Chapter 3
"A'ight, OG. Keep ya foot on the gas once you touch down. You already know Roe got everything set up for you," Syn said, leaning against the cell wall with his arms crossed.
"Nah, Nah, Nah... I got shit set up for myself," Mitch corrected, shaking his head. "I ain't never depended on the next nigga to do shit for me. You know how I move, young blood. What I always say?"
"If you want somethin' done right, you betta handle that shit yo'self," They said in unison.
Syn cracked up laughing, hating to see his Unc leave. It was bittersweet not because he wasn't happy for him, but because he helped him to focus on other shit besides Amor and his kids all the time. They understood each other because they understood the principle.
"A'ye,” he said, tapping the big stack of books he had on the metal desk in the corner of his cell. “Read these books. Feed ya mind while you run this time up in here. Eat the fish and spit out the bones, and let this time bring out the best in you. Don’t let this place rot what’s good in you.
Become a better man outside of this street shit we do," Mitch schooled.
"I do this shit 'cause it's all I got, and I was trained to do this shit since birth.
We ain't the same. You got a family waitin' for you when you touch down. "
Syn’s brow lifted. "Family?" He returned, taken aback.
"Fuckin' right,” Mitch shot back with a smirk.
“You got three women to choose from that love you more than you can handle.
Now there's one that you love more than you love yourself, and that's why yo' ass fumbled her," Mitch gave him some real shit to chew on.
"Stand in yo' shit. Reflect and figure out where you went wrong, and where there’s still room for growth. The streets gon’ always be there, but family…
Family gives all this shit a purpose. I got the rest." Mitch said, pulling him into a fatherly embrace.
Mitch had served a purpose in Syn’s life, getting through to him in a way that his biological father should have, but failed.
Though Syn wasn't his son, he'd accepted him as such since being locked up together. Everything Mitch had built inside those walls…respect, influence, and rank had quietly transferred to Syn the moment Mitch’s release became official.
Syn had earned it, and no one played with him.
Mitch stepped forward and pulled him into a firm embrace.
“You the new King, rule this shit yo’ way. Whoever don’t fall in line, you know what to do.”
Syn nodded, but didn't say a word as he sat down on his cot once
"Keep ya head right, we'll be in touch soon," Mitch said, tapping his hand on his chest.
“I got‘chu,” Syn said, following suit, repeating the same gesture as Mitch turned to walk away with Officer Williams. Syn grabbed his head phones and put YoungBoy's No F**k on and blasted the song in his ear as he laid back on his cot, and closed his eyes.
Meanwhile, Mitch did his final walk-through with his fist in the air as all the inmates on his tier cheered him on, and yelled out encouragement for their OG. Mitch had his hair cut by Moe, New York's finest barber who was serving five years for some bullshit.
“Lemme get you right one last time, OG,” Moe said, draping the cape around Mitch’s shoulders.
Afterwards he took a shower, and changed into an exclusive onyx Tom Ford suit tailored to perfection, paired with customized Italian loafers.
His gold, diamond-encrusted cufflinks, sage and gold pocket square, gold diamond encrusted patek, Cuban link chain, and ring on his right ring finger added the perfect amount of personality to his overall look.
When he stepped out of the prison's side exit, he looked like a billionaire.
Monroe stood outside the gate, leaned against his whip, excitedly waiting for his uncle to walk out of that hellhole he'd been in for over a decade.
"Unc!" Monroe exclaimed, exuding pure joy.
"Nephew!" Mitch returned the same energy, ready for his next phase of life.
The moment was hard to put in words, but one thing was certain in life, everything wasn't tangible... some things were only meant for the heart to feel.
"This you?" Mitch asked, stepping back slowly, eyeing the 2026 Rolls-Royce Centenary Private Collection.
He was familiar with this edition because he was a low-key foreign car enthusiast. He'd been looking at this car since it was released.
Syn had told Monroe a week after Mitch's parole hearing was finalized.
Monroe had rubbed shoulders with a lot of key people to get his uncle's parole granted, and he wanted to make sure he had all the right things lined up for him.
"Nah, Unc. This you," Monroe casually stated, stepping back, handing him the key fob.
Mitch stared at it for half a second before letting out a low whistle.
"Now that's what the fuck I'm talkin' 'bout.
I know this mu'fucka ride smooth as hell," Mitch muttered, walking slowly around his new whip, his hand brushing lightly across the hood.
"Come on. Let's get the fuck out of dodge," he stated, hopping in the driver's seat.
The engine purred to life like it had been waiting for him specifically. Monroe climbed into the passenger seat, relaxed but observant as Mitch pulled off from the curb. Freedom looked good on him.
Monroe chuckled, glad to see his uncle truly happy. "Ma Dukes said she wanna see you as soon as you touch down," Monroe said, remembering what his mom had told him in St. Tropez.
Mitch nodded once, already knowing the reason why. "A'ight, just tell me how to get there," Mitch replied, stopping at the traffic light.
Monroe gestured toward the dash. “Already handled. The GPS is set.”
“Bet,” Mitch replied, slowly getting back into his own groove.
Just as Monroe was about to turn the music up, his phone rang with Promise’s beautiful face flashing across his screen. “What’s good, Doll?” he answered smoothly.
“Hey, handsome. How’d everything go with picking up your uncle? I can’t wait to meet him,” Promise said, rearranging one of her drawers.
“You already know I’ma make it happen. You gon’ spend the night wit’cha man tonight or what?” Monroe asked, looking out the window.
“Nope. I gotta go to work in the morning.”
“You can go to work from my place.”
“I could, but that’s not the point.”
“What’s the point, Doll?”
“The point is… I need my damn rest, and I know you not gone let me get none if I come to your place.”
“That’s that bullshit I be talkin’ ‘bout, Doll. You know a nigga don’t sleep right when you ain’t close by.”
Promise tittered. “Well, I’m a lot closer now,” she said softly. “I’ll come over after I get off work tomorrow, and I’ll do something special for you.”
“Yea, a’ight. Special, huh?” He quizzed rhetorically, not trying to hear none of what she was talking about.
“Mhm,” she said sexily. “But, go ahead and catch up with your uncle. Call me before you call it a night.”
“Already,” Monroe said before disconnecting from the call.
Mitch had ear hustled the whole time, discovering instantly that his nephew had fallen for the woman he was on the phone with.
It had nothing to do with the words spoken.
He picked up on how Monroe’s body language had shifted.
His tone had changed. His gaze deepened.
He smiled, and Mitch peeped how the whole scene had played out, and nodded when Monroe concluded the call.
“What’s her name?” Mitch asked simply, maintaining his focus on the road.
Monroe chuckled. “Promise,” he answered smoothly, gazing out of the window.
“Why haven’t I heard about her?” Mitch quizzed, leaned back in his seat, cruising the expressway.
“Just been keeping her to myself, Unc,” Monroe replied truthfully.
Mitch’s mind instantly went back to the advice he’d given his nephew after he’d shaken back from losing his first love, Sienna.
It’s hard to love again after losing the love of your life, nephew.
Wrapping your mind around loving again may seem foreign, but you will.
No time soon, but you will. When you do…
keep her to yourself a little while, take time to study everything about her.
Especially shit like her scent, body language, and pay attention to the way your heart feels when she’s not under your care.
Don’t share her with anyone, not even me, until you know she’s your queen.
Mitch understood immediately how serious the relationship was when Monroe said that. Mitch had given him wise counsel years ago, and was proud to know that he’d taken heed. Monroe and his uncle had the same mind. The way they processed shit was always different than the average.
They were always strategic.
Always dominating.
Skimping on shit like precision and taking care of real business wasn’t part of their nature.
However, when it came to the women they loved, loyalty wasn’t something that needed discussion, it was understood.
Protecting what belonged to them mentally, emotionally, and physically.
That was instinct. That was law. They specialized in securing their heart, mind, and body at all times.
The life they led could be dangerous, and didn’t leave much room for softness.
Power came with enemies, and enemies came with consequences.
No matter how hard niggas’ claimed to be, it took a special type to run shit the way his nephew had, even in his absence.
His name alone moved rooms.
His presence alone shifted outcomes.
It took a different type of discipline to rule at the magnitude Monroe had mastered, and if anyone knew the war Monroe had to fight to get to the place he stood, it was Mitch. He was the only one who knew how to get through to him when he’d shut the world out.
“You love her?” Mitch pried further as he eased into Macie’s driveway.
Monroe didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he smiled as his attention shifted to the sight of his mother stepping from her truck, her arms filled with bags from some of the most exclusive designer shops.