Page 12 of The Millionaire Mortician
The following morning, after Daija and my dinner date, I woke up with her heavily on my mind.
Daija ain’t know it, but as soon as I walked her back to her car after dinner, I already had my mind made up. She spoke with such conviction at that table. Just like a boss, she looked me in my eyes and let me know she needed more than just beingmy girl. I heard her, even if part of me didn’t like the shit.
See, a nigga like me was accustomed to being in control. I liked knowing where my woman was, what she was doing, and what she needed before she even had to ask. That’s how I kept my world safe. Daija moving on her own was a risk. It wasn’t a risk because of temptation out there, but because distractions breed mistakes, and mistakes got people clipped.
I listened to her closely. It wasn’t what she said, but how she said everything. It wasn’t about stepping away from me. It was about stepping into herself. Being the person I was and because I loved her, I couldn’t be the reason she felt small.
Before heading to the funeral home for a Saturday service, I went into my home office to make a call to my personal banker on his private line.
Daija was cooking breakfast and hadn’t yet seen me that morning. I wanted to put things in play for her immediately, so she knew I had her back one hundred percent.
The phone rang, but only briefly. Mark picked up on the second ring.
“Morning, Mr. Marcano,” he answered.
“Morning. I need a wire,” I stated with an even voice. “A hundred thousand straight into Daija’s account. You can mark it as business funds.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. I will initiate and schedule it. It will be fully processed on Monday, since today is Saturday. You’ll receive a text and email with the confirmation. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Nah, that’s all. Good lookin’.” I hung up with nothing else to say.
Rocking back in my leather chair, my mind drifted off to when Daija and I first met. She always talked about opening her very own barbershop or unisex salon while still traveling for gigs. The way she was so nice with cutting and styling, I was surprised she stopped to become a stay-at-home girlfriend. I mean, of course, I didn’t complain because I would rather have her safe inside, but deep down, I knew she would start missing it.
With her finally wanting to make her return, I felt she needed to do it her way. The thing was, I wasn’t gon’ let her struggle for it. If she was gon’ work, she was gon’ have her own shit. She was gon’ walk in the door, not begging for shifts, but signing checks.Everybody was gon’ know that was my woman, that she was tied to me, yet standing tall on her own.
I smirked to myself at my thoughts. Daija thought she was asking for independence, but what she was really doing was letting me build her a kingdom.
When she saw that wire hit, she was gon’ realize I didn’t just provide. I also positioned.
The door to my office opened slowly, and Daija peeked her head inside.
“I figured you were in here,” she stated, opening the door further. She held a plate of food and a glass of orange juice in her hands. “Here you go.” She placed my breakfast in front of me.
“Thanks, baby.” I gave her a kiss as she leaned in for one.
Just as I was about to take my first bite, my phone rang with Maverick’s name and picture appearing.
“Yo, bro,” I answered.
“Fuck you doing today?” he inquired.
“Heading to the funeral home for a service, then back home to chill with Daija.”
“Ol’ sucker ass nigga. Aight, man, I’ll pull up on you at the funeral home. I got some shit I gotta tell you,” he informed me.
“Aight bet.” I hung up.
I took a deep breath in and let it out before I started to get ready to head out. My mind instantly went wandering, trying to figure out what that nigga had to tell me.
The chapel washeavy with silence and grief, except for the preacher’s voice. I stood in the back as usual, watching from theshadows. Everything about that service had to be flawless, from the flowers to the casket, and even the timing had to be on point. It wasn’t just any service — it was for the son of the Manhattan Borough President, who had the city’s ear. He was the kind of client you didn’t just serve. You also had to protect.
I adjusted my cufflinks as my eyes moved from the ushers to the pallbearers. There was a sense of pride when I looked at what I’ve built. My funeral home carried weight in the streets because I made sure of that. It also carried weight with some of the most powerful people in the city and state. If there was one thing that I didn’t fuck around with, it was my businesses, both legitimate and illegal. I made sure I did everything right.
The door at the far end cracked open, and I caught Maverick sliding in. He didn’t even stop to look around. His eyes immediately met mine, and he tilted his head toward the hallway, motioning for me to come meet him.
I gave one last glance at the service, then slipped out behind him. We moved quietly down the corridor until we stepped into my office, closing the door behind us.
Maverick was already pacing with his jaw tight, which meant his mind was running hot.
