Page 49 of Mafia Kings & Wedding Rings
“What are y’all in here doing?” Jordan’s heels clicked against the marble in the foyer when she paused in the doorway.
She waved her hand in her face to avoid the smoke.
“It’s almost six.” She tapped the watch on her wrist.
I couldn’t front, Jordan was a beauty, but she had that girl next door, innocent aura about her. I knew that shit was just a facade though, ’cause I’d witnessed her snap once or twice. Lowkey, I thought the bitch was a little crazy in the head too. I knew from Ivo that she lost both parents as a teenager, but I didn’t pry too much into her life. Usually, I kicked it with Ivo when I came around. I always thought me and my brothers would have the type of relationships where our chicks could chill with us and among each other, some real family shit, but Jordan only fucked with Rossi for the most part. Sol decided a long time ago that she wasn’t her cup of tea, but they were cordial.
“Shit!” Ivo jumped up like he was on fire. “You ain’t about to have me getting cussed out for ten hours. Let’s go.” Staten handed him the blunt when he passed.
Our mother was a stickler for being prompt. She found tardiness a sign of disrespect. For her, being ten minutes early was being on time. I’m sure we was all on her hit list right now. Swiping my shadow beard, I licked my lips and looked right into the camera.
“Aight, we done talking about this girl, that’s what I do know. I’m trying to get to know one of you beautiful ladies watching better. So inbox me and stay tuned in.” I ended the live and shared it before hopping up off the couch.
“I saw your little ploy to clean up your image,” Jordan addressed me as she slipped her chain link-strapped Hermes bag over her shoulder. “The viewers are right. You’ve had women falling at their feet and bending over backward for you your entire life, Breccan.” I hated when she called me that shit.
Only her and Marcella did that, and it pissed me off! I didn’t hate Jordan. She had a few good qualities. I believe she did love my brother on some level. In my eyes, she just didn’t fit with Ivo. With the kind of mother we all grew up with, a bitch had to have tough skin and be assertive. She couldn’t cry when we yelled or raised our voice or said some unhinged shit that scared her. Jordan didn’t seem to feed the other parts of my brother I also knew were there. The nigga was an artist at heart, but over the years, that took a back seat, and he focused on business instead. I’d seen his work though, and the nigga had real talent. He used to talk about creating his own black comics and becoming a graphic designer. I thought it was dope because he was creative as fuck. Jordan didn’t nurture that part of him. I wasn’t even sure she knew it existed.
“Whoever this girl is, the viewers are tuned in.”
“Fuck that.” I followed her outside just as my phone went off in my pocket.
Jordan locked up, and I swiped to answer for Armon while strolling to the top of the porch steps. The wind whipped aroundus, causing the shadows of the trees moving to cloak the estate. From Ivo’s porch I could see the light from the main house, and I took in a deep breath of fresh air.
“What’s up?” I spotted Staten and Ivo on a golf cart a couple of steps ahead on the dirt road.
Justus purchased a fleet of these things when we got this property decades ago. I don’t remember riding on one since I was a little kid and Staten was steering. Tonight brought me back. Watching him grip the wheel and puff on the last of the blunt, I peeped Ivo in back twisting up a new spliff.
“We need to strategize tomorrow. Can you get a face-to-face with this chick from Rossi’s lodge?” Armon cut into my thoughts.
“Nigga, what? I ain’t doing that?”
“Brick, I’m telling you… this shit is gold. I got muhfuckas messaging me back-to-back. Look, have her slide in and act like one of the other girls. We need a one-on-one with you and her for the public, and we need you to eat that shit up. I’m telling you. We doing dummy numbers right now. I got an interview slotted for y’all on Twitch when this shit really blow up. Let her know this ain’t just for you either. She damn sure got some benefits. Sell that shit!”
“Bye, Mon.” Annoyed, I hung up in his face.
Just like I expected, his punk ass sent me a text.
Mon: Get on that!
I planned on ignoring his ass for the rest of the night. I didn’t even want to entertain this girl let alone put her on. Her attitude was fucked up. She was acting like I was the muhfucka that rearranged her fucking face, and for some reason, I was taking her hostility personal. I was usually an easy-going nigga and got along with damn near everybody. It was always some fuck nigga trying to test me that got that bully shit. Pocketing my cellphone, I jumped into the empty seat beside Staten and snatched what was left of the blunt from his lips.
“Y’all and these damn carts,” Jordan huffed, jumping on beside Ivo, who broke down weed on an old ass golf magazine.
Jordan immediately grabbed the bar above her to hold on, all prissy in her bodycon dress with the ruffled bottom and three-inch heels. She huffed and puffed, settling in her seat with her bag on her lap, scrolling through her phone.
“I’m pulling up at my shit. Somebody gotta take over the wheel on this one and grab one with two of the kids,” Staten interjected.
“Ah, hell nah,” I griped, trying to enjoy my buzz.
“Cambrie’s coming too.”
“With her fine ass,” I groaned, remembering her thick ass frame and shaking my head.
“Who is Cambrie?” Jordan asked, leaning forward as bro hit the gas and cruised along the dirt road to his house.
“The nanny I hired for my kids,” Staten replied.
Staten’s house was about a half a mile ahead, and by the time we rolled up, I heard them kids long before I saw them. I don’t know how bro still had his sanity. The front door burst open, and my nephew, Rogue, raced out in charcoal-gray jeans, a white t- shirt with a gray button-up jacket, and white Retro 7s. I think this was the first time I’d seen him and his hair wasn’t all over his damn head. Neat cornrows had him fresh as hell. He’d been looking like a little Tarzan the whole time. Tavi and Saga, my oldest niece and nephew, trotted down the hill next, both wearing them pre-teen frowns that made you want to slap ’em. His locs were styled though, and she had two fresh ass feed-ins going down her back.
