Page 34 of DOM: The Miami King

“Handle it now!” He yelled before hangin’ up.

I stared at the black screen of the phone for another second with my thumb on the screen thinkin’ ‘bout callin’ back but I didn’t. Instead, I smiled to myself ‘cause he didn’t even realize the Moreno hit would lead him straight into a bigger trap. I’d let him come for the wrong people. He could burn the wrong block down for all I gave a fuck. I’d let him stir the pot until every other cartel looked at him like a wild dog that needed puttin’ down. I slid the phones back onto the dresser. This wasn’t about who fired first anymore, this was about who was smart enough to finish it and if El Blanca thought he was still the one pullin’ the strings, he was ‘bout to find out that I already had the scissors in my hand.

Ifinallymadeitback tothebed. The kind of bed that had the setup that reminded you of who ran the city. The Calacatta gold marble floors were imported with the Italian headboard stitched with royal blue and gray leather. The king size mattress was firm enough to hold weight without foldin’. The room was dim and just the warm glow from the custom fireplace beneath my 100-inch flatscreen television caused a glow when I flicked it on. At a time when it should’ve been sleep, I couldn’t when my mind was goin’ a hundred miles per hour. I grabbed the remote of the nightstand and flicked the TV on.

‘Scarface’ flashed on the screen, which was one of my favorite throwback movies ‘cause his life was fitting. I was just like him, I ain’t think a dude like me was built for happily ever after’s even in my late twenties and successful I just ain’t see it comin’. I laid back with my muscles tight from all the events of the night crossin’ lines that I shouldn’t have crossed but what was done was done and this was just how the game went. I always made sure that my mini fridge was stocked with cold bottles of Fiji water and my Glock was in arm’s reach. The sounds of Tony Montana yellin’ about ‘the eyes, chico’ echoed from the screen. I let it play for a good while, but my mind was stuck on Carmen’s ass… in her words, the fuckin’ visa. My mind was also on Victoria but only ‘cause she started as a pawn but was now collateral.

Thenmyphonebuzzed once again from another encrypted line. It was one of mine from the street team. “Yo boss, thought you should know… I saw Carmen at Opus Bar & Grill dressed like she wanted to be seen, sittin’ with some baller-lookin’ dude in a suit. I mean they real close laughin’ and look real familiar with each other.”

I sat up slowly with my heart rate steady. Carmen ain’t never did shit without a purpose. If she was at Opus, our spot, our turf, she knew our people would see her and if she was laugin’ in another man’s face, she was sendin’ a message loud and clear ‘cause she ain’t even move like that. That was confirmation that that call earlier, she heard it but just like any other time, she ain’t confront me. Instead, she chose to move real strategic and cold... the only problem with that was, we were officially in the middle of a war.

However, just like I taught her to do, I told them as well. “Keep eyes on ‘em,” I said in a low, yet flat tone. Don’t approach and don’t speak, just watch ‘em.”

I hung up and laid back down, but sleep wasn’t comin’ easy… not tonight ‘cause Carmen was my fuckin’ wife even when she tried not to be and now, she was lettin’ her emotions takeover, which was the very thing I was afraid of. She wanted to play this like a chessboard, but she forgot one thing, I’m the muhfuckin’ King and when the Queen moves without permission sometimes the whole board gotta burn.

Iheard everything and the silence was worse than a fucking scream because it was the kind of silence that didn’t come unless somebody was trying too hard to pretend like shit didn’t just happen, like I was doing at the very moment. I sat on my couch in the dark with the phone still in my hand, as Dom’s voice was still echoing in my head and Victoria’s moans were just as loud. I ain't catch every word because he didn’t say much but hearing her moans, I’d heard enough. It was their breathing, the fucking timing, the fucking tone, just everything. I warned him…. I specially told Dom that Victoria was trouble. I told him not to cross that line and still, he did.

It wasn’t about the sex because it didn’t sound like he was fucking her but it damn sure sounded like she was topping him off the way she was slurping. I knew how powerful women were and although Dom was strategic himself, he still shouldn’t have let her in even if it was just for a second and a second was all it took to unravel everything. I leaned back against the leather, with my eyes burning with my heart feeling tight in my chest. I wanted to scream… I wanted to break something… but that wasn’t my style. That wasn’t Carmen Royal. Had I never fucked Dom, I probably wouldn’t have felt as strongly. I would’ve been upset because of who it was, but I couldn’t say I’d be upset that he did it. I knew Dom had plenty women and it simply wasn’t my place to question it but after we crossed the line, it felt different and the feelings in my heart that I tried to muffle were slowly emerging.

I wasn’t allowed to do certain things or move a certain way because as Carmen Royal, the powerful attorney, I had an image to maintain, however, for those who knew that I was indeed Dom’s wife, I had to conduct myself a certain way for the sake of disrespecting the image of The Miami King. I would always be loyal to Dom, but if he didn’t want to openly love me, he would soon enough. Although it was already after midnight, I decided not to stay inside. Instead, I stood up, walked to my closet, and reminded myself who the fuck I was deciding that I was going to go do something normal, something for Carmen.

The bar I chose wasn’t just any bar either. It wasOpus 305, a rooftop lounge tucked in Coral Gables where the money talked, and the players talked smoother. It was a lot of big money, black cards, and private chefs. I pulled up in an all-black two-piece, with my waist snatched, and the heels of my YSL’s stabbing the pavement. My hair was slicked back, and my lips were lined in a burgundy matte lipstick from MAC. My vibe somewhere betweendon’t touch me, but you might regret it if you don’t.

I knew eyes were always on me because the cartel watched everybody, especially me whenever they could, so I made it look casual. Like I was just outside, blowing off some steam. However, on the inside, I was looking for peace right now. Distraction, peace and fucking clarity that I still am and will always be ‘that bitch’. I slid into a corner booth with a view of the bar and the balcony. When the host came over, I ordered a Blueberry lemon drop topped with a lemon just how I liked it. The host asked for my name and I told her to call me “Miss C,” because I wasn’t giving out my real name tonight anyway.

I had just taken a sip whenhewalked in. He was tall, maybe 6’3” with deep brown skin and a smooth complexion like he stayed stress-free and was well moisturized. He wore a tailored navy colored suit with no tie, and a crisp white button-down open just enough to show a small diamond-studded Cuban link. He was damn near gliding like he owned the place. Black leather loafers graced his feet, and he had gold rings on two fingers. His presence was of the type of man who didn’t need to flex because the weight of who he was just did it for him. He almost instantly clocked me staring at him and not that he even stared back, it was just a glance that said, ‘I see you and I know you see me too’ He took his time, ordered his drink and then slid into the empty seat across from me like I had personally invited him.

“I didn’t wanna let a woman like you drink alone,” he said, in a smooth voice.

I smiled, with one brow raised. “A woman like me?”

“The kind that don’t need nobody but might let a real one stick around if he bring peace instead of pressure.” He replied like he’d been practicing a pick-up line on the way here.

I let out a quiet laugh. “And what do you bring?”

“I bring options,” he said. “I bring conversation and a break from whatever got you dressed like you trying to get revenge on a nigga and sittin’ here all by yourself.” He then sipped his drink. “I’m Dru, by the way. I own a few spots… some casinos down in Nassau that’s family owned, nothing too much, just rich nigga problems.”

I tilted my head. “Married?” I asked eyeballing his ring.

He smirked. “Yeah. I been married ten years strong. My wife is cool though. She’s beautiful, busy, and blessed. We understand each other, if you get what I’m saying.”

I sipped slow and shook my head. I understood clearly. He was implying that she allowed him to do him. On the other hand, I was sure he probably didn’t allow her to do her because men had an ego. “Good, because I’m not looking for anything messy.”

His eyes flicked up and down my frame, but he was still respectful with it. “I’m not messy. I’m... relief.” He smiled.

I loved his personality, and he kept me laughing. Dru was definitely the distraction that I needed. We talked for a while too, about everything and yet still nothing at the same time. He told me how he came up from street dice to real estate, and how the money got clean, but the game stayed the same. He wasn’t trying to sell me a dream, he was trying to sell me a space in his life even if it were only for fun. He was selling me a space to breathe and simply just be and I needed that more than I wanted to admit it.

After talking to me all night, he finally asked, “So what do I call you?”

“C,” I replied with a smile. “It’s just C.”

He nodded like he already knew I wasn’t giving him the real name and he respected it. “Cool, let me take you out for real sometime,” he said, leaning back. “Not no club, not no show-off dinner either, you know, just a vibe. You deserve a vibe.”

I paused, then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“How about breakfast first?” He asked.

I raised a brow. “As in a few hours type of breakfast?”

---