Chapter Seven- Snow
“I can’t believe your brother is really married,” Ciara said before she placed her nose on the glass of the table and sniffed two lines of pure Colombian cocaine. Ciara closed her eyes and pinched her nose. She sat on the sofa opposite me, in her bra and underwear.
Resting her head back on the sofa, she got quiet as her high slowly crept in. I still wore my suit from my brother’s wedding. I didn’t take any cocaine because I needed to have a clear head. I had to sit and wait for Ciara to be completely knocked out before I could make my move.
I stared at Ciara and felt nothing. There wasn’t a day that went by that I wished I’d never gotten married to this woman. When we first met, she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen in my fucking life.
My father owned many businesses. This was how we washed our dirty money. We would use our legitimate businesses as a front for all the illegal money we acquired.
One of the businesses my father started was a nightclub.
I pushed Tomasso to start the club because I wanted to run it alone.
In those days, I wasn’t on drugs, I was an upstanding model citizen and shit.
That all changed the night Ciara walked into the club with her friends and her boyfriend.
The Belladonna Club was in full swing that night.
I was walking around, making sure everyone was having a good time, when I noticed one of the bouncers arguing with a small group.
Quickly, I made my way over to assess the situation.
The group consisted of two women and two men.
Ciara caught my eye right away. She wore a very short black dress with a neckline that plunged so low, it stopped in the middle of her stomach.
She reminded me of Doja Cat, the singer, just a slightly darker version.
Her ginger-colored hair stopped at her shoulders, framing her pretty face.
“What’s the problem, Fabricio?” I asked the burly Italian bouncer.
“I got word of someone doing drugs in the men’s and women's bathroom. I found these four with this on them,” Fabricio held up two small packets with cocaine. I frowned, taking it from him before looking at the foursome.
“Drugs aren’t allowed in my club,” I informed them, giving the drugs back to Fabricio. I looked at all four before my eyes settled on Ciara. I remember being so disappointed that she was a coke-head.
“You four need to leave and never fucking come back here,” I ordered them, pointing at the club’s exit.
I was about to turn and be on my way, Fabricio would be able to deal with these misfits.
Before I made a single step, somebody grabbed my arm.
I turned to see it was Ciara. I recall she had such a puppy dog expression in her eyes.
She asked if I didn’t mind her using the bathroom before she left.
I agreed and walked her over to use the restroom.
All it took was ten minutes, and Ciara had me believing that she didn’t know her friends and boyfriend brought cocaine with them.
Ciara gave me her number before leaving the club that night.
After that, she came frequently, always letting me know when she’d be there.
I guess she broke it off with her boyfriend because we spent a lot of time together, and I swore I was in love.
Ciara didn’t expose her drug habit to me for the first couple of months.
She played her part, acted right, and had me believe that doing drugs was not her thing.
So, how did she manage to get a nigga hooked?
It happened one night, Ciara and I had just had sex, and we were lying on my bed.
She told me she had weed for us to smoke.
I agreed, not thinking anything of it. What I didn’t know was that Ciara had laced it with cocaine.
That first taste of white powder mixed with weed had my heart racing, my pulse thumping, and my mind floating on cloud nine.
I remember asking Ciara what was in the weed because I knew she'd put something in it.
She laughed, telling me to relax and enjoy this new high.
I was pissed off at her for doing something like that.
I kicked her ass out of my house, telling her I wanted nothing to do with her ass.
However, the thing about smoking weed laced with cocaine is that shit quickly turns you into an addict.
All you’ll want is more and more. Before I knew it, I was calling Ciara, asking her to bring more of the exact weed I’d kicked her out of my house for.
Obviously, it didn’t take long to navigate from lacing my weed with cocaine to snorting lines.
Ciara introduced me to cocaine, and I’d been trying to kick that habit ever since.
Ciara and I were married before my parents, and Buddha found out I was hooked on cocaine.
They found out the first time I OD. My parents flew out of town, Ciara and I had a few people over at my house.
Things got out of hand, and the next thing I knew, I woke up hooked up to machines in a hospital room.
Ciara found me on the bathroom floor. She called Buddha.
When he came to the house and saw all the drugs, he demanded to know where I had gotten cocaine.
Ciara did what she did best: she lied. She told Buddha she had no idea where it came from.
He had no choice but to wait until I had woken up in the hospital.
Buddha drilled me, asking repeatedly why, when he got to my house, everyone was stoned, and that he saw drugs just about everywhere.
I was already considered a screwup in my family’s eyes; it was no secret that Buddha was the favorite son.
Admitting that I had been using was no big deal to me.
My brother was very disappointed, I could tell by his facial expression.
He didn’t need me to say that Ciara was the one who introduced me to cocaine.
Right there, Buddha’s dislike for Ciara began.
When my parents found out that I was on drugs, the shit really hit the fan.
Tomasso threatened to put me out of the will.
My mother nearly killed Ciara with her 9mm.
My father had to convince my mother that Ciara wasn’t worth it.
Tomasso made me check into rehab. I would remain clean for a while, but everything would just start all over again.
How could I get clean when my wife was snorting lines right before my eyes?
Everyone wanted me to divorce Ciara, but I didn’t see the point.
My father didn’t see me as of any value; his favorite person was Buddha.
What would divorcing Ciara prove? That I was a failure at yet another thing.
So much to my parents' dismay, I remained a married man to a woman they disliked. Not only was I addicted to cocaine, but I stayed married to the woman who encouraged my habit by getting high with me. Besides, according to my father, Ricci men don’t get divorced.
Now, as I sit here in my living room looking at Ciara, knocked out from two lines she just snorted.
I realize that being divorced and getting away from this bitch is the best thing that I can do.
As the years passed, my aspirations slowly changed.
I didn’t want to be the son that my parents couldn’t boast about.
I no longer wanted to depend on drugs to get by on a daily basis.
In fact, I wanted to be a father one day, have at least two kids, maybe even three.
I sure couldn’t do that if I were getting high all the time, and I for damn sure couldn’t conceive with a female who snorted cocaine more than she drank water.
I rubbed my eyes and exhaled softly, knowing I needed to try harder to become the man I knew I could be. A buzzing in my pants pocket broke me out of my thoughts, and I quickly pulled my device out. When I saw who was calling, I got up and walked away to the kitchen to take the call.
“Hey,” I said, softly answering her call. A smile was already plastered on my face.
“Hey, how was the wedding?”
“It got even better when the bride got drunk and started singing, You don’t own me to my brother,” I laughed when I remembered Dior’s little performance.
“Oh my God, she did not. Your brother was probably pissed off.”
“You know Buddha. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a caveman. I done told him he met his match,” I chuckled, running a hand through my curly mohawk. There was an awkward pause between us before she spoke again.
“Are you still mad with me?” I thought about her question and smiled with a shake of my head.
“I could never remain mad at you,” I answered honestly.
“Good, so I can see you tonight?” My heart did a double somersault at her question. I looked at the diamond-encrusted Jacob it was my best-kept secret.
I made it in twenty minutes. I didn’t even bother changing out of my best man’s suit.
The apartment was a high-rise, 5k-a-month spot.
It came fully furnished and was very modern.
I didn’t really care about the marble floors, granite countertops, and the fancy lighting fixtures.
All I cared about was spending time with the person that I had no business being with.
Once I stepped out of the elevator and walked up to the apartment door, I used the key card and stepped inside.
I smiled at the sight as the door closed behind me.
There she was on her back, wearing nothing but a robe, scrolling through her phone.
When she heard the door close, she looked up and smiled at me before she jumped up, racing toward me.
Hopping into my waiting arms and wrapping her legs around my waist. We kissed like the forbidden lovers we were. Our tongues danced and lapped while I roughly pulled her robe open.
Placing her on her feet, the robe fell to the ground, and she stood naked. She wore nothing except her pretty ass smile.
“I missed you,” she said, unzipping my pants and reaching for what I couldn’t wait to bury deep inside of her.
“You missed me?” I asked, closing my eyes when she wrapped her warm fingers around my meaty dick.
“I missed you so fucking much. Please, just fuck me,” she said, turning around, arching her back, and sticking her ass out. Her hands were spread open wide on the wall in front of her. With a devilish grin, I slapped her ass. Grabbing my dick, I pushed my way inside.
“Aaahhhh!” she cried out, clawing the walls as I pumped relentlessly inside of her.
My strokes forced her entire body forward until her forehead connected with the wall.
Despite all that bull-shit my brother says about my dick not working because I’m on coke.
That shit is further from the truth; my dick worked like all I took were those little blue pills.
“Yeah, just like that. I love it when you fuck me hard,” she said, clenching her teeth as she reached behind her to grab my hair. Returning the favor, I grabbed a handful of her honey blonde hair and pressed my mouth against her ear.
“You’re no Angel, you’re my fucking troia (slut),” I whispered in her ear.
“Yessss, I love being your slut,” she said, turning her head so she could kiss me.
Our affair was always like this, raw and free.
She liked it rough, and so did I. She wasn’t only the woman I was having an illicit affair with, she was trying to turn me into a better man.
She encouraged me to kick my drug habit because she said she didn’t know what she would do if I ever overdosed and died. She loved me despite my shortcomings.
There was one very big problem. This was Angel, whom I was fucking, and Angel was Edwardo's daughter.
The man who kidnapped my brother when he was nineteen, the man who looked my father straight in his eyes and said, if anybody in the Ricci family ever makes trouble for his family again, a bitter war would break out between the Ricci's and the Bianchi's.
The last thing my father wanted was unnecessary bloodshed, so he told Edwardo he had nothing to worry about.
Nobody counted on Angel and me falling in love, even though I was married and she had a fiancé.
That wasn’t even the most fucked up part; the real issue was the fact that Angel was six weeks pregnant.
A baby that I knew for a fact was mine because her fiancé had been out of the country when she conceived. He only just returned about a week ago.
Even though I told her to get an abortion, Angel refused to listen to reason. There was only one person who knew about Angel, and that was my brother Buddha. His finding out was a mistake, and he’s been on my neck ever since.
If Angel really did keep this baby, and Edwardo eventually finds out about us. The war that would break out between our families was about to be fucking epical (epic).