No Honor Amongst Thieves

by Brick

  “You ready to talk?” I asked, stepping back.

  Nigga said nothing, and I shrugged.

  As he watched me, I put on gloves and pulled out my burner. Several calls to my inside people in the police kept them at bay long enough for me to do what I had to do. After that, I called Sabrina.

  Several rings hit, and I got nothing. I called again, then finally heard her beautiful voice. “Oh God, Marcel, I’ve been calling you. Where are you?”

  “Baby, baby, listen to me. It’s all good,” I calmly said with a warm smile. “I’m handling it right now. What I need to know is if you and Lyric are okay.”

  “You’re handling it? How did you know? Where were you?” she screamed out as if her internal dam had broken.

  The fear and anger in her voice worried me, and I vowed that I was going to move us to a safer place so this would not happen again. “I was in traffic when I got the alert. I came straight home and handled it. Our baby girl okay? Are you okay?”

  “No, we’re not okay. They tried to kill us! Lyric hurt her head. She’s okay but has a scratch on her forehead. Are you okay?” she asked, her voice wavering.

  “I’m home and finishing some things. Keep that cell near you. I’ll be coming for you, a’ight?” I started.

  “But—”

  “Keep it near you. I love you, baby. I’ll call you back,” I said.

  Tossing the phone, I looked between both of my prey. “So, let’s get the party started.”

  Stepping between them both, I began my game of “Who.” I needed to know who sent them after me. Taking them both apart starting with their fingernails, then toenails, eyelids, and more, the information I got was enough to set me off. Washing my hands, I pulled on my gloves, then zipped the body bags closed. Apparently, Othello had finally reached his breaking point with me after all this time and sent these goons to come for my family. However, after learning about his character after all these years, it was unlikely that he was the one to do this.

  Othello might put his hands on his daughter, but he would not put them in harm’s way; besides, he had no idea I was a professional killer. I recalled the nigga with the scars speaking about how surprised he was that I was this good. That little thread tipped me off and led me to another idea of who it was.

  Leo.

  That little motherfucker must have finally lost his fucking mind and wanted to wipe me out. I chuckled low, then made another phone call.

  Listening to the rings, I heard it answer, and I asked one question, “È tempo?”

  Basically, I asked, “Is it time?” then waited.

  “Sì, è il momento. Come ho sempre detto, guardare le spalle. Avete il mio permesso. Contattatemi quando si è fatto,” the familiar, usually warm but now sad voice replied.

  The reply was, “Yes, it is time. As I always told you, watch your back. You have my permission. Contact me when you are done.”

  I stared at the bodies before me, then hung up. Since coming into Senior Giulio’s family, I knew Leo didn’t like me. Nigga always put on airs, always tried to make his father turn his back on me and treat me like shit, but for whatever reason, Senior Giulio never would listen to his son. It was later that I learned that I reminded him too much of his other son. Sometimes, I thought maybe that’s why Leo hated me so much behind his façade.

  Senior Giulio caught it, and it was later after I had Lyric that he called me to Italy and had me train with him one last time, as well as told me some truths. That truth was this: Leo had killed his older brother for power, power of Atlanta, and power of the family name. The years I spent under Senior Giulio’s tutelage was meant for a bigger gain—to kill Leo—so that the legacy could be given to me. I was shocked at it.

  Orphans understand the true meaning behind family, and that is honor, loyalty, and love. He was once an orphan and fell in love with his future wife in the same manner I did with Sabrina. He’d told me it was what let him know that I understood the true strength in love, and that was family. Leo didn’t care about any of that. He only cared about himself and what his father’s name and legacy could do for him. Because of that, I now had the approval to shift everything in motion.

  Kill those who bring harm to what’s mine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sabrina

  The safest place to be was in the basement of the bistro. There was actually another small bunker underneath the basement. Marcel had always told me to come here and lie low if ever things got crazy. And it was safe to say, shit had just gotten crazy.

  “Mommy, my head hurts,” Lyric whined.

  I ran a hand through my hair as I paced the cool, concrete floor. I’d left the house with no shoes, only the clothes on my back. My whole body ached. My head was throbbing. I sat next to Lyric on the small bed I had lain her on. There was a small gash on her head, but she would be okay. I took the white washcloth from the bowl of ice water and put it back on her head.

  “I know, baby. Lie back for me,” I urged her.

  She was still holding on to that doll. On the one hand, I was pissed that Marcel would put a gun in such close proximity to our child. On the other, I could kiss the man while cussing and kicking his ass. Our baby knew more than I did in the heat of the moment. That made me ashamed in a sense. I mean, I knew all he had taught me, and I knew it well. Still, the fact that my daughter knew how to effectively throw a tantrum, handle a gun well enough to put it in my hand, and how to trip whatever was in the chandelier that had been hanging above us made me feel inadequate.

  “I’m so proud of you, Lyric. You know that?” I told her as I covered her head.

  She smiled wide and nodded her head. “I did good, Mommy,” she bragged.

  “Yes, you did, baby.”

  “Is Daddy coming now? Will he be here with us?”

  I rubbed a hand in her hair. “He’s coming, baby. I’m sure of it.”

  The only thing I wasn’t sure of was what this meant for our family. Once I made sure Lyric was okay, I took the black duffle bag I’d grabbed as I ran through the closet. Inside were extra copies of all our personal papers.

  “Always keep extra copies of everything, including the marriage certificate,” Marcel had said to me a few weeks before Lyric was born. “When the baby is born, always, always, no matter what you do, keep more than one copy of the birth record, birth certificate, Social Security cards, and always keep cash on hand,” he added.

  “Why do we always need extra copies?” I asked.

  “We may have to run one day, Brina, and I want you and the baby always to be safe. I need you always to have what you need . . . just in case. Just like the packed bags in the car in the parking garage. We must always be ready to move at a moment’s notice,” he said while moving around our bedroom.

  What he’d said made a flock of butterflies flutter around in my stomach. Run? Where? Why? Was he trying to tell me something without actually saying it? He must have picked up on the look on my face.

  “In my life, it would be crazy of me to think that one day, my demons won’t come back to haunt me, Sabrina,” he said.

  He walked over to the bed, taking my hand. I stood, then looked up at him. I knew what he was talking about. I knew he had done some ruthless things. I think what made me love him more was that he didn’t try to find a way to make excuses for it.

  “Does that mean one day, we’ll have to leave this life behind?” I asked.

  Marcel cupped my face in his hands, then kissed my lips. “Yes, one day that may become our reality, but know as long as I’m breathing, no harm will come to you that I won’t rectify. I wasn’t playing when I said I’d kill anyone who caused you harm. I do mean anyone.”

  I closed my eyes at the feel of his lips on my forehead. Anytime he said those words, my mind always went back to the night my father hit me. There was no doubt in my mind that if it wasn’t for the fact that killing my father would hurt me, Marcel would have made good on his promise that night.

  That had been three years ago. I�
�d forgotten those words until tonight. I made sure all the bank cards and cash were accounted for. Guns, IDs, passports, keys to different cars in different locations, burner phones, Lyric’s extra inhalers, and few other essentials were all there. I looked over and realized Lyric was asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should have allowed her to sleep since that thug had thrown her headfirst into the wall, but I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. I’d check on her every hour to make sure she was okay.

  I stood too fast and almost fell back over. My head still didn’t feel right. I managed to stand anyway. Pulled my shirt over my head and looked at the cuts, scrapes, and bruises. I’d come a long way from that scared, timid woman Marcel had first encountered. I wasn’t some badass, kick-ass, gunslinging woman, but I was no longer afraid of my own shadow. The feeling of inadequateness subsided as my nerves started to settle. Maybe I wasn’t as inept as I thought tonight. Quiet as kept, I was proud of myself.

  I stepped out of the shorts and underwear I had on, then walked over to the small shower stall sitting off in the back corner of the bunker. When Marcel was having the bunker built, I thought he was a bit extreme in his defense mechanisms, but I would gladly eat my words now. I felt safe as no one knew it was here. The man who had built it came up missing soon after it was finished. The water and soap stung, but it felt good to get cleaned. I grabbed a pair of sweats from the trunk of clothes we had there. They smelled a bit stale, but a hint of Tide still lingered on them.

  I waited around for another hour before Marcel showed up. When I heard movements upstairs, I jumped up and grabbed a gun. I knew no one would find us unless that person was really looking but being that someone had just attacked us to get to my husband made me feel anything was possible. I stayed hidden in the shadows when the latch opened. Didn’t move until I knew for sure it was Marcel. He stepped down into the light, black book bag thrown over his shoulder.

  He told me he had handled the situation, so I instinctively looked him over trying to assess injuries.

  “Remember when I told you one day we may have to leave this life behind?”

  I nodded. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Marcel dropped the bag on his shoulder, then sat on the small bed beside Lyric. He pulled the covers back and looked her over, no doubt checking for more injuries.

  “That day may come sooner rather than later,” he said looking up at me. “Somebody put a hit out on me. Had to be someone with explicit knowledge of the double life I lead.”

  I placed the gun back in the safe-lockbox, then asked, “How-how do you know?”

  “One of the motherfuckers I had to kill informed me of it. Said your pops was behind it.”

  My eyes widened, and the bottom fell out of my stomach. “Daddy may be an asshole, but I can’t see him going this far, and why now? This doesn’t—”

  “Make sense?” he added, finishing my sentence. “I know, which is why I knew it was a lie.”

  He stood, then pulled his shirt over his head. He had patched up a wound on his abdomen. The square-shaped, thick, white gauze was red with his blood.

  I grabbed the first aid kit and walked over to him. “Let me look at you,” I said.

  He moved my hands away. “I’m fine.”

  He tried to move around me, but I grabbed his arm. “Marcel.” He stopped, took a deep breath, the looked at me. “Let me help you.”

  He frowned a bit. In his eyes, I could see a million things going on in his mind. But he took a seat on the other bed in the small space.

  “Lie back,” I urged gently.

  He did, reluctantly so. I pulled on the latex gloves from the kit, then removed the gauze. I gasped at the extent of the wound.

  “It’s just a cut, Brina,” he said. “Nothing major has been hit.”

  “Oh-okay. Still, let me clean it and redress it properly.”

  I was still a bit nervous. My husband had been sliced open, and my daughter was sporting a gash to her head. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or lash out in anger at the audacity of the men who had attacked us. I cleaned Marcel’s wounds, then stitched him up. Anytime he winced or hissed, I felt as if it was me who had his injury. Once done, I redressed the wound, then walked over to the sink to take the gloves off and wash my hands. I turned back around to find him sitting up, head down, hands clasped together between his thighs. His forehead was furrowed like he was in deep thought.

  “Who’s trying to kill you, baby?” I wanted to know.

  His eyes slowly met mine. “Leo.”

  I shook my head, then started pacing the floor again. While I didn’t believe my father would have anything to do with trying to have my husband killed, I could believe Leo would. Over the years, Marcel’s and Leo’s faux friendship had become increasingly hostile. I walked in once on Leo telling Marcel that he had gotten beside himself and forgot his role in life. I hadn’t paid much attention then as Marcel didn’t like when I got into his business on that side of things. I didn’t mention that I’d overheard that conversation either.

  Still, something seemed all too obvious behind the whole thing.

  “Wouldn’t Leo be the obvious, baby?” I asked him. “I mean, first, they told you my father was behind it and assumed you would believe it. But you say Leo is behind it which would also be obvious. I mean, would he be that stupid to send men after you, then have them tell you my father did it only so you could figure out that it was really him? Doesn’t that strike you as odd and desperate, even for Leo? I mean, he has done some cruel and desperate things to win that mayoral seat, but he’s a smart man, no? He’s cunning and crafty. He wouldn’t come at you so haphazardly.”

  I watched the way Marcel’s shoulders expanded as he breathed slowly. “Been thinking about that too. It’s all too convenient. I do know that this is about more than me as well. I knew us marrying would ruffle some feathers. I’m surprised it took this long for someone to try to come after me, and I’m sure you will be who they target next. But, as always when it comes to black families, they tried to take me out first to make it easier to get to you.”

  “Me?” I asked, eyes widened. “Why me?”

  “Baby, four years ago you sat at a table in the bistro with six of the crime world’s most notorious lords. They handed you confidential files on the financials of their operations so you could help make it look legitimate. I’ve done work for those men, and while they would never disclose my identity to the world, us being married presents a problem for them. Between us, we have enough information to take whole enterprises down.”

  I let out the breath I had been holding. A whole new type of fear crept up my spine, and I looked over at our daughter resting peacefully.

  “Oh dear God,” I muttered.

  A mixture of hot and cool sensations made me shiver at the thought. My breaths became shallow. I had been so worried about him being killed that the thought of them coming after me never crossed my mind. I felt so stupid that I hadn’t thought of what Marcel had told me.

  “Yeah,” he replied, then stood. “This is about more than me. This is about us and how we could crumble an entire criminal enterprise. We have too much power, and because of that, we have targets on our backs.”

  Tears burned my eyelids at the thought of Lyric being here all alone if we got ourselves killed. A weight pressed on my chest as my stomach knotted in fear. I couldn’t leave my baby here alone. Panic resided in me, but I didn’t want to alarm Marcel or worry him with it. Clearly by the way he moved like a heavy anchor had been attached to him, he had enough on his plate.

  For as long as we had been together, it had never crossed my mind that my work for the crime bosses would come back to haunt me. It had been years, and I’d never opened my mouth. Had never said a word about what I knew. Some of their financials were hooked to some pretty heavy political players in the U.S. government. I’d gone in and made it all legitimate on paper. I had to go in and structure bank deposits, so they didn’t look suspicious. And since each man sitting at that table did indeed
own legitimate business, I had to make sure the deposits made sense. During the weekdays, there was no way one Laundromat should be depositing over ten thousand dollars a day.

  Then I had to look into financial institutions elsewhere, like in Panama and the Bahamas as they were very accommodating to criminals looking to legitimize their cash. They were unrestricted with regards to banking laws and anti-laundering procedures. I decided against the Cayman Islands since they were the typical go-to for criminals. Also, China and Pakistan had a history of well-established underground banks that helped in that as well.

  I also made the shell companies seem more profitable than they were. There were also the legitimate companies like the bars and strip clubs, the casinos and all other avenues of legitimate cash I had a hand in stabilizing. More often than not, it wasn’t the drug dealing or extortion that got these kinds of criminals caught. It was their attempt to hide all the money. And I knew where all their money was. Common sense should have told me they would come after me sooner or later. I never once thought about how my dealings would affect our daughter, and for that, I wanted to bang my head against a wall.

  I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. Anxiety hit me like a head-on collision.

  “The next forty-eight hours are critical, mama. We have to decide whether we stay and fight or do we leave the life we know behind and start anew somewhere else,” Marcel said.

  I knew he was serious by the tone in his voice.

  “And those are the only options we have?” I asked just to be certain.

  He cast a gaze at our daughter. “If it were just us, I’d say we stick around, but she makes all the difference in this. It’s no longer about us. We have to do what’s best for her; everything else is moot.”

  “So, once we leave, if we decide to leave, then what? What about my mom and my sisters?”

  Marcel ran a hand over the waves in his head. He reached into his pocket and held a phone out to me.