Chapter 7 #3
"What's good, Unc?" Monroe returned, slapping hands with Mitch, and pulling him in for a manly hug.
Mitch knew something was off with his nephew as soon as he stepped out of his car, but when they embraced, there was no mistaking the heaviness that weighed heavily on his shoulders.
The weight.
The anger.
The grief.
Mitch had raised too many killers, kings, and wounded boys disguised as men not to recognize pain when it stood in front of him.
So while he wasn’t Monroe’s father, he’d still filled the role when his brother died.
That was the thing about a real father who knew his son, he always paid attention to non-verbal cues, voice tones, and body language.
Things like this always kept him on point, and in tune with his surroundings, and those who mattered most in his life.
"Come have a drink wit' me," Mitch said, leading the way into his estate.
It was quiet, but screamed extreme wealth.
Dark wood. Marble floors. Low lighting. Artwork that cost more than some people’s mortgages.
They moved through the house until they reached Mitch’s study, a room that smelled like a mix of sandalwood, cigar smoke, leather, and old power.
Mitch went straight to his mini bar, and poured Monroe a double shot, straight, no ice.
"What's on yo' mind, nephew?" Mitch asked, handing Monroe his glass.
Monroe let out a hard breath, accepting the glass, but not speaking right away.
"Man, Unc," Monroe sat down and began. "I been tryna wrap my head around this shit for a couple days, and the more I analyze this shit the more fucked up it becomes."
Mitch sat down at his desk and continued to listen.
Monroe took a gulp, welcoming the slight burn before he began. "The other day I got a call from Ms. Davis. She asked me to meet her at her restaurant, but when I got there, she wasn't there... Sienna was."
Mitch clenched his teeth, and shook his head, but continued to listen.
Monroe noticed, but continued. "The shit is crazy ‘cause she ‘posed to be dead. I mean she been dead for the last twelve years, and the coldest part ‘bout all this shit is she said mom's was the culprit. Said she threatened her, then staged her death. I’on know what to bel-"
"She tellin’ you the truth," Mitch cut in and confirmed.
The words hit the room like a body dropping. Neither of them moved, just held eye contact as reality set in.
"Hol’ up," Monroe paused briefly. "So, you knew ‘bout this shit all along?" he asked, eyes unwavering as he sat his glass down on the other side of Mitch’s desk.
"Nah, I just found out when I opened the letter Dad left for me," Mitch told him truthfully. "You know I'd never keep no shit like this from you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to know me,” Mitch replied. “You know damn well I wouldn’t keep no shit like that from you.”
Monroe looked away, jaw pulsing.
Mitch continued. “I was waitin’ until I had the right moment to bring it to you. That ain’t the kinda truth you just throw out there without knowing how to help him carry it afterward.”
“I don’t need help carrying shit. I needed the truth.”
“A’ight, nephew. Now you got it,” Mitch said.
“Nah,” Monroe snapped. “I got pieces. And everybody else seem to know the full story longer than me.”
The hurt beneath his anger made Mitch’s chest tighten. Monroe had always been lethal, but this wasn’t the same. This wasn’t business. This was personal in a way that could make a man burn down everything he was supposed to protect.
“There’s more,” Mitch said carefully.
Monroe’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Mitch reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a blunt, taking his time because there was no clean way to say what needed to be said.
Monroe watched him, his patience growing thinner by the second.
“What the fuck else could there be, Unc?”
Mitch sparked the blunt, inhaled once, then released the smoke slowly.
“Sienna was pregnant with your daughter.”
Monroe was speechless. For the first time all night, the anger vanished.
Not because it was gone, but because the shock of the revelation had swallowed it whole.
Keepin' a man’s daughter from him is at the top of the list of things you just didn’t do to men like Monroe.
Macie's ass was out of line for this shit, but how to handle her would have to be Monroe’s decision.
“The fuck you just say?”
“Sienna was pregnant when Macie forced her to leave.”
Monroe blinked, like his mind rejected the sentence. “Nah.” Monroe shook his head harder. "My daughter?" Monroe repeated. "Fuck you mean I got a daughter? I'on have no kids. Don’t play wit’ me like that, Unc."
“Yea, man. I ain’t playin’ wit’chu. Shit is all fucked up,” Mitch voice lowly, but there was nothing he could do to weaken the truth.
Monroe stood and paced the floor, and silence filled the space.
Sienna was alive. Macie was responsible.
Promise was waiting for answers he wasn’t ready to give.
And Monroe… He was a man who had spent his entire life mastering control, yet he felt like everything inside him was slipping. Monroe saw nothing but black.
Mitch sighed, watching as pain seeped into his nephew’s heart, and hated every second of it.
He opened his drawer and pulled out a blunt.
"Macie ain't leave the girl no other choice.
It was leave New York or die. Macie knew she was pregnant, and still her heart was so fuckin' cold she didn't budge. "
Monroe’s glass slipped from his hand and shattered against the floor.
He hadn't shed a tear since the day the doctor told him Sienna had died during surgery.
Mitch knew that. Everybody close to Monroe knew that.
That grief had changed him, hardened him, and made him colder than he had any business being at seventeen. But this pain was worse.
It came with stolen time he could never regain.
Love stolen.
Fatherhood stolen.
Finding out that not only is Sienna alive, but that he had a daughter felt like a vicious blow to his heart.
Uncontrolled tears carved paths down his face, and he didn't bother to stop them. A daughter? How the fuck could this be? I know damn well I ain’t missed twelve years of her life.
This shit can’t be fuckin’ real, his mind raced as he paced the floor trying to process all this shit, still.
“You tellin’ me my daughter been alive all this time?” Monroe asked.
Mitch nodded.
“And Moms’ knew?”
“She knew,” Mitch confirmed again, cementing the reality of it all.
“Grandpop knew?”
Mitch’s silence answered before his mouth did.
Monroe’s expression shifted, and this time the rage came back meaner.
“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
"You know how sick your grandfather was. He knew what Macie did, but he needed you and her to-"
"All due respect, Unc…I ain't tryna hear none of that shit.
You tellin' me grandpop knew about this shit, and didn't tell me?
" Monroe seethed. "The way I see it is he was just as selfish as my fuckin' mother!” He snapped.
“Losin' Sienna fuckin' broke me. Until seeing her face the other day…
Do you understand the fuckin' guilt I walked around with for the last twelve years? Her death was on me!"
Mitch didn’t say a word because truthfully, on every level all this shit was wrong, and he couldn’t defend it. Monroe’s anger was justified. If the shoe was on his foot, he’d be on demon time. Fuck mercy.