He Who Is a Protector (Sadik Book 3)

by Love Belvin

  “We give yooooooooou,” the kitchen choir sang. Candy directed them to hold the note flapping her fingers. Then she pumped her fist in the air and simultaneously they belted. “Praaaaaaaa-aise!”

  I joined them in clapping my hands. Not only were their voices beautiful, but the loving and welcoming atmosphere was a direct effect of this comradery they practiced by way of song. Being in here with them several times a week was good for me. Calming and soul-soothing.

  The crowd resumed their duties of cleaning after another family meal, one Irene joined us for, for the first time since her return. Earl asked us to meet in the family room, and that would be happening soon. Sadik was on his way to make the family conference. If he could have come to dinner earlier, it would have felt like old times.

  Minus Iban, of course...

  I didn’t exactly miss him, but had been concerned about how no one brought him up but the girls. No one seemed to talk about Iban. That could have been because the family didn’t convene much lately, only for these dinners twice a week.

  As I dried the salad bowl I’d finished washing, I knew it was time. My eyes gazed over to David, who stood over the leftovers, wrapping them up. I glanced around to be sure no one was watching then sauntered over to him.

  “Hey, you,” I whispered teasingly.

  “Hey, BB!” His big bear of a body shouldered me, rendering a giggle from my belly.

  My eyes circled around again. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” His focus was on measuring and cutting saran wrap. “Then go off, sis.”

  I rolled my eyes at his silliness. “You still have that opportunity to observe the kitchen at DiFillippo’s, right?”

  “Yeah.” He hummed. “I hope. It was like a week ago when he made the offer.”

  That “him” was the master chef of the DiFillippo’s restaurant chain. The restaurants were all owned by one man but his executive chef, a world-renowned master, circulated the country, supervising each one, according to David last week. He shared with us how the guy created new dishes, changed the menu along with the owner, and tweaked older recipes. He was at an event a week ago in Jersey where David so happened to know a friend, who knew a friend that got him in. As luck would have it, David got face time with the Italian chef and was offered time to observe in his kitchen at the location in Hackensack. However, the men’s hours clashed. David worked here most days and evenings.

  “I can make that happen for you by taking over your duties all next week.” I waggled my brows.

  Finally, David’s ebony eyes were on me. I had his attention. “If I didn’t walk in on you molesting that husband of yours in the pool last week, I would think you’re crushing on me.” His face neared mine. “What are you up to, BB?”

  A silly smirk crested my face. Memories of me tonguing Sadik down while I stroked him inside his swimming trunks in the pool last week began to flood my mind. It was the day after I was asked to leave my gym and trainer. I was horribly blue about it and think he sensed it that day. Sadik invited me to go for an indoor swim with him that morning before he left for the day. What began as quiet laps around the L-shaped pool turned into me having Sadik accidentally bump into me. He apologized profusely for the painless collision, of course, concerned for the baby in my oven. And I took advantage of his remorseful state and seduced him. That’s when David walked in, looking for a place to nap in secret while his mousse settled.

  “I did look kinda hot, didn’t I?” I winked with the goofiest grin.

  “I think if we asked Sadik, he’d say smoking.”

  It was me bumping my shoulder into him this time before I left the kitchen for the family meeting.

  I’d arrived a few minutes earlier than the requested time to Elliswoods Palace. However, not in enough to see Sadik before the meeting my father called. In the halls, I greeted the passing staff while answering text messages. I made it into the family room and found my mother was the first there. With an easy smile, I stowed my phones away and addressed her.

  “Hey, baby?” she greeted with a soft murmur as I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, standing back inspecting her. “You look a hell of a lot better.”

  She cracked a wry smile, but it still soothed me as it always did when shown it. “A lot better. I’m not one hundred percent, but that retreat was necessary.” She squeezed my hand. “Thanks, baby.”

  My face folded. “For what?”

  “For recommending the place and for your patience with me.” This smile was warmer, filled with the admiration I was accustomed to receiving from her. “My one therapist told me if you do a good job at totally committing yourself to raising your children, when they become responsible adults and have to step in and help you, you shouldn’t be ashamed.”

  My chest tightened. “I hope you aren’t.”

  “I am, but I’m grateful, too.”

  “I’m grateful to have you back. I know the girls are, too.”

  Her eyes rolled away. “And Bilan…”

  “She’s tough…long-suffering. As long as you’re restored, she’ll forget about those few days when your back hit the wall. You’re a matriarch; I’m sure it’s not uncommon.”

  “I’m also an example. I feel so embarrassed.” She shook her head, eyes rolling close. “I couldn’t get up in the mornings some days, Sadik. I’ve experienced horrible post-partum depression with your brother, but this bout of darkness was worse than that.”

  “And you’re facing it,” I tried assuring her. “Fighting it every day.”

  She nodded. “But I’m not out of the woods yet.”

  “You’ll get there, queen.” My confidence was strong yet unfounded. I’d never seen my mother so disengaged in my life. She’d always been my superheroine, battling the obstacles of life for our family. Even when my father was incarcerated while awaiting his trial and sentencing and she was left with a newborn Iban, she did it with dignity and strength. Those were the words of my father. “You were built to carry this family.”

  There was a breath of silence before she murmured, “Tom and I are over.”

  I straightened to full height, though she didn’t release my hand. “Is it?” I posed as a statement rather than a question.

  She nodded again, and in that split second, her motherly air of confidence had dissipated, revealing an insecure girl. “Stacy told me what Bilan told them. She was right and, at the same time, Tom wasn’t wrong. Neither were the girls. I can only speak for Tom in saying he only acted according to the parameters I gave him. It’s something I learned in those intense therapy sessions on the retreat. Relationships in life are relatively about parameters. Parameters in friendships, marriage, with relatives, and even with your children. They’re key in defining who you are as a person and how you govern yourself while functioning within them.”

  I listened intently, trying to follow where she was going.

  “It all started when I enlarged your father’s parameters as my husband. When I allowed him to continue with his affairs, I opened the opportunity for dangerous relationships and people to enter our marriage, our lives, and our children’s lives. More people in the confines of that sacred place made for just two corrodes the marriage. Then I added more people; men for me, thinking I could survive the marriage if I could play the game using your father’s rules.”

  She shook her head. “It’s been years, but it hasn’t worked. Tom wasn’t a partner or a loved one to me on any significant level. He’s been a comfort against your father’s inability to commit fully and exclusively to me. But it’s never been about Tom. I’ve never demanded much from him other than his exclusive attention when he was with me. That’s it.” She shrugged. “I’m already married, what more do I need? A husband? That’s what I have, and that’s where I should place all of my eggs until we’re no longer married. So, just as I’ve been doing with my marriage, I’d done to Tom. I didn’t demand enough outside of what he did in my presence. Th
at’s only half a commitment. I didn’t require much more from him. But I do my husband.” She took a deep breath. “And that’s the next phase of my healing. That man,” she whispered, her forehead pointed ahead.

  My father was being wheeled into the room by a nurse I’d been seeing around the house. She rolled him straight to my mother, where he kissed her gently on the lips. That vision of the young, insecure girl was still there as her eyes closed with submission as he did. A small smile lifted on her face when she finally gazed him in the eyes.

  I was thrilled she’d come to this place of understanding and rich revelation in her life. I just wished it didn’t cost me upward of twenty grand for a two-week intense therapy retreat in the mountains. I could have told her the same shit. There was no way I’d send my wife up there. I’d have to figure out another route for her. She’d get her help without leaving my bed at night.

  Fuck that…

  My parents held in that position for a few seconds before his chair was situated next to the sofa my mother was sitting on. I moved away to give room.

  “Sir,” I greeted with a head bow.

  He returned the gesture, though in his usual aristocratic manner. “Good to see you, son.” However, his voice and delivery to me were humble.

  “It’s good to be seen,” was all I had in return.

  I backed away for the corresponding single sofa in the room, wondering where Bilan was. The start of the meeting time had passed. Taaliba promenaded into the room with Monica. They both greeted our parents with hugs and kisses, then me before taking their seats. Finally, my Nalib entered. She looked delectable in silk floral print, loose cropped pants, a matching blouse with gold strappy heels. Her tapered hair was freshly cut and curled. Her full lips a tan gloss, highlighting those freckles I worshipped.

  Bilan smiled at the room. She sauntered over to me first, her eyes narrowing as though pleased with what she saw. I stood and greedily took her at the sides of her face to kiss her soft lips.

  When I released her, Bilan’s lashes fluttered as she smiled. “Hey, Sadik,” she murmured.

  “Hey, baby.”

  She left me to greet my mother, then my father with hugs before returning to me. I gestured for her to sit on the cushioned arm of my sofa. She did with silent obedience then wrapped an arm around my shoulder. A satisfied breath left my lungs. Bilan was acclimating. She’d just left dinner with my parents, yet greeted them as though it was her first time seeing them today. Could she please me any less?

  I clutched her hand as we waited.

  My father cleared his throat and swiped the tip of his nose with his thumb. “Monica received a phone call from the rehab center. Iban’s ready to move up in his therapy.”

  “What does that mean?” Taaliba sat up on the sofa anxiously awaiting. Her thighs were spread wide as she lay her elbows on top of them. It struck me as such a tomboyish posture and reminded me of her occasional androgynous mannerisms.

  “It means, he’s finally been on the mend,” Monica explained, biting her lips. “His progress has been excelling since May.”

  “Praise God,” my mother mumbled with a fist clutched to her chest.

  “About damn time,” Taaliba sighed.

  “So that creates a dilemma,” my father continued. “They’re saying he don’t need the facility no more. He can come home and get his therapy a few days a week.”

  “Intensive rehabilitation is needed to help restore some of his functions and help him adapt to his permanent handicaps,” Monica emphasized as she peered over at me. “And we’re not talking just one type of therapy; it’s several he’ll need for possibly a few years. That’s how they say improvement for his level of injury is measured; by the year, not weeks or months. He’ll need round-the-clock care for months, at least.”

  “Damn.” Taaliba blew out a dramatic breath. “I’m surprised he survived shooting himself in the head.” I felt Bilan tense above me.

  “Believe it or not,” my father addressed her. “The doctors is calling the shot a superficial injury.” He used his hand as a gun to illustrate. “You see, what happened was the bullet only hit one hemisphere and only one lobe of the brain.”

  “The one neurosurgeon working with him said if you’re shot in the head, this is the way you want it to happen.” Monica scoffed bitterly, and I couldn’t begin to understand the complexities of her sentiment.

  “Okay.” Taaliba clapped her hands together, elbows still on her knees. “But he’s doing well. He’s going home. What’s the problem?”

  My father’s eyes swept from Taaliba to Monica, then to me, and finally above me to Bilan. “Location,” he croaked the word. “We discuss everything as a family. And because we had a lot of tragedies hit us this year, it’s even more important for us to move as a tight ass unit.”

  I readjusted my chin on my hand as I listened, sensing the bullshit coming.

  “Okay?” Taaliba’s hands swung out as she sat inclined over her knees.

  “Monica’s saying it’ll be too much on her to quarterback his homecare,” my father continued to explain. “She still got the liquor stores, the baby…the girls. She saying it won’t be ideal to send him home.”

  “She can’t take him home,” Bilan spoke up.

  “Yeah,” Taaliba added, rolling her eyes. “We’ve all been marshaled here.”

  My mother shifted in her seat. Her eyes squinted and worry was etched into every corner of her face.

  Slowly, my father’s head descended in a long nod. “That’s why we’re discussing this, baby. We wanna be sure everybody’s good with where he’ll be.”

  “He can come here, I guess,” Taaliba announced, nodding obliviously. “Hell, your family has a whole wing.” She reminded Monica.

  I felt my father’s eyes burning the side of my face. When I turned to face him, I was right. He was regarding me communicatively, expecting I’d respond in his favor.

  “I was hoping the sequestering would be over soon so the girls and I can resume our lives.” Monica mainly addressed my father and me. “It’s been quite stuffy here lately.”

  “Well,” Taaliba sat back and snorted. “You ain’t lie about that.”

  “We’re not telling Iban he cannot stay in his family home because of his nephew and me,” Bilan insisted. “At this point, he’s more vulnerable than my baby. If Sadik and I are so inclined, we can leave Elliswoods Palace and be just as fine.”

  My father shook his head. “There is no safer place for us than here. We have full armed security, twenty-four hours a day by men trained with my specifications. The staff here is carefully investigated and uniquely coached for invasions of any kind. Even that David you hired. You was a part of the hiring process, but not the interview and training. Just about every employee here has two skills. The one that we needed in our insulated community and one to protect it.” He shook his head, heated regard shooting into her. “My son got resources, but not like his daddy.”

  “He’s right, Bilan,” my mother chimed in, voice soft with compromise. “We have this place with top-notch security. You all are safe here. I don’t want to see any of you go.”

  “Stay and be bored out your mind like the rest of us,” Monica offered.

  “Another one claustrophobic in over thirty-thousand square feet,” Bilan mumbled imperceptibly over me.

  “Speak up, dear?” my father requested.

  “Didn’t catch that,” Monica made clear at the same time.

  Bilan didn’t respond right away. I glanced up at her, measuring that glib comment. She shrugged casually with her lip. I smiled with my eyes, impressed.

  “I said,” Bilan sighed. “I see we have another person complaining about being bored on this massive estate.”

  Monica’s mouth dropped. “What do you mean?”

  “I guess I’m tired of hearing people’s complaints about having to stay here. Is it your primary home? No. But let’s not act as though great moments and memories didn’t happen here. Taaliba, let’s not act as tho
ugh you didn’t grow up here. You get bored in one wing, try another. You want to venture out of this museum of a home, go bowling a mile down on the property. Monica, go have a muffin at the coffee shop on the estate. There’s enough room and resources for us not to bump into each other unless we want to.”

  Taaliba’s face fell and hand paused from pretending to push back her cuticles.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, sweethear—” Double E Bags stumbled over his words and his proud smile faded. “Bilan.”

  “It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” Monica explained. “It’s just been a rough time for all of us.” She pointed my and Bilan’s way. “Even for you and the baby. It’s been a tough adjustment period. I’m sure you want your normal routine back, Bilan.”

  “I do.” Bilan agreed, her palms flexing over my shoulders as she spoke. “I’m just not rushing a circumstance I have no control over. I’m choosing to trust Earl if he believes we need to stay here until he works out issues he has in the street.”

  “Bilan, I’ve been in this family for thirteen years,” Monica hissed, seemingly offended. “I know the protocol.”

  My father raised a hand of finale. “We all know that, baby girl,” he placated Monica. “And Bilan, I appreciate your obedience. Matter of fact, I appreciate everybody’s obedience over the last couple of months.” A derisive and abrupt hum left Bilan. The whole room suspended at that. She pretended to smooth down my dress shirt, likely a nervous response. “What we need to figure out is the matter at hand. What are we going to do about Iban?”

  “I’d like to hear what Sadik and Bilan’s thoughts are, considering his cause of injury.” Monica’s brows hiked and her eyes locked into us as Bilan remained over me.

  “Iban is your husband, Monica.” I finally spoke. “This will be your call. I’ll support you either way.”

  “It can’t just be my call. I need his family to help with this,” Monica argued. “This is the most precarious situation I’ve had to deal with as his wife.” Her eyes swept back over to my father.