Chapter 4
“Domino”
The only reasons I ever left Alejandro’s side were for my mama’s birthday, Mother’s Day, and either Thanksgiving or Christmas.
Three times a year… that was the rule.
Everything else in my life came second to the business, but those three days belonged to her. That year, it was Thanksgiving.
My hometown was Baltimore, and not the pretty parts shown on postcards either, but the real Baltimore—row houses, corner stores behind bulletproof glass, and neighborhoods where everybody knew everybody’s business, whether you liked it or not.
I drove down the familiar block slowly, letting my eyes travel over the place that raised me.
Same cracked sidewalks.
Same corner boys.
Same old lady peeking through the blinds across the street.
The only difference was me. I wasn’t that skinny kid running errands for a dollar anymore; I was Domino.
My mama still lived on the same street, but the house looked nothing like it used to.
It now had fresh paint, new windows and cameras posted on every angle of the property.
I tried to get her real security once, but she shut that idea down quick.
Talkin’ ‘bout, “Boy, what I need guards for? I raised you on this street. These folks watched you grow up. Ain’t nobody about to run up on me unless they trying to get embarrassed.”
That was Mama.
Stubborn as hell… still hood… still fearless.
So instead of guards, I made sure everything else was straight.
She had three cars sitting in the driveway, even though she barely drove one of them. Money stayed in her account longer than she ever thought possible. And when she turned forty-five, I made her retire whether she wanted to or not.
No more night shifts.
No more double shifts.
No more aching feet.
No more coming home too tired to even eat.
Growing up, Mama worked jobs I didn’t even know the names of.
Shit, you name it, she probably worked it.
Sometimes I’d wake up, and she was gone.
Other times, I’d go to sleep, and she still wasn’t home.
But there was always food, always clean clothes, and always love.
So ain’t no way I was letting the woman who raised me struggle, especially after everything she sacrificed just to keep me alive and out the streets… when if the streets found me anyway.
Top of Form
Bottom of Form
My father was murdered by a gang member when I was four years old. I don’t remember him much, but I do remember the way my mama used to cry when she thought I was asleep. That alone was enough to make me hate the streets.
Funny how life works, though—the streets ended up loving me.
That was because of Alejandro.
I was sixteen when he first noticed me. He didn’t take a liking to me because I was tough; it was my intelligence that pulled him in. Most young boys trying to be gangsters move loud. I moved quiet, watched everything, said little, and learned fast.
Alejandro pulled me to the side one night outside a corner store and said something I never forgot. “You either gonna die in this neighborhood or run it.”
I chose the second option.
He started mentoring me after that, teaching me things most grown men never learn.
By the time I was twenty-two, people weren’t just respecting me, they were afraid of me, and somewhere along the way, Alejandro stopped being just a mentor… he became family. My mama didn’t love the life, but she loved that I survived it, and she appreciated Alejandro for making sure I did.
I stepped out the car and headed to the door. Before I could even knock, it swung open. Mama stood in the doorway, wearing a robe, a headscarf tied tight, and house shoes.
Still hood… still beautiful.
“Lord, my baby is home!”
She wrapped her arms around me before I could say a word.
I laughed and hugged her back. “Hey, Ma.”
She stepped back and grabbed my face. “Look at you! Still handsome… still mean-looking.”
I chuckled. “I’m not mean-looking.”
“You look like somebody owe you money, and you came to the city to collect.”
“Ma,” I said, shaking my head, “when I come home, I’m here on personal. I don’t mix business with this. Ain’t nobody getting checked, pressed, or handled in my city… not when I’m around family.”
“Mm-hmm. Either way, I’m glad you’re home. Come in.” She pulled me inside.
The house smelled like Thanksgiving had personally RSVP’d, and Thanksgiving was three days away.
“I’ll have you know I’ve been up since five this morning, cleaning and cooking, just because I knew you’d be hungry when you made it,” Mama said as we headed into the kitchen.
“I appreciate that, Ma, because a nigga sho’ is starving.” I rubbed my stomach dramatically.
She turned around and studied me from head to toe. “Mmm. Looks like they feeding you real good down there in that Mexican city.”
Mama tripped me out. She would never say Mexico, always Mexican city.
I glanced down at myself and smirked. I wasn’t fat, and I damn sure wasn’t a slim ass nigga. My build sat right in that space where strength showed without trying. I had broad shoulders, a solid chest, and arms filled out from years in gyms and fights.
“I always been an eater, Ma.”
She waved me off. “I’m talking about food, boy!”
“Shid, me too,” I replied with a grin. “I don’t put my lips on no female.”
That part was true. I wasn’t built like these other dudes. If I ever ate a female’s pussy, it would be my wife. She could get all that. But until then? Nah.
Mama rolled her eyes. “But you wasn’t always an eater,” she continued. “When you was little, your ribs used to introduce themselves before you did. But sit down and get you a bite to eat,” she offered, waving me toward the table. “I made your favorite.”
Before sitting, I looked over toward the stove, and there was a big pot of spaghetti covered in thick meat sauce, crispy fried fish stacked high on a platter, sweet corn glistening with butter, and a pan of garlic bread toasted just right around the edges.
I finally sat down and shook my head slowly. “Ma, you went crazy. You must be expecting more company later? You done cooked enough to feed at least two families.”
“I’m not. I just know you eat like you’re feeding the whole block.” She joked, then piled my plate high the same way she used to when I was a kid, like feeding me was still her job, even though I could buy the whole grocery store now.
“Besides, I know what my son likes,” she added proudly, sliding the plate in front of me.
A mountain of spaghetti first… then three pieces of fish… corn on the side… and a garlic bread tucked on the edge.
Mama took a seat. “You remember when you used to beg me to make this? You used to eat three bowls and still ask what was for dessert.”
I scoffed. “Beg? Ma, I used to act sick just so you’d cook my favorite.”
“Oh, really? Glad to know that.”
I grabbed my fork and dug in.
The first bite hit, and I shook my head slowly.
“Yeah… I miss this.”
This right here tastes like childhood.
Mama didn’t even touch her food; she just leaned back in her chair, watching me eat, smiling in that quiet way mothers do when they know their child made it back home safe. Every time I looked up, she was still staring… smiling.
“What?” I asked, with a smirk.
“Nothing. Just looking at my son.”
I shook my head and kept eating.
“So… you got a woman yet?” she asked, almost spoiling the moment.
I wiped my mouth slowly. “Here you go.”
“What? I’m just asking a question.”
“Well, to answer your question… no, Ma.”
“And is this by choice?”
“Yeah,” I simply answered.
She leaned back in her chair. “Damari, you’re thirty-three years old.”
“And?”
“And that means I should have grandkids… or at least one in the making.”
I tilted my head. “You want grandkids, or you want peace?”
“I want both!” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Actually… is there something you need to tell me? Is there more going on in that Mexican city than you’re saying?”
I paused mid-bite.
“I won’t judge, son,” she added. “But I gotta know why I’ve never seen you with a girl.”
I damn near choked. “Ma…” I coughed, grabbing my drink. “You trying to say a nigga gay?”
She shrugged, real casual. “Well, I’m just saying. You’re handsome, you got money, and yet no woman has ever popped up here with you. So, either you’re hiding somebody or you’re hiding something.”
“Well, I damn sho’ ain’t gay; that’s for damn sure. Just because I ain’t brought nobody around you don’t mean nothing. I deal with women… if you only knew how many.”
“Oh, do you now?”
“Yeah… I just don’t keep ’em.”
“Why not?”
I leaned back in my chair. “Because the life I live ain’t built for somebody sitting around worrying if I’m coming home or not.”
“Does Alejandro have a woman?”
I shook my head. “Nah.”
She nodded slowly. “Figures.”
“What that supposed to mean?”
“It means men in certain lives don’t get the luxury of normal love, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve it. Look, I love Alejandro. He made sure that you didn’t end up dead or locked up, but that doesn’t mean you gotta live your whole life behind him. You got your own life, too, Damari.”
I didn’t respond.
Her voice softened a little. “I’m not judging you, Damari. I know the world you live in. I just don’t want it to be the only world you know.”
I looked down at my plate. “That ship might’ve already sailed, Ma.”
“Ships turn around,” she fired back.
I looked up and smirked. “You been watching them motivational videos again?”
“Don’t play with me.” She pointed at my plate. “Now eat before it gets cold. You didn’t come all the way here to have a therapy session.”
I chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”
I grabbed a fork and went right back to tearing that food up.
After eating, I went down the hallway toward my old room. The posters were gone, and there was a new bedroom set, but the energy still felt the same.
I opened my duffel bag and started unpacking when my phone rang.
Marcos.
“What’s up?” I answered.
“Business,” he replied immediately.
I sighed. “I’m out of pocket this week. Talk to Alejandro.”
“Already did.”
“And?”
“He told me to still run it by you.”
Of course he did.