La Bella Mafia

by Ashley

  “Carter,” Miamor whispered, sensing something was wrong with her man. He looked up at her. She frowned because in all the time that she had known him, she had never seen him look so unsure. Indecision, was not a quality that he often exuded.

  “Please clear the room,” she said. “I’d like a moment alone with Carter before he pleads out.”

  “That isn’t protocol,” Broome began.

  Miamor shot him a look so deadly that it silenced him into submission.

  “You have two minutes,” Broome said as he stood and escorted Rosenberg out of the room.

  “This feels like the end Mia,” Carter admitted. “The end of The Cartel, the end of us, the end of it all. Shit is fucked up. There is no way I can keep control from the inside.”

  “This is the beginning Carter. Five years is not long enough to scare me away. You don’t worry about anything. I will keep it all together. You just have to trust me,” Miamor said.

  Carter nodded and kissed her lips. “Whatever you do you keep it out of my ear. I don’t expect you to wait, but I expect you to be respectful. Don’t tarnish my name ma,” he stated seriously. He was a realist. He had seen this same situation play out too many times before not to know how it ended.

  “I only want you,” she reassured. What he didn’t realize was that he was it for her. She truly only had eyes for one man. “I don’t want you to doubt me Carter. I’ll do whatever you need me to do, in order for you to trust me. Let’s get married. Right here, today. You know me. I’ll never break that vow.”

  “And you know me, I’d never trap you with that vow,” Carter replied. “When I marry you, you’ll be in a white dress. You’ll have the violins and white doves and hundreds of guests . . . because you deserve that. I’ll never trap you. I don’t want you stuck with me because you have to be . . .”

  “I want to be stuck with you forever Carter. Whether you’re next to me every night or not. I’ll wait and I don’t need no fancy shit to do that. I just need your promise to love me and to be faithful to me,” she said sincerely.

  “I’m about to be property of the federal government for five years ma. You realize that?” he asked.

  “I will ride with you through whatever,” she promised. “If this is what I have to do to prove that than let me. Or am I just not the type you think of when you think of a wife?”

  Carter leaned into her, but the handcuffs that bound him to his chair stopped him from fully reaching her. She met him halfway. When they kissed Miamor could have sworn she heard angels singing. That’s how pure their love felt. “You know better than that,” Carter replied. “No other type could ever be my wife. It’s always been you.”

  Broome opened the door and entered with Rosenberg on his tail, interrupting their brief moment. Miamor realized it would be a long time before they ever truly had privacy again.

  “We want to fill out an application for marriage. We’d like to make it happen before he goes in,” Miamor said.

  Broome loosened his tie. She had him by the balls and all of her requests were making him appear weak to his colleagues. She was pushing the limits of their arrangement, but what could he do? Since Carter had not yet pled guilty, the approval of the marriage request was up to Broome’s discretion, not some warden. Before he could respond Miamor said, “Make it happen, we’ll wait. After we are married, Carter will sign your deal and enter his guilty plea.”

  Carter was amazed at how Miamor was running the show. She had the P.A. jumping through hoops at the drop of a dime. As a judge was summoned, the couple stood in front of one another. “Are you sure this is how you want to do this Miamor?” Carter asked.

  She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you. I don’t need the pomp and circumstance,” she assured.

  Her answer held nothing but truth and as they stood two people reciting vows in a downtown federal building, they became one. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t as she had imagined. They were perfect for each other and it didn’t matter that they were being thrust into imperfect circumstances.

  “I now pronounce you, man and wife,” the judge said dryly. It wasn’t perfect or romantic, but it was official and that’s all that either of them wanted. Miamor smiled. “You may kiss your bride.”

  They didn’t even give Carter the ability to wrap his hands around his new wife. They kept him handcuffed, but it didn’t matter. His mouth found hers anyway and this one kiss elevated their bond to the next level. She could feel his energy pulsing through her body as if suddenly she knew what true love felt like. Broome gave them no time to celebrate before he got back to the task at hand.

  “Hmm, hmm,” he cleared his throat and slid the paperwork across the desk.

  Carter felt Miamor’s hand rubbing his back softly in support as he leaned over, fumbling with the pen because both of his hands were locked by the cuffs. He put his John Hancock sloppily on the paper in front of him and was instantly whisked off.

  “I believe this ends our business,” Broome stated as he looked at Miamor smugly. “Hope you have some frequent flier miles,” he said. “I’m shipping those sons of bitches to a federal institution in Colorado.” It was his way of making things difficult.

  Miamor turned and walked out of the office. She wasn’t angry, she had anticipated some type of kink in the plan. As she slid into her chauffeured SUV she dialed Aries.

  “Miamor, is everything good?” Aries asked.

  “As good as to be expected right now,” Miamor replied. “I need you to put me in touch with Timmy Bono.”

  “Sure, but what do you have up your sleeve bitch?” Aries asked with laughter in her voice. She knew Miamor too well and could only imagine why she needed to be put in contact with the notorious Italian mobster.

  “Nothing beats the cross,” Miamor started.

  “Like the double cross,” Aries finished. “Consider it done.”

  Chapter 15

  “Look around. You’re the only one of your kind for a reason.”

  —Man at the bar

  The dimmed yellow light illuminated the smoky bar as incoherent chatter filled the air. The exclusive spot may as well have had a no-blacks allowed sign on the door because as soon as Miamor stepped foot inside, she was out of place. All conversations ceased as she walked toward the bar. Her expensive heels crunched peanuts under her feet as she made her way through the down home establishment. She slid into a stool next to a young Italian man. He gave her a once over and then poured the remainder of his drink down his throat in one swig.

  “You lost sweet heart?” he asked.

  “No, this is exactly where I need to be,” she replied.

  “Look around. You’re the only one of your kind for a reason,” the man said. “Although I must say I don’t mind the view, you know what I mean?” He raised his hand and motioned for the bartender. The older Italian man had skin as rough as leather. His greasy, black, hair was slicked back off of his face, his top lip completely covered in a bushy mustache. Miamor could see the depth in his eyes and she would put her life on it that the hunch of his back was caused by the many secrets he had weighing down his soul. These four walls have probably witnessed some crazy shit, she thought.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked as he glanced at Miamor.

  “When’s the last time you saw someone like this in the bar? Eh, Fred?” the man beside her asked.

  The bartender tapped his finger on the bar and said, “A black girl in a bar is the least of my worries Sonny. Don’t be a jackass,” the bartender said sternly. He turned to Miamor. “What can I do for you sweet heart?”

  Miamor lowered her voice. “I need to see Timmy Bono,” she said

  The bartender grabbed the bar rag and began to clean the countertops as he shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about toots. I don’t know anyone by that name. Sure you got the right spot?” he asked.

  Miamor had expected to hit this roadblock so she had come prepared. She slid an en
velope out of her handbag and placed it on the bar. She tapped it with her blood red fingernail. “After he sees this, he’ll want to see me too,” she said calmly.

  The bartender discreetly grabbed the envelope and then disappeared without saying a word. Miamor kept her hand in her purse as she palmed the .45 that rested at the bottom of it. When she saw the wooden door that was hidden in the back shadows of the bar open up she knew that Timmy Bono was there. The bartender returned.

  “Go through that back door there,” he said.

  Miamor arose from her seat and walked into the back. As soon as she stepped foot inside the door closed behind her. She spun to see two goons posted on the sides of the door. She looked at the man sitting behind the wooden desk in front of her . . . Timmy Bono.

  “Please have a seat,” he offered.

  “I’d rather stand,” Miamor said as she shifted uncomfortably.

  “My men are going to search you,” Timmy Bono said.

  She held her hands out at her sides while gripping her bag in one of them as one of the goons stepped up. His hands searched her body gropingly, but he was so distracted by her curves that he neglected to go through her bag. “I’m clean, I’m not a cop,” she spat harshly when she felt him palm her behind.

  “So, what brings a pretty little thing like you into my bar?” he asked.

  “I’m here to extend my friendship,” Miamor said. She removed another envelope from her bag and placed pictures before him. “Daniel Broome has been building a racketeering case against you. All of the illegal bets that you have placed for him were caught on wire taps.”

  “Who are you? How do you know all of this? And what do you have to gain by telling me all of this. If I’ve learned one thing in my line of business it is that people who come in the form of friends are often truly enemies,” Timmy Bono responded with dark eyes.

  “I’m neither,” Miamor answered. “I’m a woman with information,” she said. “I choose my alliances very wisely and carefully. I’m sure you are familiar with The Cartel.”

  “The Diamond family,” Timmy Bono said. “We call them the black mafia.” Bono laughed heartily and his voice boomed loudly in amusement. “I am familiar with The Cartel.”

  “I am the head of The Cartel now and like I said, I would like to be friends,” Miamor said.

  “The head of The Cartel?” Timmy Bono asked. “What type of show are yous running over there?”

  “That is not your concern. All you should know is that you have a problem with P.A. Daniel Broome. Don’t say that I didn’t try to warn you when the Feds come kicking in your door,” Miamor said.

  She turned and headed for the door.

  “What’s your name? Ms. new head of the cartel?” Timmy Bono asked.

  “Miamor,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t let the good looks fool you Mr. Bono.” She nodded toward the pictures on his desk. “Don’t take my warning lightly.”

  Timmy Bono nodded as he watched Miamor walk from the room. She sighed in relief, but didn’t release the hold on her bag until she was tucked safely in the car. As she collapsed in the passenger seat she looked over at Aries.

  “Everything smooth?” Aries asked.

  Miamor shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied. She wasn’t sure if Timmy Bono would act on her advice, but if he was anything like her he would eradicate Broome just to be safe. Revenge would be hers and she wouldn’t even have to lift a pretty finger . . . all Miamor had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

  Chapter 16

  “You’re my world, Zyir.”

  —Breeze

  Carter heard the sliding partition of his cell open and as 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 to 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.