Mafioso [Part 2]

by Nisa Santiago

  The police car pulled up, and both doors opened. Two uniformed officers climbed out and made their way toward the incident near Central Park. The disturbance was an anomaly.

  Dwayne and Kevin released Layla.

  Scott instructed his men to go to the truck. “I’ll do the talking.”

  The cops walked up to them with caution and asked, “Is there a problem here?”

  “My wife . . . she’s the problem,” Scott said calmly.

  Layla yelled, “I’m the fuckin’ problem?”

  One cop attempted to grab Layla’s forearm, to impede her hostile movement toward Scott, but Layla turned and punched the cop in the face.

  Ultimately, she was subdued and arrested.

  Scott stood there in his suit and tie and watched them handcuff his wife, who resisted arrest. He chose not to intervene. He watched them shove her into the back seat of the police car and haul her off to jail.

  Penelope, still shaken up by the incident, watched the arrest play out from the Escalade. She was holding her stomach and worrying about her baby and her safety.

  13

  The Park Avenue suite came with world-class amenities. It offered a refreshingly modern twist on life in the sky and a breathtaking view of the city from thirty-four floors up. It featured floor-to-ceiling windows, an indoor pool and Jacuzzi, a small movie room, and top-notch furnishings. The lavish place matched the one Scott owned with Layla, but he shared this one with Penelope. He’d purchased it for her the week he found out she was pregnant with his child. He’d paid $4.8 million for it—$1.5 million less than the realtor’s asking price.

  “Just relax and get some rest,” he told her.

  “I will.”

  In two years, Penelope’s English had improved significantly. Scott had hired some of the best speech tutors in the city to teach her the language. Penelope was smart and learned quickly. She was devoted to improving herself and advancing.

  Penelope smiled Scott’s way and reclined on the five-star king-size bed and propped up her feet. She had everything she needed at her beck and call. Inside the extravagant suite, she had her own butler and a small staff. A chef cooked her meals for her, and the spa came to her to provide hair and makeup, skin treatments, pedicures, and manicures. If she needed to go out, she had her own chauffeur with a Bentley.

  Scott sat near his mistress. He undid his tie and let it hang loosely around his neck. He removed his jacket and tossed it on the bed. The incident with Layla didn’t harm their unborn baby. The doctor had told them that Penelope was okay, and that the baby was doing great. Penelope just needed plenty of bed rest. Scott was elated by the news. Had anything happened to his baby, it wouldn’t have been pretty for Layla, despite her being his wife. She had murdered his unborn baby once, and Scott wasn’t going to allow a repeat of the past.

  Scott fixed his eyes on Penelope’s face and took in her beauty. She was seven months pregnant and looked magnificent. Everything about her was angelic. Her hair was down, and it framed her face perfectly. Her eyes were dramatic, and her full lips were seductive. The lace gown she wore with the plunging neckline attractively covered her pregnant figure. Her light skin was luminescent, and she smelled like a mix of strawberries and coconut. And she had some of the prettiest feet he’d ever seen.

  “I’m sorry about Layla,” he said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “She was wrong for attacking you. I promise you, I will never let anything happen to you again. With me, you’re safe and protected.”

  Penelope wanted to believe him, but she knew Layla was prone to violence.

  ***

  Penelope’s family was new to America. She fled Cuba with her mother, little brother, and uncle in a small boat to find better opportunities in the US, but her uncle drowned in the Atlantic. America was a difficult place to exist in too, especially with her and her family being undocumented. They lived in the slums of Miami, crammed together in a shabby apartment with other families who shared everything from the bathroom, to the kitchen, and food. Her mother scrubbed toilets and cleaned bathrooms to make ends meet, and Penelope and her brother also fell victim to dangerous working conditions for meager pay.

  Fortunately for Penelope, she found work as a nanny through an organization that worked with illegal immigrants. For a percentage of their paychecks, this company found the immigrants better jobs and better pay. Everything was off the books. Through this organization, Penelope found reasonable nanny jobs in Miami. Within a year’s time, she found work with the West family, looking after young Gotti and taking care of the household.

  Scott had become smitten by the cute, young immigrant. She looked so innocent, and she somewhat reminded him of a young Maxine. Penelope carried that certain je ne sais quoi. Though she spoke little English, Scott would shrewdly flirt with her.

  Years later, Penelope’s wishes of opulence and fortune had come true. She used her beauty and sexuality to attain the finer things in life. Having sex with her employer was a major come-up for her. Scott showered her with the finer things in life, and in return, she pleased him sexually. Poverty became a distant memory for Penelope, and having his baby meant she would have money and support from him for a long time.

  ***

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, expressing a genuine smile.

  “Gracias.”

  Penelope gently kneaded her stomach and felt a small kick near her right side. He had been active all day. “He’s startin’ to kick,” she told Scott. “You want to feel him?”

  Scott leaned closer, and she took his hand and gently placed it against her protruding belly. Immediately, he felt some tiny movement. The feeling of life growing inside a woman never got old to him. He couldn’t wait to see his son. With all the loss, devastation, and bloodshed in his life, something new, like a baby boy, was a blessing for him.

  His hand lingered on her stomach. He felt another kick. His son already had a healthy kick. Then he took Penelope’s hand in his and kissed the back of it.

  It angered him that his wife had assaulted her. Kevin and Dwayne failed. They allowed Layla to get close enough to throw a punch at her. They should have seen her coming a mile away. What if it had been a different threat? He and his mistress probably would’ve been killed.

  The skirmish with his wife lingered in his mind. For a moment, he looked away from Penelope and stared off into the distance. He then turned his attention back to her again and said, “I need to go.”

  “You’re not going to spend the night with me? I can use the company, and I can relax you real good,” she said.

  “Tomorrow night. Tonight, I have something to take care of.” He stood up and picked up his jacket from the bed. He neared his lips toward hers, and he kissed her sweetly. The aura of her was enticing. Her lips aroused him. He planted another kiss on her mouth, and then he pivoted and walked out the door, leaving the future mother of his son to lie comfortably in lavishness and fret about nothing.

  ***

  The vast rolling gates to the warehouse opened, and the Escalade Scott was inside drove into the dimness of the building. The gates came rolling down, and the Escalade came to a stop inside the sprawling structure. Scott exited the vehicle with a purpose. The space was large enough to fit two semi trucks inside. Instead, it contained two dark SUVs and a dozen of his men. The warehouse was dusty with hard concrete floors and elongated shadows from long-forgotten crates and pallets. What was once used as a place for his drug distribution, Scott had transitioned into a site used for harsh interrogation and torture—a dungeon of horrors for men who snitched, opposed him, or crossed his organization.

  Scott owned real estate throughout the city, so it was easy for him to shut down one drug location and set shop back up somewhere else. Being mobile in the city and across the nation was one way he remained untouched by the authorities.

  He calmly buttoned his suit
jacket and walked toward the minor engagement. Ahead of him, there was a circle of men surrounding something or someone. Scott approached the raucous group in a deadpan manner. The circle broke for the boss, and into view came Kevin and Dwayne. The men were firmly tied to metal chairs with their arms folded behind them, duct tape covering their mouths, and they had been severely beaten and left in only their underwear.

  Scott stared at them with no remorse on his face. They were a disappointment to him, allowing Layla to follow him for blocks without being detected. Worse, she assaulted his pregnant mistress and threatened the health of his unborn son. That meant that the two men weren’t doing their jobs. They were a disgrace. He needed to send a message to the others that this wasn’t a time to slack off or become sloppy. They were at war with other organizations, and he could risk no one getting close to him and his family or infiltrating his empire. Everyone needed to take their jobs seriously. If they didn’t, it would cost them dearly.

  “You two fucked up tonight,” he growled. “My woman was attacked because of y’all ineffectiveness to stop a simple bitch from attacking her.”

  The men muttered something incoherent underneath the duct tape.

  Scott approached them closer. The mere sight of Kevin and Dwayne infuriated him. He scrunched his fists and swung at Kevin, striking him in the face so hard, his mouth almost filled with blood. He could’ve easily choked to death from gurgling. The duct tape allowed no escape to release the crimson fluid swirling inside his mouth.

  Dwayne received the same painful treatment. His neck was about to break from the powerful blows Scott rained down on him.

  They both received several minutes of an excruciating beating from Scott’s bare hands, and then Scott gestured at one of his men and extended his arm. A .45 was right away placed into his hand.

  Dwayne’s and Kevin’s eyes grew wide with fear. They desperately fidgeted in their chairs and spewed out more incoherent speech from beneath the duct tape, wanting to be heard.

  But Scott didn’t want to listen to their noise. He lifted the gun and placed the barrel against Dwayne’s forehead. He locked eyes with his frightened soldier, giving the man a moment to accept his fate, and then—Boom!—Dwayne’s brain instantly flew out from the back of his head. His body toppled to the concrete ground, still tied to the chair.

  Kevin whimpered. He frantically fidgeted in his restraints once more and pleaded with his eyes to Scott.

  Scott lifted the gun to Kevin’s forehead, repeating the same action, giving him that moment of clarity to accept his fate, and then he squeezed—Boom! His blood splattered, and his brain matter became exposed as his body toppled to the ground.

  At close range with the gunfire, the men’s faces were twisted and burnt. It was a ghastly spectacle, but one that every person in the room was used to. Death was common for them. Sometimes, Scott had to get his hands dirty to show his men he was still a cold-blooded killer and they should not try him.

  “Discard the bodies and dismantle and toss away the gun,” Scott said to Mason, a longtime soldier.

  Mason nodded.

  It was business and personal. For a moment, Scott stared at his handiwork and felt nothing. He would do whatever it took to protect his, even if it meant making an example out of two of his own men to show the others what would happen if they fucked up.

  14

  Max took a long look at her rough image in the mirror. She had seen better days. Though forty-two years old, she looked fifty-five and felt it too. A strong sigh spewed from her lips. Layla was right. She needed a makeover. She needed to look like her old self again, if not close to it. Her time in prison had changed her into something and someone she despised. She was a shell of herself. Her hair was unkempt, and her wardrobe was tasteless and unappealing. She planned on using some of the sixty grand on a day at the salon and spa.

  The beauty salon in her neighborhood was new. It was owned by a young female in her early twenties. Sheena was pretty and pleasant, her shop came with all the latest amenities, and she employed over a dozen male and female workers. Max deduced that the young, pretty girl had help with opening She-Girls, and that she had to be a drug dealer’s girlfriend. Sheena was well put together, wearing trendy clothes, fine jewelry, and her weave was long and expensive. She pranced around her establishment and made her presence known.

  Max took in everything about the girl. She saw herself twenty years earlier, looking cute and in love with a drug dealer, showing off his gifts and coming up in the hood with his money. She wished she could turn back the hands of time and do it all over again.

  “I love your place,” Max said to Sheena.

  “Oh, thank you,” she replied happily. “My man bought it.”

  “That was generous.”

  “He is. And is my girl taking care of you? You know we do it up in here. Gonna have you looking like a superstar. You’re gonna catch you a baller out there when you leave my shop.”

  Max smiled. She’d been there and done that.

  “I’m too old to catch me a baller,” Max said.

  “Girl, nonsense. You still in your prime, and when Tina gets done workin’ on your hair, please . . . you gonna have you a nigga the minute you step out my shop. We don’t play; we do it right here, girl. She-Girls is ’bout to be on the map. Watch and see.” Sheena moved her hands around a lot as she talked.

  Sheena knew how to work her charm on her customers. Max was sold. She couldn’t remember the last time she had someone with a beautician’s license work on her hair. In prison, you do what you can.

  Tina examined Max’s hair. As she combed it out, Max could see her reaction through the mirror. Tina was probably wondering if she’d been living under a rock for the past year.

  “It’s been a while,” Max muttered.

  “I’ve seen worse,” Tina replied. “How do you want it?”

  Tina was in her late twenties and a petite woman with black cropped hair. They said she was one of the best. She had a knack for making magic happen to any unkempt head.

  “Something much different. I need a new me.”

  “I can definitely give you a new you.”

  “I want it blonde, relaxed, and cut,” Max said.

  “You sure you want all this cut? I mean, your hair is damn near touching ya ass. Girls pay hundreds for bundles of hair like this.”

  Maxine ran her fingers through her strands. “Yeah, cut it. This hair reminds me of unpleasant times.”

  “Have you considered keeping it natural? Your beautiful face would rock that Black Girl Magic movement. Your hair texture is a 3A. I could cut off the dead ends, add some highlights, and—”

  “Let’s not make this too complicated. I want a perm, cut, and color. Now if you can’t do it, then sit my ass in a chair of someone who can hook a bitch up.” She’d requested blonde hair for a reason.

  “Consider it done.”

  Max sat back and let the girl get to work on her new look. Tina was adept with a pair of scissors and a comb, cutting Max’s hair shorter, but stylishly, and coating her hairline, ears, and neck with a conditioner before applying the dye to her hair.

  Several hours later, Max was pleased with what she saw in the mirror. The beautician had taken several years off her age with her blonde, layered hair. She looked amazing. It was a miracle how an elegant hairstyle could change a person. The treatment to her hair was costly, but it was worth it.

  “So how do you like it?”

  “I love it,” Max exclaimed.

  Tina smiled. “I knew you would.”

  Sheena departed her backroom office just in time to catch a look at Max’s hair, and her face lit up. “Girl, you look amazing! I told you, my girls don’t play when it comes to doin’ hair. We the bomb up in Brooklyn. Now you can go out there an’ get you that baller. They gonna be all over you, girl.”

  Max now felt like Maxine
again. She stared at her new hairdo in awe. “Thank you,” she said generously. She left Tina a very generous tip and walked out of the salon feeling and looking like a different woman.

  Max had plenty of money to do whatever she wanted. Her first instinct told her to deposit the cash into a bank account. But she thought against it. It would be too much paperwork, and she didn’t need any problems with the I.R.S. They would want to know where such a large amount of cash came from, especially since she had just been released from prison. Then there was her parole officer—he was an asshole and an issue. So she decided to keep the money either on her or hidden somewhere in her mother’s home.

  Trolling through Brooklyn, Max came across a travel agency, and it dawned on her that she could send her mother away on a nice, relaxing trip. The woman deserved it after everything she’d been through.

  At the travel agency, Max had a lengthy conversation with the female agent. She wanted her mother to travel in style. She decided on a month-long cruise around the Mediterranean Sea, making several stops in Greece, Egypt, Spain, France, and Italy. Max purchased two tickets, so her mother could take a friend with her, probably Ms. Shirley. The two had been friends for over thirty-five years. Ms. Shirley was also a widow. Her husband had died from stomach cancer five years before Max’s father died. The total expense for the trip, including two airline tickets and transfers, was nearly fifteen thousand dollars.

  With a new hairdo, next up was a manicure and pedicure. Having the Koreans take care of her nails and feet was a welcoming feeling. Max got to sit back and relax in the leather massage recliner. She soaked her feet in the warm water and then received a French manicure.

  With her hair done and nails and toes done, Max felt pretty again. She had one more thing to do before her transformation was complete, and that was to go shopping. She needed new clothes and shoes.

  The cab ride to Kings Plaza mall on Flatbush Avenue was quick. She paid the fare, entered the mall, and walked around. To be inside a mall again felt like being in paradise. The stores and the choices she had were irresistible. For twenty years, she wore the same bland prison garb. Now she finally had a chance again to bring out her character.