Mafia Princess

by King, Deja

  Quasim

  By the end of the letter, Semaj was all smiles and couldn’t believe it. Black cards and shit. This nigga on some ‘ol bossing me up shit. She couldn’t stop the cheesing as she ate her food and dressed for a day of shopping.

  From the moment the driver pulled through the opulent open-air shopping mall, Semaj went into shopaholic mode. From one designer store to the next, she purchased items whether it was something as simple as a key chain from Juicy to an alligator Prada bag, Semaj made sure to visit each store. Not trying to overdo it, sometimes she didn’t purchase a single item. She just loved the fact that she was privileged enough to have whatever she liked.

  Her phone began vibrating as she was departing one of the stores, but she had so many shopping bags that she had to wait to call the person back. When She got to the limo, the driver took all her bags so she was able to retrieve her phone and returned Paris’ call.

  “Damn, bitch, what the fucks good?” Paris exclaimed.

  “Hey, girlie. Yeah, I been crazy busy. Just finished wrapping up the film. But what‘s up, I miss you!”

  “Yeah right. Quasim done took my friend away from me.” “Girl, bye. I was barely seeing him during my shooting. Hell, I barely got any sleep,” Semaj admitted.

  “Yeah…yeah…anyways. What‘s up with you today? You hang- ing with your girl?”

  “Yeah, we can hang, but shopping is so out of the plans. I just tore down this mall. I mean, I have never shopped so good in all of my life,” she said excitedly.

  “Okay, are we bragging a bit?” Paris asked sounding irritated with her boasting.

  “Nah, it ain’t never like that. I’m just excited because I thought I

  used to do damage up and down Madison.”

  “Girl, stop it already. This movie shit ain’t even out and it has gone to your head already,” she joked but was serious.

  “I think I sense alotta hate. What’s really good?”

  “No! What’s really ‘hood with you? Humph! I hope you don’t let this Hollywood shit get to your head and you forget where you come from.”

  “Not never! I’ma do Maj, regardless. Rich or poor, famous or infamous in the ‘hood. You know me, baby. I ain’t never changed and it won’t start ‘cause my bank account changing. Feel me?”

  “Just hope your word is bond,” she laughed it off.

  “Shut up, P. But what‘s up, though? You trying to relax with your girl so we can play catch up? I’m in desperate need for a spa treatment,” she sighed in exhaustion. “Say relaxation.”

  “You? Me too. Which one you wanna hit up?” “Lavish Perfection. It’s on me.”

  “It oughta be. You a rich bitch now.”

  It was around noon when Quasim entered his semi-empty club. He glanced up at his office at the fourth level and noticed his man’s standing at the glass front. He made his way up the back wraparound chrome stairs and walked into his office. He slapped hands with Mike- Mike and Slim, and took his place in the white, oversized, executive, leather chair. These was the two underbosses in his profitable street operation. The brothers were the enforcers, his muscle. They were the reason Quasim stayed so low and didn’t have to get his hands dirty in no form. Ruthless was an understatement for them.

  Slim grabbed the seven Hefty trash bags from the corner of the room and the trio began counting the week’s take. Most hustlers allowed women to count their money, but Quasim didn’t trust women and completed the task with his right hand men only. What appeared to be profits from his nightclub was in actuality drug money. He was smart, though, and opened up several front businesses with his dirty money. Quasim dabbled in as many legitimate businesses as possible; the nightclub was one of many.

  “Yo, so what you gon’ do about, this Jerz nigga, fam? Nigga talkin’ real, greasy. Word in the ‘hood he got a contract on your head, son. Pride is getting to that nigga head,” Mike-Mike stated, placing the stack of bills inside the money machine.

  “Pussy-nigga mad you ain’t cutting him in on this potency dope no more,” Slim added.

  Quasim glanced up but didn’t reply immediately because he hadn’t felt the need to be offended by the threat of the next man. “Niggas like that is my sons, B. I teach ‘em how to do this shit nigga. Y’all know I always stay ahead of niggas. So I know he pissed and he might be coming, but when have you known me to be worried about the next nigga? I ain’t let the best nigga strong-arm me, and it won’t start now because a lot of these clowns try’na play mob.” He paused to wrap the money into bundles. He finally continued. “Beef is always a distraction and brings too much heat. I ain’t gon’ let a nigga get in the way of me and my paper.”

  “I already know, fam. But I can get it poppin’. I got one of my Jerz soldier’s that’s cool with a loudmouth nigga in dude’s circle. All you gotta do is say the word and its lights out. It can be done within the next couple days,” Slim said matter-of-factly.

  “What you want me to do, Qua?” Mike-Mike asked. He stayed ready for street war, and that’s why he was Quasim’s shooter.

  “Fall back. We’ll handle it when it presents itself.” His goons obliged because they knew once Quasim gave the green light on that gunplay, there was no red stop signs available.

  As Semaj stood in the mirror, she applied a nude blusher to her cheeks and replaced that bristle brush with an eye cosmetic tool. Applying the bronze shadow onto her eyelids, she dolled herself up. The smoke alarm interrupted her primping and she realized she’d forgotten all about the turkey wings that she had simmering in the oven. She hadn’t even smelled the food burning until she ran downstairs to the kitchen.

  Mesh had emerged from the sliding door simultaneously. Swiftly moving toward the oven, Semaj opened it up as masses of smolder surged out of the range. “Fuck!” she yelled out in frustration. She was pissed at the fact that this was her chance to prove herself, and she ruined it. She already wasn’t an expert at cooking, and deciding to prepare something simple, she figured it’d work in her favor. Having no clue when Quasim would be walking through that front door, she looked at Mesh with worry in her eyes. “What should I do?” Semaj had wanted this night to be so perfect, something like the previous night with more of a romantic mood, but from the look of things it wasn’t happening tonight.

  “Would you like for me to whip up something tasteful and quick?” she asked in an attempt to be of assistance. “It could be our little secret.”

  Shaking her head, Semaj replied. “We both know he knows your cooking, and I don’t wanna chance it,” Semaj said dismissively.

  “Order something out and I can pick it up for you quickly.” Mesh wanted to help her. She’d been Quasim’s head maid for so long, and had never heard him speak so fondly of a woman like he did of Semaj.

  “What’s a place that he never orders from, but he’d enjoy?” Semaj asked.

  Mesh smiled widely as she opened the cabinet drawer for the yellow pages. “I have the perfect place.”

  “Thank you so much, Mesh,” Semaj said, relieved. However, she did feel like she was cheating and thought, I’ll do anything for this man and if that mean tell white lies to keep him happy and smitten, sho’ nuff will, she smiled at the thought of the good man she’d stumbled across. Semaj watched as Mesh thumbed through the phonebook. After a list of restaurants, she put in her order and Mesh was out the door to pick up the food.

  After clearing the kitchen out, Semaj headed back up the stairs to prepare for their intimate night after the dinner. Pulling off her robe, she dressed in a chocolate brown La Perla negligee with gold detail. The expensive fabric looked good against her sun kissed brown skin.

  Darting down the stairs, she retrieved the prepared bucket of fruit and wine that she’d grabbed from the storage wine cellar. She figured they’d have dessert in the bedroom. Strategically placing apricot-scented candles around the bedroom, Semaj set the fruit basket in the center of the bed. She left a trail of rose petals from the room door to the bed and sipped from the bottle of wine. If he
don’t drink, he gon’ drink with his shorty tonight, Semaj thought as a naughty grin crossed her face and she checked herself one last time in the mirror. Her reflection gazed back at her as she admiringly stared at her glowing face, and fixed her hair into soft curls.

  “I’m back!” she heard Mesh call out from downstairs. Looking down from the hallway balcony, she noticed Mesh with a brown paper bag in hand. “Would you like me to set this up for you Ms. Richardson?” she asked as she looked up at her.

  “You’ve done enough, Mesh. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for this,” Semaj said appreciatively. She took the bag from Mesh and went into the kitchen as the doorbell rang. “Can you answer that, Mesh,” she called out as she prepared to remove the food from the plastic container and onto two serving dishes. I hope that ain’t Qua. She hurried and disposed the evidence.

  “BOOM!”

  At that moment, Semaj dropped the dish onto the floor as the first thing that popped in her mind was the word “intruders”. As if her legs had given up on her, she stood paralyzed in fear. Her brain begged the muscles in her legs to move but her frozen terror prevailed. This was the end and she knew it. Once the masked gunman entered the kitchen, tears gushed from her eyes. She was unable to hum a sound. With the gun pointing at her, Semaj’s survival instincts finally kicked in and she took a leap for the back stairs that led to the panic room.

  In mid-stride, she heard a voice call out her name. “Semaj!” She recognized the voice. Totally shocked, she spun around on her heels and felt that she had to be bugging the fuck out. But she knew she wasn’t. Just by the way her name had been called, she knew exactly who stood behind the black hoodie. Her mind was racing a million miles per second. Not green to the streets, she could pretty much place the puzzle pieces together before her father said a word.

  “Fuck are you doing here?” he yelled angrily and loosened the hoodie from around his head. His gun shifted from side to side just in case he would have to hit a moving object.

  “Put down the gun. It’s only me here,” she told him. “Question is what are you doing here?”

  The wheels in Murder Mitch’s mind were turning and immediately he knew he’d been paid to take out his own daughter and her boyfriend. “Maj, you telling me that I was paid to kill you!” he said in shock.

  “What?” she yelled out harshly. “Fuck you mean you was paid to kill me? Fuck would pay you to kill me? Daddy, tell me what’s going on here.” Her words came out in a panic and she could barely get them out clearly.

  “You remember that day you was going to the cabin and that dude stopped by my crib? Well, that was one of my old client’s people. He ordered a hit on your dude. You know I don’t ask too many questions, I just do my job. His people called when I was at the house and said he wanted me to get at his girl too.” He looked at his daughter attentively. “I had no idea that it was you and your man.” He began to pace back and forth in confusion. “This shit crazy as it fuckin’ gets.”

  “Daddy, he has to be warned there’s a hit out on him!”

  This could go either two ways: he could wait for his victim to come home and possibly lose his daughter forever, or not go through with the hit and possibly go to war with Block. Then there was the thing about having his daughter hit that had him make his choice immediately. “Definitely do that. But I gotta see why and who called for your head, Maj.”

  “I know,” Semaj said wondering as she tried calming her erratic heartbeat. “I have to tell Qua to come home so I can explain everything to him.”

  “Call that nigga,” Murder Mitch insisted and sat on the barstool. He massaged his temple with the tip of the gun.

  Semaj knew he was in deep thought because it was a habit of his to always rub his head when contemplating. “I’ll be right back, I’m finna change and call him,” She whispered and slowly walked off. What she stumbled into next bothered her heart. Mesh was sprawled out on the marble tile floor with one single gunshot wound to the head. It was a sad sight and it instantly brought tears to her eyes. She was the most innocent one and wound up getting killed on the job, she thought remorsefully as she stepped around the fresh corpse.

  Semaj slowly made it to the bedroom and picked up the phone to dial Quasim.

  “What‘s up baby? I’m on my way. You got that ready?” he asked smoothly.

  “Qua. Something very real just went down and I need you here. How far away are you?”

  “Like ten minutes. Why, what‘s up?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it over the phone. I’ll talk to you about it when you get here. But I’m cool and my Dad is here with me.”

  “Are you sure you’re cool?” he asked concerned.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I just want you to hurry up,” she said, completely shaken up but trying to maintain her composure while talking to Quasim.

  “Be there shortly,” he said and hung up.

  On her way back downstairs Semaj was passing by Quasim’s brother’s room and unlike yesterday the door was open. As if wanting to escape to a place of peace that only an innocent child’s room would have, she went inside and turned on the light switch. She flopped down on the bed and buried her face in her hands.

  Semaj was afraid and confused. Her mind was so cluttered she could not even think straight. What was Quasim gonna think of her once she had to confess to him her father’s profession? Would he still look at her the same? What would he do once he knew that a hit was out on him? Why was someone out for his head anyway? Hell, what would be the reason for a contract to be put out on her? What if it just so happened to not had been her father hired? Her mind was in a jumble of confusion and it would not stop thinking dire thoughts.

  Shaking her head at the unbelievable event, Semaj knew nothing worse could happen until she rose and met the portrait staring at her on the wall evilly. It was as if the air in her lungs had been knocked out, but instinctively she screamed piercingly. “Agh!” her heartbeat stopped and Semaj felt her knees cripple from the sight of Big Pat’s face. Her pulse was thumping so hard it felt like the beat was in the back of her throat. Her breathing shallow…her vision blurry…the spinning room made her dizzy and the white walls seemed as if they were closing in on her. She became hot and drenched in sweat.

  She had no idea that she crossed the man that she’d fallen completely in love with. Quasim, the man that was heaven-sent was Big Pat’s son. He was the man she had witnessed her own father kill on her behalf. If not guilty for pulling the trigger, Semaj was an accessory to his father’s murder and guilty for capturing the heart of a good man. She was the reason for the empty space he held in his heart.

  Murder Mitch heard the fright in her voice and instantly began running full speed, barely hitting the three steps he was taking at a time. “What is wrong with you, Maj?” he bellowed, waving his .357 magnum frantically around the room.

  Semaj was slightly bent over as if something was bothering her stomach, but her eyes never averted from the photo on the wall. When Murder Mitch directed his attention to what she’d been staring at, he shook his head slowly as he studied the portrait. The picture was Quasim and Big Pat. Big Pat had his arm thrown around his son’s neck and the gesture was mutual. At the top in white fine cursive print it read: Death b4 Dishonor.

  Many people didn’t know about the magnitude of Quasim’s power in the streets and there was good reason. He had New York’s heroin trade on lock, but under the name Santana. Only a few people were aware of him being one in the same person. Quasim wasn’t the average kingpin; in fact, he was the opposite and moved through the streets more like an untouchable drug lord. He was a faceless name. It was virtually impossible to touch him. As many people had been in his presence, they were oblivious of being next to one of New York’s biggest dope kings.

  “Fuck outta here!” Murder Mitch mumbled not believing his eyes. He was aware that he’d killed Santana’s father because word spreads throughout the ‘hood grapevine quick. But never in a thousand lifetimes would he hav
e known that his baby girl was dating the infamous Santana…the unseen king of New York. The two men were one in the same. “This shit is unreal.” His eyes grew wide in disbelief.

  An overwhelming sick feeling overcame her and still in shock, Semaj was unable to make it to the toilet. In the middle of the room floor, she violently expelled the contents from her stomach.

  “We will talk about this later, Maj. Snap out of it okay?” he said encouragingly. “It’ll be alright.”

  “But we killed his father. ‘Cause of me, his dad is dead. The one he always talks about and would do anything to have back. Because of me, Daddy!” she cried hopelessly.

  At that exact moment, Quasim had entered the house and yelled, “Semaj!”

  “C’mon, Maj, you gon’ have to get straight baby girl. We’ll talk about this later.” He picked up his daughter’s shuddering body and descended the stairs.

  “Fuck happened to Mesh?” Quasim shouted in both confusion and fury. “Fuck wrong, Maj?”

  “Man! Some crazy shit went down and I’m sort of glad it went like this despite the death of your maid,” Murder Mitch said apologetically.

  “No disrespect, Mitch man. Fuck is going on, son!”

  “Semaj shaken up from this, so just follow me in the other room so I can explain.”

  Quasim followed him into the sunken living room, and watched as Murder Mitch carefully placed Semaj onto the couch. Quasim looked at her with a weak heart as her body trembled violently. He rushed to sit by her side. “You cool, baby?”

  Tears started gushing out even harder. Immobile to move her mouth, Semaj nodded her head as if afraid to speak. Her eyes indicated her horror and terror, and Quasim signaled for her to rise up. She obliged and fell right into his embrace. Her breathing became very deep. “What happened, Semaj?” he asked as he looked down at her. The agony on her face was one of pure heartbreak. “Talk to be, Maj!” he begged as he kissed her on the forehead. To see her fucked up inflicted an immeasurable amount of pain within his heart. “Mitch, what the fuck is good, big homie?”