Page 4 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings
Cyra was bad. Fucking with a bitch less than a dime wasn’t something I could participate in. Didn’t matter how much I made or what I drove. My overall charisma could talk the baddest bitch into or out of anything. My problem was knocking they asses up like a damn fool. Back then, I was still on crash-out time. After Rogue, I cleaned my shit up. I didn’t even want no more kids. My four gave me a run for it on a regular. Part of me wanted to apologize because I had kind of just disregarded her for my own needs in that moment. It was when we stepped into the kitchen, and I saw the condition it was in, that I officially snapped.
“The fuck is this! Why this shit look like this!” I demanded, taking in the counters covered in bowls and plates.
Pots and pans were stacked on the stove and there was a sink full of even more dishes. The kitchen table was cluttered with empty boxes of cereal, Ramen packs, and other snacks and empty soda bottles.
“Because it’s four kids here and they have to eat,” she answered, sucking her teeth.
“Why the fuck you ain’t clean up too?”
“Excuse me!”
“Fuck that, Cyra! You been here all fucking day and ain’t doing shit! How the fuck this shit looking like this? The fuck you been doing?”
“You don’t have to yell, Static!” She dropped her hands at her side.
“Daddy!” My youngest daughter, Piaget, raced into the room.
Rogue, who was only four, wasn’t far behind her. The two of them hadn’t changed since earlier today when I’d seen them but couldn’t wait to hug me in their stained-up attire.
“We’re hungry!” Rogue declared, leaving me glaring at Cyra above their heads.
She leaned against the counter and had the nerve to grill me like I was the fucking problem. I had to get the fuck out of here before I snapped her fucking neck.
“Aight, let me get changed. Get your brother and sister and put your shoes on. We’re going to the grocery store to get some more food.”
“Yeah!” Cheering in unison, the two sprinted off together.
“I’m giving you an hour to get this shit right, Cyra,” I warned from the other side of the island counter. “I’m taking them to the store, and when I get back, we got some shit we need to talk about.”
“Oh, don’t keep me in suspense, Static. Speak your mind! You’ve been going around lying and hiding who you are all this time, and now you want to come at me like I’m the issue!”
Swiftly rounding the corner, I snatched her by the throat. With a locked jaw and lips pursed together in anger, I searched her eyes, suddenly shining with fear. My fuse was short when dealing with stupidity or resistance. A nigga played it real cool because I’d tucked the beast inside me in its cage a long time ago. Every now and then, he would try to escape, and it took everything in me to keep him tucked away. Cyra stayed trying me.
“Bitch, the fuck is wrong with you! You want to know who the fuck I am, keep trying me!”
“Static, you’re hurting me,” she pleaded.
“You don’t know the fucking half of it!” I roared, unleashing a rage that had been brewing in my chest since hearing the reading of that will. “Matter of fact, don’t worry about cleaning shit. Pack your shit and get the fuck out!”
“Wh-what?” she asked, stricken when I pushed her away from me. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Back to Chicago.” I backed up before I dropped her ass right here on the floor.
“You for real about that? I don’t have anything to go back to! I’m still Rogue’s mother!”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean to me? You ain’t got enough self-respect for me to give more of a fuck about you than you do, Cyra! I want you gone by the time I get back.”
The only reason I’d brought her along was that I needed help with the kids when I first arrived. I still fucked with her, which was probably the other reason the bitch was crazy. She had good pussy, and as long as she had some weed, she’d sit with the kids when I needed her to. Cyra wasn’t the best judge of character. She was younger than me and spent most of her life trying to please people.
The only reason we hooked up to begin with is because I was crashing out and she wanted to be the one thing to make me forget my past. I popped pills and even snorted a line of coke or two with her. She was down to party any time and any fucking place. Eventually, that shit got old, but I’d already gotten her pregnant, so there was no way to go back and change that. If she focused on being a good mother instead of looking for the next event, she might be alright. When she was sober, she was cool, and Rogue adored her, but our son was never one to hold his tongue. He took on a lot of her personality traits that I didn’t like, and, much like myself, was a work in progress.
It took me about ten minutes to slip into joggers, a t-shirt, and my blue Nike Vomero running shoes. By the time I reached the kitchen, the kids were all gathered around the counter looking for snacks through the wreckage.
“Pop, we are starving. Cyra been feeding us frozen microwave stuff all day! How we supposed to live off that?” my thirteen-year-old son, Saga, queried. “She can’t even boil water.”
“That’s no cap either. She let all the water evaporate when we had ramen noodles earlier,” eleven-year-old Tavi chimed in.
I couldn’t help the natural chuckle while examining their turned-up noses. Snacks and shit were cool, but I was no stranger to the kitchen, so they were used to a good home-cooked meal every now and then. I hadn’t had the time with the funeral arrangements and catching up with my family to be as present as I wanted to be. This shit was all new to them too. Cyra was supposed to be taking care of this shit, and she had damn sure dropped the ball. Had I known she was gon’ be moving like this, I would have prepared to stay with my mama in the main house. Shit was too close for comfort right now though. I didn’t want to be there without Justus around. Didn’t feel right walking in and not finding the smoke from his cigars lingering in the air, or him studying his chessboard near the window overlooking where the horses liked to run by.
