Chapter 38
Gilded Lies and Heavy Pockets
The humidity in Oakland clung to my skin like a second coat as I sat idling in the Honda, watching the heat waves ripple off the asphalt of Mario’s apartment complex.
On the other side of the phone line, Don’s voice droned on—familiar, heavy, and anchored by the comfort of a multi-million-dollar safety net.
People looked at our life from the outside and saw a gilded cage: a sprawling casa-style house, joint accounts sitting plump at five million, and a title that commanded respect in the streets.
They didn’t see the hollowed-out shell Don had become since the shooting.
Before the bullet clipped his drive, he was fat, funny, and full of a vibrant, unpredictable energy. Now, wealth had made him cautious, paranoid, and entirely detached from the woman who sat waiting in the passenger seat.
"Bae, I’m at the mall, but I ain’t going in 'til your ass get off the phone," I said, catching my own reflection in the visor mirror, my face locked into a sharp, unamused mug on FaceTime.
"Beautiful, you act like you can’t FaceTime me and do both," Don replied, unfazed.
"I can’t focus like that. You know I hate feeling crowded."
I flicked my eyes up and saw Mario stepping out from the breezeway, leaning casually against the exterior wall.
"Bae, I’m 'bout to go in. Text me what you want," I snapped, ending the call before he could protest. I pushed the door open, stepping out into the brutal sun in a crisp white strapless romper that hugged every curve.
Mario closed the distance instantly, his hands gripping my waist as he pulled me hard against him. "Mama, you look good," he murmured, his breath warm against my neck as he buried his face in my hair.
"Thank you, boo," I whispered back, pressing a quick peck to his lips.
Mario was striking—medium-length locs framing a lean, athletic frame that radiated raw, kinetic energy.
In the bedroom, he was an absolute force, possessing both the size and the intensity that Don’s lethargic lifestyle had long since abandoned.
Don was decent, sure—he had the girth, but Mario had the length, the stamina, and a hunger that matched my own.
Part II: The Inner Circle and the Friction
We walked up the concrete steps into the apartment, greeted by the familiar, heavy cloud of chronic smoke and the stoic silence of the five soldiers stationed near the entrance.
Don’s operation was massive, anchored by Clo, who controlled four apartment complexes across the city.
Under Clo sat four primary lieutenants: Rizz on the North side, smooth and polished enough to handle the white clientele; Trent holding down the East; Silk covering the West; and Mario commanding the South.
Each lieutenant managed a crew of five loyal foot soldiers.
Mario and I had been entangled for a month. It was supposed to be casual, an escape from the cold reality of my marriage, but lines were blurring.
As soon as the front door clicked shut, Mario pulled me into the kitchen.
The room was predictably stark, devoid of furniture save for a lone counter.
The living room was too crowded with his men, so we gravitated toward the edges.
Mario sparked a fresh blunt, stepping directly between my legs as I hopped up to sit on the edge of the corner counter.
He leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, possessive kiss while his hand slid purposefully underneath the hem of my romper.
"Damn," I whimpered, a sudden, involuntary heat pooling low in my stomach.
"Let’s go to the room," Mario murmured against my mouth, his grip tightening.
"No, you got too many people out there," I hissed, trying to regulate my breathing.
"What the fuck that supposed to mean?" he frowned, pulling back slightly.
"You know I have a man, Mario! Those niggas out there want your spot; they’d love nothing more than to drop a dime and tell Don you're fucking me."
Mario let out a harsh, dismissive laugh. "Why you give a fuck 'bout what someone might tell? They are my soldiers. If I ain’t eating, they ain’t."
"You sound fucking stupid! I love my man!" I yelled, the truth stinging my own throat.
Mario stepped back, his expression turning dark and frustrated. "You don’t love him when I’m in that shit. You are always telling me you love me, that you want to be with me, that you believe in me. No bitch never showed me that kind of love. You should leave that nigga."
His words hit me like a physical blow. A part of me did love him—or at least the vibrant, ambitious version of him that made me feel alive.
But leaving Don? Walking away from the empire, the security, the life we built?
That was entirely out of the question. The fantasy fractured right there in the empty kitchen, ruined by the careless ultimatum slipping from his mouth.
Tears welled in my eyes so suddenly and fiercely that I could physically taste the salt at the back of my throat.
I was devastated, not just because of the argument, but because I had genuinely believed we understood the boundaries of our arrangement.
"Give me a while to think about it," I whispered, my voice cracking.
He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around me in a tight, desperate hug. Before I could answer, a sharp, authoritative knock echoed through the front door.
"Who is it?" Mario yelled, pulling away and stepping toward the hallway.
"It’s Don," a voice called back from the other side.
Panic spiked through my chest like a lightning bolt. Without a second thought, I scrambled off the counter, dove into the dark recesses of the pantry, and pulled the door tightly shut just as the deadbolt turned.
Part III: The Close Call
"What the hell y’all on? Niggas just made me stand outside and shit," Don’s heavy voice boomed through the apartment.
"It’s a new territory protocol, Don. My bad, they just doing what I asked," Mario covered smoothly, his voice dangerously calm.
"How much is this?"
"Fifteen thousand," Mario replied.
"Oh yeah... whose red Honda Civic is parked right outside?"
My heart stopped.
"Must be someone at the neighbor's house or something, I don't know, fool, why?" Mario countered.
"Anyway, just call me when you need to reup," Don grunted.
I heard the heavy oak door swing shut and latch.
I waited a few minute in the suffocating dark of the pantry before stepping out.
My phone lit up in my hand—I was already running late to meet Mercedes and Tammy in thirty minutes.
Without a word to Mario, I turned on my heel, walked out of the apartment, and bolted across the complex.
I jumped into my Honda—my sleek, reliable 'hellcat' equivalent—and peeled out of the security gate just as my phone began to buzz.
It was Don.
"Hey baby, where are you?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual.
"On the way to have lunch with Mercedes and Tammy," I breathed, trying to steady my voice.
"Oh damn. What did you end up getting from the mall?"
"They were sold out of the bag I wanted, so I didn't even get anything."
"Oh. I just saw a car that looked exactly like yours out here. I said, 'Nah, I’m tripping, my girl is at the mall.'"
"Bae, you knew where I was," I managed, forcing a light chuckle.
"I did, but I’m 'bout to Cash App you right now, mama. Go treat your girls." With that, he hung up.
Part IV: The Restaurant Confrontation
When I pushed through the glass doors of the restaurant, Tammy and Mercedes were already seated at a corner booth, menus propped up in front of them.
"Mhm, your ass is always late," Mercedes greeted without looking up.
I slid into the vinyl booth across from them and opened my menu.
When I glanced up, Tammy was staring straight at me, her face locked in an obvious, heavy-duty mug.
The audacity of her irritated expression grated on my last remaining nerve.
She was acting like she had a personal stake in my personal life, and right then, I was more than ready to put her in her place.
How the hell are you mad about what I do with my own body?
"Tammy, they actually have a gluten-free menu here," I said smoothly, leaning forward. "I know you’ve been trying to lose a little weight."
Tammy’s eyes flashed with pure fury. "Oh yeah? Well, Junie, I know you got good health insurance. You probably need to go find yourself a good OB-GYN."
"Man, watch out," I snapped, half-rising from the booth.
Mercedes instantly shoved me back down into my seat. "Now, Junie, you started it. If she whoops your ass right here in the middle of lunch, I am not stepping in to help."
The tension hung thick in the air as we ordered our food, eating the rest of our meal in a tense, uncomfortable silence. Once the plates were cleared, Tammy couldn't hold it in any longer.
"So why the hell are you even still with Don?" she demanded, leaning across the table.
"I love him! I don't love Mario, he’s just fun to hang with," I defended defensively.
"What do you mean, hanging? The nigga is all over your ass!" Mercedes pointed out.
"Of course we're fucking. Don doesn't please me anymore," I hissed in a low, frustrated whisper.
"In the beginning, when nobody knew, it was thrilling. Even after people found out, it was manageable. But ever since the money came rolling in, it’s like Don completely forgot I have needs outside of a fat bank account."
"So what the hell are you going to do about it?" Mercedes asked, her tone softening slightly with concern.
"Give me a week. Please... just don't tell Don. I need time to figure out how to tell Mario we can’t keep doing this."
Tammy crossed her arms, skepticism written all over her face. "Why the hell should I protect some side piece over my own brother-in-law? He’s being played."
"We grew up in the same damn house, Tammy! I’m practically your sister. Don’t be disloyal like that," I pleaded, my voice cracking under the pressure.
Tammy let out a long, heavy sigh, rolling her eyes. "Okay, fine. But if this blows up in my face, I’m gonna need that."
Without waiting another second, I flagged down the waiter, dropped my card on the tray to cover the bill, and stared down the chaotic path ahead of me, knowing my time was rapidly running out.