by Ashley
Carter heard the sliding partition of his cell open and as he sat up out of the twin sized bed, he watched as a manila envelope was dropped inside. He stood and met the eyes of the C.O. who had acted as delivery boy. He gave him a nod, but said nothing as he walked over to retrieve the package. He bent over and scooped it from the floor but when he stood the C.O. was gone. It didn’t matter however, Carter had already committed his face to memory. He was someone that Carter could use to communicate with the outside. Should the need ever arise, he now had a dirty officer that could do his bidding . . . for the right price of course. He opened the envelope and frowned when he pulled out a folded up newspaper. There was a lipstick print right next to the title.
THE MIAMI HERALD
He read the headline.
Prosecuting Attorney, Daniel Broome found dead.
“That murder mama shit is sexy than a mu’fucka,” he muttered with a chuckle as he shook his head in disbelief. A sexy grin crossed his face as he rubbed the stubble of a beard that had begun to grow. “She wild.”
He knew that Miamor was somehow behind the hit. She was more reliable than any hired hand and more gangster than the goons that made up the Cartel. She was his lady and although he knew that she could hold him down, it bothered him that she was still taking risks on his behalf. They had a son. She wasn’t supposed to still be pulling triggers. He had failed her, but he promised himself that once he got out he would never disappoint her again.
Being locked up made him feel like he was weak and it made his family touchable. It wasn’t the shackles that bothered him . . . it was the fact that he was so far away from everyone he loved. He couldn’t protect his family if he weren’t around. I can’t even send a kite to my niggas to let them know how to move because I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere, he thought. The Feds had hidden him away in the mountains of Colorado and to make matter worse they had separated them. Zyir was in upstate New York . . . Monroe was tucked away in California. They had divided them in an attempt to conquer them. Without one another to rely on, the five-year stretches would feel like forever. Each day would be a hard one lived. Carter Jones was considered the leader, head of the criminal syndicate, The Cartel. Therefore he was shipped to a maximum-security facility. He was locked down for Twenty-three hours of the day. He only showered twice a week and the measly hour that he was allowed to leave his cell was spent under extreme scrutiny. This type of time would drive a man mad. He knew the intention of the judge and he was determined not to fold under pressure. His mother had always told him that when life got too heavy for him to hand his problems over to the Lord. It was something she had said repeatedly when he was a young boy and he never truly understood what she meant until now. This jail shit was for the birds and if he didn’t get his mind right he would never survive. He worked out his guilt by getting familiar with God. Praying for a resolution to the things that ailed him . . . the biggest thing being that he was missing out on baby Carter’s life. He was a father to a black son and because of some bullshit case he was forced to be absent. He was missing everything and it pained him deeply to know that he had left the love of his life to raise his seed by herself. What kind of man does that to his wife? To his son? Behind steel and concrete Carter now realized that none of the millions he had touched had been worth his freedom. He had always thought he would die in the streets before he would ever let a pig take him to jail, but having a child had changed that for him. He couldn’t blaze out with the Feds because he had a son to look after, but what good was he to anyone now. Caged like a rabid animal, Carter’s head was all over the place. He wasn’t young anymore. He was pushing thirty. He had done all of the things that he had set out to do in the game. He had reigned over the streets of Miami. His name rang bells and put fear in the hearts of many. It was over for all of that. He no longer needed the street life because when it was all said and done the streets didn’t love him back. He made a vow to himself that when he emerged from behind the wall, he would go legit. He would take Baraka up on his offer and relocate to Las Vegas. In fact, he would put the plays in motion beforehand. There was nothing left in Miami for his family but bad memories. It was time for Miamor to pack up their estate and make the trip west. Las Vegas was much closer to Colorado than Miami anyway. It would make the trek to visit him more convenient. It was time to reorganize his entire empire from the ground floor up.
* * *
Books. That’s what got Zyir through his days. He buried his head in all of them. From the bible, to philosophy, to the street classics, it all fed his brain. He needed the words to take him on a mental vacation because his physical body was trapped behind the wall. If he stopped reading long enough his captivity haunted him. The only time he ever put the books down was when he was sleeping and even that he did with one eye open. Being shipped off solo to upstate New York, he was up for a challenge. He was locked up with a bunch of Tony Montana types. Every inmate in the joint walked around like they had something to prove. He wasn’t even six months in and he had already been tested. These five years would pass by slowly because he didn’t have the privilege of flying under the radar. His reputation had beat him there. Everyone knew he was affiliated with the infamous Cartel and they either wanted to be down or to challenge him.
The stretch ahead of him was daunting but he was no fool. He would eat the five because he knew that he was supposed to be serving life. He was no saint. The crimes that he had committed during his reign on the streets should have gotten him buried under the jail. His hood resume was official and he secretly missed the action of the everyday grind. He was like a caged bird and he knew that until he was free he wouldn’t be able to rest easy. He would have to get used to the anxiety that now weighed him down. He only hoped that he survived his time. Prison life was unpredictable. No one knew what the next day held. Five years could easily turn to ten, even twenty if he made the wrong move. He would have to be careful how he handled niggas inside. A man serving life had nothing to lose and hated to see a young nigga like Zyir eventually go free.
“Rich stand up.”
The unexpected visit from the C.O. caused him to stand.
“You’ve got a visitor,” he said.
Zyir frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but he didn’t mind taking a walk. The air in the visiting room was easier to breathe than the musty, muggy, stinking atmosphere where the cellblocks were located. He turned around and placed his hands behind his back, then backpedaled so that he could stick his wrists through the slot on his door. Every time the metal cuffs bound his hands he cringed. This was slavery. He was in bondage and it hurt his pride as he grit his teeth.
“That’s a little tight bro,” Zyir stated with impatience as he shot a warning look over his shoulder. The C.O. didn’t respond but he loosened the cuffs slightly. He opened the door and Zyir stepped out.
As they walked him through the cellblock the inmates peeked out of their holes, trying to get a glimpse of him. Some looked at him with hate in their eyes, others with respect, but either way they all looked. He made eye contact with no one.
When he saw her face his cold heart melted. Her smile always warmed him.
“I didn’t think you would come,” he said as he leaned into her, kissing her neck and inhaling deeply as the smell of her perfume intoxicated him. She was his Breeze. Only she had the power to blow the negative thoughts out of his mind and brighten his day without effort. All it took was her presence.
“Of course I came,” she replied. “You’re my world Zyir.”
Breeze was effortlessly beautiful and the faded skinny jeans she wore and crop top fit her body like a second skin. The other inmates in the visiting room couldn’t keep their eyes from straying from their own guests. They were too busy ogling over his wife. She was like a piece of meat and Zyir’s temper flared as he asked the inmate next to him, “Fuck you looking at my nigga?”
Breeze noticed Zyir’s aggression. He was wound tightly and wore his stress all over his face. She reached a
cross the table, gripped his chin and turned his face back to her. “Hey, look at me Zy. Just focus on me. Forget what they’re looking at. It’s me and you. An hour is hardly long enough so lets make every single minute count. Okay?”
Zyir nodded as he rested his face in her palm, becoming emotional. Tears accumulated in his eyes but his pride would let none fall. “I hate being away from you B. I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry for leaving you.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay. It’s hard but I’m fine. We will be fine and I’ll be here every visiting day. I’m thinking of getting a place in New York until you’re free.”
There was nothing he would have enjoyed more than to see her face twice a week, but he wouldn’t burden her with that expectation. “Nah B, don’t do that. You stay with the family. You, Leena, Miamor. It’s important that y’all stay together. Wherever they go, you go. That’s the only way I know you’ll be safe. I don’t want you to come here again B. These niggas eye fucking you and shit. I’ll catch beef over you ma and you deserve better than to have these bitch ass C.O.’s feeling you up every time you visit.”
“I’m coming Zyir,” she protested adamantly.
“Promise me you won’t Breeze. You’re my wife. You have to trust me. I want you to live. Don’t fuck with no nigga because I swear to God when I get out I will put him in the dirt, but don’t become a jailbird running up here to see me all the time. That’s not who you are. Write me letters. Send me pictures, but my queen won’t grace these walls again. Stay on your throne. You’re too good for this,” he said.
A tear rolled down her cheek and he brushed it away. “I love you.”
“I love you more Zy,” she responded.
Zyir spent the next hour enjoying the melody of her voice and drawing a mental picture in his mind because it would be years before he saw her again. He touched her, stroking her hand, her face, inhaling her scent. He didn’t want to forget one detail. In five years she would be different. It was a long time to be away from someone, there was no way that either of them would be the same and he secretly feared what that change would mean for their relationship. He loved her, like no one he had ever loved before and he hoped that this bid didn’t destroy the bond that they shared.
* * *
Monroe was a part of the black La Cosa Nostra, it was a known fact. Even behind bars he was royal. There was no such thing as being low-key for Monroe. His face was known worldwide and because he was the surviving son of Carter Diamond and the blood born heir to Emilio Estes, his story was not easily concealed. He wasn’t like Carter. He couldn’t hide behind an illegitimate name. No one knew about Carter Jones except for those that needed to know. Everyone knew about the infamous twin sons of Taryn and Carter. Mecca was no longer here. Monroe was the last official son standing. He was a Diamond. He was Monroe Diamond. As soon as he was taken into custody, the media went mad. The New York Times, USA Today, Miami Herald, and all the bloggers covered his story. He was a modern day mobster and when Time Magazine plastered him on the cover he became famous. His name suddenly became a synonym for ‘gangster’. The hottest rappers dropped his name in lyrics, his mug shot was printed on a popular t-shirt line. He became ingrained in pop culture but he never confirmed anything. He kept his mouth closed and ignored the speculation. He wasn’t a fool. The Feds were just waiting for him to get cocky and confirm some of the illegal activities that had made him so popular. They would slap a case on him faster than he could bat an eye. Monroe Diamond would never be able to outrun his past because it had now been noted in the history books. It was a gift and a curse. The streets would forever mention his name but when he finally got out of prison he would never be anything but a drug dealer to everyone he met going forward. His future was already ruined. He was and would forever be a kingpin. On top of that he was a king pin that stood tall. He hadn’t snitched, he hadn’t turned state’s evidence to get himself off of the hook. He lived by principle and he never did anything that he couldn’t stand behind. He had sold dope on the streets of M.I.A. He had murdered on the streets of M.I.A. If that was his legacy, so be it. He had done it so there was no point in being ashamed now. His father had always taught him to stand behind his decisions. It didn’t mean that he didn’t have regrets because his head was filled with many, but he was man enough to live with the destruction that he had caused. Diamonds didn’t fold. So these five years he would eat like chocolate cake.
As a result of his newfound fame, the inmates around him showed nothing but respect whenever he graced them with his presence. Prison life for Monroe was far different than what Carter and Zyir were experiencing. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. The locks and chains were merely a façade. Even the prison guards wanted to keep him happy in hopes that when he got out, he would remember the favors they bestowed. He was like a king inside. Being locked down only intensified his network. The Feds were better off letting him be, because when you put him with other wolves he ended up leading the pack. The relationships he was building behind the wall would only strengthen his muscle when he was finally released. At first his reach was slightly limited to Miami but he was locked up with criminals who had run their own enterprises, shaken down their own cities, murdered under their own circumstances. Once Monroe recruited and took them under his wing the Cartel would emerge better than ever. The Feds had tried to stop him but they had only helped to decorate his crown because he was picking up some valuable jewels while being locked away. It was only a matter of time before he put them to use.
Let the five-year bid begin.
Chapter 17
“Our reactions depend on your actions.”
—Breeze
Year One
“We’re moving to Las Vegas,” Miamor said to the ladies as they moved around the kitchen, preparing Sunday dinner. It was a tradition that they had started as soon as the men went inside. It had only been a few months but Miamor knew that it was of utmost importance that they remain strong . . . united. When Miamor got the go ahead from Carter to transition out of Miami she knew that it would be a hard move. She was reluctant to leave all that they had built but she trusted Carter. If he said it, than it was law. Las Vegas it was. It was up to her to get all the pieces put in place. Upon release, Carter and the men would be convicted felons which would automatically black ball them from the Nevada market. Anything they owned would be put in the names of their women.
“Las Vegas?” Leena asked. “No offense but I’m not moving across the country to jump into the pit of another fire. We know these streets. Why would we go somewhere else where The Cartel name has no clout?”
“In business you don’t need clout, just money. When we move we’ll be clean. Carter wants to open a casino,” she informed.
“A casino?” Breeze questioned.
Miamor nodded. She was just as unsure as them, but it didn’t show. She knew that if her skirt showed than they would worry. She had to appear as if she had it all under control. She didn’t, but they didn’t need to know that.
“What do we know about the casino business?” Breeze asked.
“Not much, but we have friends who know it well. Baraka from Saudi Arabia will invest. I have a meeting with him this evening. While I’m setting up shop, Breeze you need to liquidate our assets here in Miami. Sell it all. The realty company, this house, your houses.”
“I’m not selling my house,” Breeze said. “And I’m definitely not selling my parent’s old home. This is where I grew up. This is where the next generation of our family should grow up.”
“Where you grow up isn’t usually where you grow old Breeze. There’s too much history here. Miami won’t give you a chance to grey. This city would rather see you dead. Keep the old Diamond estate if you like, but sell the others. This transition will be hard but I have a feeling that it will be worth it. Leena we’ll need somewhere to stay when we get to Vegas. Think you can handle that?” she asked.
Leena nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get on it right away.”
Miamor approached her next subject tactfully. “There is someone else I need to bring in on this.” She paused because she knew that conflict was to come. “I need Aries.”
“No,” Breeze replied without hesitation.
“Miamor!” Leena protested.
“Look without Aries, neither of you would have ever seen your husbands again. She helped bring them home. I can’t run The Cartel without some bite behind my bark and I don’t see the two of you putting in that kind of work. We need people like Aries to do our dirty work. She’s loyal and I trust her,” Miamor said, arguing passionately on her behalf. Breeze shook her head and rolled her eyes in disbelief.
“Breeze just give her a chance. Talk to her. One time. If you don’t like it than I’ll leave it alone, but remember that there are a lot of niggas in line for the thrones. With the three of us sitting on top this empire, we have to prove that we are not to be fucked with. If not, there is only a matter of time before niggas begin to test us. If everyone does their part we will be out of this city by the month’s end and will have some loyal soldiers following us. Just let Aries do what she does best.”
“Murder?” Breeze shot back sarcastically.
“She’s protection Breeze and she’s loyal. If she is on your side she is on your side. You don’t have anything to worry about. The days of Ma’tee and that beef are long over,” Miamor tried to convince.
“I’ll meet with her, but I’m not making any promises,” Breeze shot back.
“That’s all I can ask,” Miamor said. “Now which auntie is watching baby Carter while I take this meeting?”
“That’s nothing,” Leena said with a flip of the hand. “You know I got you.”
“Pack a few days worth of clothes,” Miamor instructed.
Leena frowned in confusion.
“The meeting is in Saudi Arabia.”