel,” Jackson clarified.
Antonio tilted his head, curious, his eyebrows arched on his face.
“How long was I supposed to stay just doing his dirty work? It ain’t take me long to figure out that Pop didn’t want a partner like he said, he wanted a slave. He wanted to make me believe I was important, but he was using me. That shit was real obvious, too. He was secretive and told me what he wanted me to know . . . just enough that I couldn’t really be on my own out here. I mean, I was selling keys to bosses from up in the Bronx all the way down to far-ass places on South Carolina, and I never knew exactly what cut Pop was getting off that. I mean, he paid me, but four or five stacks out of a duffle bag full seemed like nothing to me when I thought about him taking the entire bag, minus the pennies he threw to me. I always wanted more. I wanted in deeper. I wanted to walk by his side, not follow like some slave bitch behind him. I wanted to help make business decisions, not take instructions all the time. Pop never even introduced me to his connects. I found out about them through word of mouth on the streets.
“After I confronted Pop about always being left out of the loop, he pacified me a little bit. He told me about his first connect and the Piña Cartel from Mexico, but never took me to the meetings he had with them. I should’ve been more than a worker by then, especially after we got our own legitimate businesses. That shit was lost on Hayden, who was just happy to think that we all owned the legitimate businesses, but it wasn’t lost on me. We don’t own those shits—Pop owns them. He had his high-priced lawyers make sure of that. Cartwright Enterprises my ass. Do you think I own a real interest in the business? I always knew the deal. I knew Pop’s intentions when he fronted those legitimate businesses. It damn sure wasn’t for the reason he said—so we could all eventually walk away from the drug game.
“It’s like this, a hungry motherfucker who gets hungry enough gonna take food from anybody, even the bastard who starved him in the first place. Pop starved us and then fed us when he was ready, like them terrorists do when they capture hostages. His own fucking kids. If a dude showed that he was too smart for Pop, that dude would either be out immediately, or he would disappear, never to be heard from again. You think it would be different for us? So, I learned how to play my role, but deep inside, I ain’t happy about this.
“As time went on, Pop started expanding his wholesale business. He opened the imports business and the Mexicans were shipping the shit in by the boatload. That shit came in paintings, food, toys, car rims, car engines . . . anything. I never knew cocaine could be liquefied and turned into so many things. Pop even had them cops at the New York Harbor Police in his pocket. The mayor was on payroll, and so was the police commissioner. His shit was airtight. Truth be told, I was the one taking the risk because I worked the shipments. I was out there at four in the morning when shit arrived. I was the one in warehouses risking my life and freedom to distribute across the city. Those bosses could’ve murked me, took the goods, and kept their money at any time during those meets. My job was worth more than I was getting paid from my own father, and so I asked to be made equal. Pop flatly said no to my request. I questioned that, and he went off. He got in my face, telling me to fucking remember where I came from—that he was my father and he had made me. That shit hurt me, like my own father had stabbed me in the heart. I was mentally on some destructive shit after that,” Jackson gritted with contempt.
Antonio’s eyes were round as he watched a whirlwind of emotions play out in Jackson’s facial expressions.
Jackson looked over at Antonio as they pulled up to their business building.
“Why you looking at me like that?” Jackson asked. “What, you thought your father was some angel? Pshh, far from it nigga.”
Antonio shook his head. His hands shook. Something about Jackson’s words sent a chill through him.
“C’mon, I’m just talking nigga. I love my Pops. I said I was on some destructive shit. That don’t mean I really want to destroy shit. I would’ve never done anything like that to Pop . . . that’s my word,” he assured. “After all, the nigga did give me life.”
Antonio wasn’t so convinced that Jackson wasn’t out to destroy his own father. Something in Antonio’s gut was telling him that none of the Cartwrights should be trusted. He’d heard enough. His nerves were frazzled now.
“When can we meet to go over things? Mo’s people will be contacting me soon.” Antonio quickly changed the subject.
“Oh, it’s like that. No more discussing Pop?” Jackson replied, chuckling evilly. He knew he’d said too much. That was part of his plan.
“Look, I’m sorry for everything you went through, bro. Right now, we are all at his mercy. He may not, but I see you as one above me. I’m new to this in some ways, so that automatically puts you on a higher level in game,” Antonio placated, the lies rolling off his tongue freely. He didn’t see Jackson as one above him whatsoever. They were all Emil’s sons, and like it or not, he was going to get what was owed to him.
“Whatever, man. We can meet tomorrow. We always meet at the Blu,” Jackson told him.
Antonio nodded. He stuck out his fist for a pound. Then he exited Jackson’s truck. He could feel the heat of Jackson’s gaze on his back as he walked into the Cartwright Enterprises building. Both of them were probably thinking the same thing: this nigga needs me just as much as I need him.
Chapter 8
All Falls Down
Paige had a headache. A massive, temple-pulsing, eye-blinding headache. She sat up painfully straight, trying to act like she was okay. But she couldn’t help that her eyes darted to the door of the venue no less than every five minutes since she’d been there. The five minutes before were the same as the five minutes after. Nothing. Her mother flitted around the place and then back to the table several times, but each time, Paige ignored her. Lillian was always talking, and tonight, Paige just couldn’t listen. Paige picked up her glass of sparkling water and took a sip. If her Antonio didn’t show up soon, Paige knew she’d be having more than sparkling water.
“Are you alright? You look stunning as usual, but your mind is clearly off to another place,” Lillian said, sitting down next to Paige.
“Thanks, Mother. I’ve already told you, I have a slight headache. But, I’m here, smiling through it. I learned from the best,” Paige said, flashing another phony smile, realizing her mother was trying to make small talk to avoid the awkwardness of Antonio’s absence.
“Look who just had the fucking nerve to arrive,” a friend at the table said, looking past Paige’s shoulder.
Paige turned her head slightly and then back to her mother, incredulous.
“Lori Standley,” Lillian whispered. “The new bitch sleeping with your father.”
Paige blanched. “What?” she rasped. She eyed the olive-skinned beauty who’d sauntered into the venue like she owned it. The woman’s perfectly beat makeup, her cascading dark, bone-straight hair, and her beautiful shape were hard to miss.
Paige looked toward the door again, hoping Antonio was going to be next to walk in, but again, nothing. She inhaled deeply and exhaled.
“I don’t think she’s Daddy’s type,” Paige said, blinking a few times before she turned her attention back to her mother.
“You’re wrong. I know for a fact. But, it’s okay. I have something for your father this time. I just chose to stay quiet for now,” Lillian said with a forced cheerfulness in her tone that actually scared Paige.
“Now, where is that husband of yours? You know your father expects him to be here every year, and this year is no different.�
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Paige sighed and hung her head. She was tired of making excuses now. Antonio had missed quite a few events. If anyone knew what Paige was going through in that moment, it was her mother. After all, Lillian was the wife of a very busy man. Truth be told, Gladstone Tillary was absent from his family more than he was present. Paige had watched her mother field her fair share of absent husband questions when Paige was a child. She had always seen her mother do it, wearing the kind of smile she was wearing now. Phony. Forced. Pretend.
“Ahh, look who’s here,” Lillian chimed and waved. “Your bestie.”
Paige looked up just in time to see Michaela waltzing in.
“Oh, and how ironic, right behind her is your husband,” Lillian said snidely, raising a brow at Paige but still smiling and waving to Michaela.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just never trusted her,” Lillian grunted.
Paige looked at her watch again and noted that Antonio was over two hours late. Her father approached and grunted from behind her. Paige whirled around and smiled at her father. She could see the flicker of judgment and suspicion glinting in his eyes. She had spent her entire life making sure that in Gladstone’s eyes, she was always daddy’s perfect little girl.
“So, where is your husband?” her father asked brusquely.
“He just arrived,” Paige replied, nodding toward the other side of the room where Antonio and Michaela were together, smiling and speaking to folks as they made their way around the massive room. From afar, people might’ve mistaken Michaela for Antonio’s wife. Something about it caused Paige’s headache to intensify. It was something that had bothered her for years. Michaela had always been far too friendly with Antonio.
“He is over two hours late. What? He has no respect for you. And then he walks around like he’s the politician here?”
Paige sighed. No matter how many years had passed and no matter what Antonio did, her parents were always going to find fault with him. They hated him, and they couldn’t even hide it.
Paige understood that her father was old school. In their family, respect, reputation, and keeping your word meant everything. When he allowed Antonio to marry his only daughter, Gladstone had made it clear that Paige was to be treated like a precious gem. Gladstone never gave Antonio a break. He believed real men made their money through hard work, not playing basketball. It didn’t matter to Gladstone that Antonio had at one time signed a lucrative multi-million-dollar contract.
“He needs to get his shit together for once in his life,” Gladstone said sharply.
Paige balked at her father’s verbal slap. There were so many things she wanted to say to her father in that moment, but, as usual, Paige backed down when it came to him.
Paige rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated breath. Although her appearance was perfect, her life was far from it. Paige had spent years pretending that she and Antonio had the perfect marriage. The truth was, she had become an expert at ignoring what she didn’t want to see. Like her best friend and her husband arriving at the same time, both late.
“Oh, here he is now,” Paige beamed, her shoulders drooping with relief. Paige was raging inside, but still she smiled. The look Antonio wore on his face was like a kid who’d missed his curfew—arched eyebrows, wide-stretched eyes, and a fake, toothy grin. Guilty.
“Sorry I’m late. Last minute meeting,” Antonio said, too smoothly and too calmly for Paige’s liking. He knew she was seething, because he totally avoided eye contact with her.
Paige tapped her foot on the floor under the table. Unconsciously, her eyes hooded over and her lips flattened into a straight line. Watching Antonio walk to the table didn’t give Paige the warm and tingly feeling she’d experienced in the beginning of their relationship. All she could see was the pain and agony of staying married to him. Paige told herself in that moment that she’d had enough. She wanted a divorce. Just thinking about it made her stomach swirl.
“Mr. T,” Antonio said cheerfully, extending his hand toward Paige’s father for a handshake. “As usual you have a good turnout for your campaign event.” Antonio was laying it on thick, and everyone in earshot knew it. Gladstone knew how his son-in-law felt about him, and the feelings were definitely mutual. Both men played the game for Paige.
Gladstone grunted and reluctantly took Antonio’s hand. Gladstone squeezed a little harder than a normal handshake allowed. Paige noticed, and a warm sense of satisfaction burst in her chest when she saw Antonio wince slightly.
“Lillian,” Antonio sang, awkwardly wrestling his hand away from his father-in-law. “Looking young and beautiful as ever,” he sang, kissing Lillian on the cheek. Lillian blushed, of course. Paige rolled her eyes. It didn’t take much to sway her mother back to the other side.
When Antonio finally turned his attention to Paige, she smiled, but her insides were churning so hard it felt like her organs were going through a meat grinder. Antonio took a seat next to her and planted a dry kiss on her cheek. “You look amazing tonight. But, you always do. Always flawless,” he said.
Paige swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat. The word divorce popped into her mind again.
“Ahem,” Paige cleared her throat. “Now that you’re here, I can make my toast,” she said regarding Antonio coolly. Paige raised her glass and lowered her eyes toward the sparkling liquid inside. She had already caught sight of the dark, purple love bite peeking from Antonio’s collar and the flushed look on Michaela’s face. Michaela, who still hadn’t come and greet her.
“Here’s to my father, a great man with a great legacy. A real man who always puts his family first. A man of integrity and honesty. Here’s to the man I know I can always rely on even when all others fail me,” Paige said pointedly, looking at Antonio so hard she forced him to look away first.
* * *
Gladstone couldn’t wait for a moment away from the women to confront Antonio. He walked up behind Antonio and cleared his throat. Antonio almost spilled his drink as he turned around to find his father-in-law standing uncomfortably close.
“I heard that you’re working for your father now,” Gladstone said, getting right to the point.
Antonio’s face fell into a frown. “You heard correctly. I’m retired from basketball and didn’t want to be left idle.”
“That’s funny. I didn’t know you two had gotten close. Hell, I didn’t know you talked. I mean, I thought I knew the story of how he’d left you and your mother to live in poverty while he lavished his other sons with riches,” Gladstone said cruelly. While he took under-the-belt shots against Antonio, he would never tell him that he suspected, before his son-in-law even knew his father’s name, that he was Emil’s son.
Antonio chuckled. It was a predictable line of conversation. His father-in-law got off on making other people feel small. He was one of those people who needed the weakness of others to feel powerful.
“Well, part of that is true. My father and I hadn’t talked much over the years. But, you know, there’s always room for forgiveness. You know all about second chances, don’t you?”
Gladstone’s eyes lowered into slits. “Look. If you were having financial issues, you could’ve came to me. Emil Cartwright might be your biological father, but you’re still married to my daughter. I don’t know what you know about him, but he’s far from Cliff Huxtable. And you know how seriously I take my reputation.” They both knew that he was referencing that night, all those years ago, when they first entered one another’s lives.
“With all due respect, Mr. Tillary, I know you might mean well, but I wouldn’t come to you if my eyebrows were on fire and I needed someone to spit on them. Besides, come to you so you could judge me as unworthy, like you’ve been doing all these years? Emil is my father . . . and I know you’re worried about your family name, but he’s actually my family, so I don’t give a shit about your worries.”
“Listen, son,” Gladstone whispered harshly, moving so close to Antonio’s face he fe
lt the heat of his breath on his lips. “Emil Cartwright is not who you think he is. I’ve seen him eat his own many times. So I hope, for your sake, he doesn’t have you doing anything illegal. I’d hate for that to blow back on my daughter, and more importantly, just know I will not allow it to blow back on me and my family.”
Antonio laughed, but it contradicted the fear thrumming inside of him. “Illegal? Of course not. I’m managing the family import and export business with my brothers. I know it may be hard to believe that anyone else can be as together as your family, but the Cartwrights are pretty damn close. And Emil built that family from scratch. He wasn’t handed a family name to use to rise to the top like you,” Antonio said, staring Gladstone directly in the eyes.
Gladstone picked up his whisky from the bar. He raised the glass and smirked. “Have it your way, son. Just watch yourself. You’ve done very well all these years without his help. I wouldn’t want you to get rounded up in an investigation. Because trust me, it won’t be long before Emil Cartwright is the subject of yet another investigation.”
“I believe that all of that stuff is behind him. As far as I know, every single time you’ve tried to get him, you’ve failed. I don’t think it’ll be different the next time you try, or the time after that or after that,” Antonio said, also raising his glass and smirking.
Gladstone’s usually light, butter-colored skin was now a deep shade of red. His nostrils flared, but he kept his cool.
“I hope so. For your sake, I hope so,” Gladstone growled under his breath. He didn’t take defeat lightly.
Antonio patted Gladstone on the shoulder. “You don’t have to hope.” And with that, he walked away.
Gladstone downed his next drink and turned toward the crowd. The tension from the conversation still showed on his face. But, what he saw next, sent his dark mood into overdrive. He slammed his drink down and stormed toward Lori, who’d just walked into the arm of another man.
