Mafia Princess part 2 (Married To The Mob) Read online

  Each member in the tent took their assigned seat around the large roundtable, and Semaj followed suit as Ortiz took his seat at the head and positioned her to the right of him. Trusted black-jacketed servants placed gold dishware and cutlery in front of each member with a glass of Montrachet 1978 wine, complete with a Gurkha Black Dragon cigar. They ate and spoke like the old acquaintances they were, and after awhile the nervous energy in Semaj’s stomach finally subsided and she listened in on their casual conversation, paying close attention to everyone.

  Ortiz usually opened up the meetings with a statement, but today would be different. He arose, and out of habit he grabbed his wine goblet and took a sip before speaking.

  “Families, as we all know we have suffered the loss of a very great leader, Paulie Milano. My nephew was murdered and his death is what brings forth this meeting and the reason my niece will fill his shoes. It is a new decade, a new day, a new era. Things have changed a lot for modern day Mafia families as opposed to the golden age when my people headed this Tent. Recklessness is at an all time high and these fucking pricks have no respect for the golden rules. My grandfather, Marriano put these Families together exactly fifty years ago. Those times were when honor was above all others and disrespect wasn’t tolerated. Things have changed over the years, but business must go on.”

  “I agree with you, Ortiz,” Nikolai Gurko, the faction leader of the Russian mob and one of the deadliest women known to humankind said. Her family ran one of the most lucrative gun importing operations in the world and supplied the families with the best artillery. Confidence spilled from the young woman and Semaj knew that she had been a member for a while.

  Semaj assumed that she’d be surrounded by old, big bellied gray-haired men, but there were three other females in attendance. But, there was just something about the Colombian woman that had her intrigued. Semaj caught herself staring at the woman and looked away.

  “I say then, do something about the problem,” Jorge de la Espriella added in a low baritone voice. Colombian-born, the Espriella Family was one of the most resourceful at the table. They had cocaine fields all throughout Colombia and Peru.

  “We hear that the Milano and Abbott Families have been having issues with the same Jamaican mobster.” Marko Dedaj laughed unnecessarily loud. He was the underboss of the Albanian Mafia and was the craziest at the table. Calling him psychotic would be an understatement. The term “psyched the fuck out” had to be meant for him because he was a nutcase.

  “The Abbott Family is doing their best to gain control over our situation,” Ingrid, Pelpa’s mother said in her family’s defense. “I agree. We will handle it,” Pelpa added.

  “Just kill ‘em all. I’ve told Gio to knock the head off a long time ago. Once he does that the body cannot survive and this ongoing problem with Ox will be nonexistent,” Julio Ordonez said. He was Cuban. “I’ll murder the prick myself and take over his territory down in Miami. It’s a very lucrative area. My cousin lives there and his biggest competition is Ox’s organization.”

  “I don’t know why the entire Jamaican gang hasn’t been killed yet. If it was me I’d have wiped out the entire fucking island. I’m starting to think them Negros got your Family shook, Ortiz,” Marko said with a teasing stare.

  “Ahem!” Semaj cleared her throat, offended, and arose from her seat. “I understand what you all are speaking upon, but far as the Milano Family goes we’re straight. I understand everybody is concerned, but if we need your assistance we won’t hesitate to let you know.” Every word Semaj spoke was with authority and surprisingly she had everyone’s attention. “In the meantime, let’s get to what we all came here for. The families’ international drug businesses and everything else will fall into place.”

  Silence filled the room as if she was a judge demanding order in the courtroom. The members at the roundtable looked at her straight-faced, hard, intensely, but realized that there wasn’t an intimidated bone in her body. She stood her ground. She spoke up when most wouldn’t have. Her expression was serious, her body language poised and verbal interaction balanced. Semaj was fearless and ready for whatever response they threw her way.

  Sixty seconds seemed like sixty minutes and as time moved forward, Semaj saw Nikolai wink at her, indicating that she had handled herself well. She nodded her head slightly, accepting the girl’s power move, but didn’t lose focus. What the fuck is everybody so damn quiet for? Semaj wondered irritably as she waited for someone to speak. I said what I said and it is what it is. Now let’s get down to the damn point, she thought as she matched their stare as she resumed her seat.

  Finally, Jorge’s older sister, Valentina broke the silence. She headed the Colombian family. “She’s definitely Kasey’s fucking daughter!” she laughed heartily, breaking the awkwardness as the rest of the members cackled agreeably. The Espriella cartel didn’t deal with black people too often, and since Semaj was half African-American her kind would usually be off limits, but there was something different about Semaj. something unique. something special.

  “Damn right she is!” Marko added with a slick grin. “Maybe she’d enlarge your fucking balls, Ortiz,” he said only half jokingly and the table fell into a fit of laughter.

  Ortiz never paid Marko any mind and waved him off dismissively. He glanced around the table, and at that moment he knew Semaj was truly fit to represent their family. He could tell they liked her and liking her was respecting her. It was definitely a new day for the Milano Family and it was just a matter of time before Semaj took the family business to new heights.

  “The fact of the matter remains,” Ortiz stated confidently. “There are a lot of changes that need to be made, and once we all bring each other up on what’s going on around the world I think everyone will be comfortable enough to meet in the center and all issues and concerns will be addressed before this meeting ends.” He picked up his reading glasses and placed them on the tip of his nose. “Let’s begin with you, Ang Wong Won,” he said to the Asian man, and then looked at the Nigerian couple. “Ezra Naoroji, you and your wife can take it from there, and it continues clockwise as usual.”

  Semaj sat back silently and paid close attention as everyone added their input. She really didn’t do too much more talking and just observed. They had all been around a while and she didn’t want to come off as inexperienced. She had to prove herself in the business and earn her stripes, and once that happened she’d have their full respect. She was sitting amongst veterans of the dope game; the ones that weren’t expendable and she took mental notes as they went over mob policies, rules and other interests. The power that sat around the table amazed her and learning that their reach was so long—hitting all continents except for Antarctica—put her in a new place, and she was honored to be one of the delegates that represented her family.

  The conference lasted for hours, and after discussions ranging from coordination and diversification, the meeting had finally ended. Some drank and others chatted before clearing out. One by one the families left until there was only one other family left.

  “You handled yourself impressively today, Semaj. I thought that you’d be naive and timid, but I think that you was born to be a part of something so superior. You are more than what meets the eye,” the conservatively dressed Colombian woman said as her delicate nails tapped against the marble table.

  Semaj’s eyes were closed, but hearing the feminine voice caused them to reopen. As she peered closer, she realized that the woman that she had been admiring was where the compliment came from. Valentina was heavy-set and kind of reminded Semaj of Griselda Blanco by her weight and the dark look in her eyes.

  “Thank you, Ms. Espriella,” Semaj said. “My grandfather told me a lot of good things about you.”

  “Call me Valentina,” she insisted and leaned back in the chair. “Gio’s a great man and as I can see his granddaughter is his equal. See, I like you, Semaj and I don’t usually like your kind,” she admitted truthfully. “I’m going to be honest. I w
as one of the few that voted for Bonjo to become a part of this tent. But after you put that prick Marko in his place, I knew then that you would be able to run the States with more than an iron fist. You have heart and I could see it in your eyes as you spoke up. But I’m going to tell you this, Semaj. This is not a game meant for women,” Valentina schooled. “In this deadly game you have to be a perfectionist. You have to be extra careful and precise. Emotions have to be thrown out of the window when it comes to the drug trade. My number one rule is to get before you’re gotten. It’s personally my favorite one. You must take heed to that rule.”

  “I feel you, and your outlook on the game must be what got you to where you are,” Semaj said. She couldn’t believe that she was actually chilling with one of Colombia’s biggest cartel boss’s by herself. It wasn’t an obligation but Valentina was voluntarily putting her up on game and Semaj was appreciative.

  “Now understand me, dear. I am well aware of the beef that your family has had with the Jamaicans,” Valentina said. “For years I have offered my assistance but your family has always declined. I must extend that same offer to you.”

  Semaj was built like every other Milano. She didn’t need anyone to feel sympathy for her family. Pity was a sign of weakness and she knew that eventually her people would put a cap on Ox’s madness. Although the eight families were part of the same movement and rode on the same drug train, each cartel was independent, and Semaj didn’t need their services during war.

  “If you need shooters, I have them readily available,” she said, offering her soldiers. “All you have to do is give me the word.”

  “I appreciate it, Valentina, but we will handle it. Your cocaine supply is service enough to my family.” Semaj looked at Ortiz engaging in conversation with Jorge and watched as he put one finger up to pick up his cell phone. Her phone began to ring simultaneously and she answered while looking at the disbelieving look etched to Ortiz’s face.

  “Maj, Pelpa was involved in a fatal car accident!” Sosa spoke through the phone. “We’re down here at the scene. This shit wasn’t accidental but an intentional murder, fam. Get down here ASAP.”

  Semaj’s face scrunched up as she pulled through Brixton, a dilapidated community and one of London’s seediest areas. From the graffiti covered walls to the condemned buildings, she realized that this was the side of London where tourists didn’t visit and the cameras didn’t show. I guess every city’s got ‘hoods, she thought as she turned onto the block. Her mouth fell open in disbelief and her head whipped wildly in shock.

  Metal pieces and glass fragments were scattered throughout the street, and all Semaj could do was shake her head. It was tragic. Yellow crime scene tape circled around the wreckage as investigators stepped through the remnants while local news reporters snapped pictures. British bystanders gathered around gossiping, and from what she could see it appeared that the entire London Police Department was on scene. There were policemen and paramedics everywhere, and all she wanted to know was how all this madness came about just that quickly. “This is crazy!” she uttered in pure disbelief as she stared out of the limousine window. She had never seen anything like it. There was barely a car left.

  Semaj put her cell phone inside her handbag as she continued to look out the window, searching for her cousins. She saw them standing by a red telephone booth, speaking amongst each other as the police officers attempted to question witnesses. But like in American ghettos, the people didn’t know shit.

  Semaj got out of the vehicle and quickly made her way over to them. When the girls saw her, they immediately met her halfway.

  “Where’s Uncle Ortiz?” Emilia asked as she watched a black Mercedes parked down the block.

  “You know he feels he too big to come down to a crime scene. He didn’t even want me to come, but I had to see what Sosa was talking about. And this shit is really unimaginable.” She shook her head, perplexed. “I just saw that nigga a few hours ago and now dude’s dead. What the fuck happened?”

  “They said Pelpa was being chased throughout this bitch, and out of nowhere this big ass 18-wheeler came flying down this block and Boom!” Sosa said, being overly dramatic as she punched her palm. “Smacked fuck up outta Pelpa and sent the car flipping over. Look at this shit, ma.” She waved her hand through the air. “It

  don’t even look like a car even existed.”

  “Man, I swear to God that Benz looks suspect as fuck,” LuLu seethed in suspicion.

  “You peeped that shit too?” Emilia asked, her eyebrow arched in certainty. “I thought I was buggin’ for a minute.”

  “Ain’t nobody gon’ do nothing with all these fuckin’ cops out here,” Sosa said surely. “It’s time for us to shake this shit anyway. Our redeye flight takes off tonight.”

  “We may as well cancel that flight ‘til first thing in the morning, because we gotta at least pay our respects to the family. We ain’t gotta wait until the funeral, but we can stay overnight so that we can set something up to have a flower arrangement sent to the funeral home on the day of the memorial service. That’s the least we can do,” Semaj stressed.

  “Well, whatever it is we gonna do, we need to shake this shit,” Marcela said. “That black car is the only car that still has occupants inside. Shit’s looking mad suspicious to me. We ain’t strapped and I ain’t feeling it. Let’s go.”

  “Y’all bitches always paranoid,” Semaj said jokingly. She commended them for always being on point, and today was no different.

  Rude Boy sat behind the tint of the CL-65 coupe as Quasim sat in the driver’s seat of his car, completely flabbergasted. His forehead furrowed in confusion, almost causing his eyebrows to meet. Fuck is she doing out here? he thought as he stared at Semaj attentively. He watched her closely as she stood near the crime scene. His heart fluttered at the sight of her alone, and then he frowned when he noticed the Milano Hitters. The only way to approach her would be to go through them, and that wouldn’t be an easy task to accomplish for a ten-man army, let alone just him.

  “Fuck is her doing ‘chere!” Rude Boy fumed.

  Taken aback by his sudden outburst, Quasim turned and looked at his man. “You know her, fam?”

  “She de American bitch me tell ya dat me had ta handle. Me had me people watching she but me ain’t been able to contact de nigga since last night. But ‘dere she go.” He leaned back in his seat and pulled on his blunt. “Me kill de bitch right here.”

  “What?” Quasim’s heart dropped and rage pulsed through his veins. “You playing, right?” He shot Rude Boy a look that would have bodied him in his seat if looks could kill. His heart beat rapidly as he stared at Semaj and wondered what the bad blood between the two was for. Did she set this nigga up? he questioned himself. He looked through his rearview mirror and gave his goon a look that only the two of them understood. It was a gesture that worked affectively for him, and Quasim was simply implying to his man to stay on alert.

  “Chu know dis bitch or something? Fuck chu so defensive fo’, ock?” Rude Boy pulled out the .40 with the silencer attached and engaged the ignition. “Me finna pipe on ‘dis bitch!” he said determinedly and cocked the gun back. “Me can’t find me people and ‘dis bitch is still breathing. Me can’t have dat. De bitch is dead now!” he seethed with spit flying out of his mouth. He couldn’t wait to put some holes through her white blouse.

  Quasim’s temple throbbed in anger. Fuck type of shit Semaj done got herself into now? he thought. He was in a very compromising position, being that Rude Boy gave him a paddle when he was stuck in the middle of the sea. But on the other hand, this nigga was going to kill Semaj… the only woman he ever loved… the woman who held the key to his heart. What type of nigga would he be?

  Peering at Semaj closely, Quasim knew he didn’t even have to think any further about taking a life in order to save hers. Without warning, he took a glimpse through the rearview mirror and a simple nod of the head finalized Rude Boy’s death. Just before a single slug could spit, Quasim leane
d back, and said, “That’s the wrong one, my man!”

  As he felt the cold steel press against his temple, Rude Boy’s eyes grew wide, but he had no time to react because Quasim’s goon hit him with two hollow points to the head.

  “Psst! Psst!”

  There was hardly a sound as two back-to-back slugs went flying through Rude Boy’s skull. His brains blew out of the other side of his head, and the tinted window suddenly looked like it had dark red tint. Rude Boy’s head slumped over and rested awkwardly on the door.

  There were several passersby trying to get a close-up on the vehicular homicide scene, but due to the darkly tinted windows no one knew what had happened.

  Quasim threw the gear in reverse and backed all the way out of sight and pulled away in the opposite direction.

  With Pelpa and Rude Boy both out of the way, London was an open field, and he knew that this was his chance to take over the town completely. He was going to bring something new to the city, do something different, and not only wanting London, Quasim knew he wanted the whole thing and he was going to expand his operation all throughout England. They had let an American drug boss enter the U.K., and he was tapping into an unclaimed market by default.

  Quasim was back on top and he had learned from his mistakes, and this time he was sure to build an empire that was untouchable. He was about to show ‘em how a New York nigga’s get-money system worked and how cash flowed endlessly for all the hustlers on his team.

  But in the meantime, he had to dump the body and call Ox to offer his services in the honor of his dead son.