Chapter 12 #3
“Nel needs to stop tellin’ my fuckin’ business like his shit wasn’t a fuckin’ disaster just a few months ago.”
Lifting my hand, the big-haired bartender nearly tripped over her foot to come our way again. She had all of her teeth on display as she waited for my request. I smiled to be polite—I was more than uninterested in women right now.
“I need another.” I pointed to the empty glass that had housed a triple shot of Sullivans Cove.”
“Triple shot again?”
“No. I’ll take the bottle.”
Her smile dropped, making her wide nose the focal point of her face.
It went well with her bone structure, and she looked cute as hell with the perplexed expression on her face.
I loved women in all shapes and sizes and didn’t have the expectation that all women needed button noses to be attractive.
Wasn’t shit wrong with a bell pepper nose as long as the rest of your face matched that shit.
“The bottle is two thousand dollars…”
Crossing my hands as they rested on the bar top, I shot her a cheeky grin. “I didn’t ask the cost, Brook, but if we’re talking numbers, the bottle actually costs eight hundred. Your owner gotta get his profit, though, so I ain’t tripping.” My grin widened. “The bottle, please.”
Brook’s posture relaxed, and if it wasn’t for the alcohol, deep-fried foods, mix of cheap and mid-range perfumes and colognes hanging in the air, I would have been able to smell how relaxed she was.
Brook turned, her ass—which was small but had grip—hanging out of her black shorts. When she reached for the brand-new bottle, I clicked my tongue.
“This the Sullivans Cove.” She looked over her shoulder, big hair blocking her view.
“It is, but no need to pop a seal. I’ll take what’s left of that one.”
She pointed to the bottle that had a fourth of the whisky left in it. When I nodded, she sucked her teeth with a smirk.
“But you’ll be paying for a bottle that’s nearly gone. That’s silly.”
Holding my hand out, I took the bottle and poured it into the glass without responding.
That was her cue to go back to servicing her other customers.
I wasn’t up for conversing with her about what I was doing with the money in my pocket.
She’d be tipped well, and since the bar usually put a twenty percent gratuity on every ticket, she should’ve been trying to upsell me a second bottle.
Ditzy broads.
Tossing back the glass, I tasted the tea leaves, dried pineapples, and fresh pine layers of the whiskey as the flavors scratched my throat.
I hadn’t tasted this flavor profile, but I knew that with the single casks, you never knew what you were getting until you tried it.
I was going to enjoy the last of this bottle from the Australian company, but I’d be running an extra three miles tomorrow to burn this shit off.
“You gonna leave me hangin’, or you gonna fill the gaps on what Nel hadn’t? I still don’t understand how he told me the play but still left shit out—like I ain’t already married. Shit, I beat dat nigga down the aisle. I’m more certified than him and his brother, actually.”
Tunan laughed, and I chuckled with him because he had managed to marry before all of us except Ezio. Don was sure to rub that shit in every time he was in our space too. He definitely made it a point during our conversation on the plane coming back from Mexico.
“Bahati and I fucked off for years when I was livin’ in Chicago. There was… advantages to our relationship. Her pops was a pharmacist.”
“Was? Shid, we can do sum’n with dat.” Tunan’s brow raised.
“Yeah. That nigga dead, bro.”
Tunan’s brow rose even higher.
“Not my body.”
“Oh, aite. Continue.”
I poured more liquor, watching the syrup-colored liquor splash into the glass.
“Bahati was too deep in her feelings, fuckin’ up the money, so I let her go. Solana’s fiancée found her and, apparently my toddler, and now, I’m here.”
“And dem niggas?”
“MIA. But not fo’ long.”
I left out the details of Don’s plans and would fill Tunan in when we didn’t have such mixed company in our space. Openly talking about mob business at a bar was just plain stupid, and I knew better.
“So now you got baby mama and Solana at the crib?” Tunan asked, his smirk appearing again.
I took the shot, and this time a sigh followed it. “Not exactly. Solana, since she on that shit, she’s in rehab.”
“Rehab? Like a facility?”
“Nah. Real nigga rehab.” Italian had given it that name, and I could barely say the shit without laughing.
“How you feel ’bout dat?”
Picking up the glass, I swirled the ice around. “To be real, bro, I feel a lot of shit that I’m still sorting through. Solana should be dead for the shit she pulled. But then, Bahati was supposed to be dead too.”
“So dat’s why you drankin’ that old-man-ass liquor? Both yo’ hoes got yo’ mind gone!” Tunan laughed.
“Old-man-ass liquor cuz I’m old. Just told you I’m double my age. Life ain’t been consistently sweet.”
“Oh, I feel you on dat shit. But on the real… What’s next?
I ain’t tryna tell you some shit you don’t already know, but you still gotta find a wife.
I know you tired as fuck of hearin’ dat shit, especially from Don.
If dat nigga gave me a deadline, I’m sure his ass ’bout to light fye under you.
You got baby mama at the crib, and Solana being watched by yo’ people.
How you gonna bring somebody new in dat? ”
Picking up the bottle, I twisted the pour spout, and it came off with a pop. I filled the glass halfway and placed the bottle back down beside the glass. “I ain’t, Tune.”
“Hunh?”
“I ain’t bringin’ nobody new in.”
“Wait… You sayin’ you… Naw, bro. One on dat shit and the other been playin’ hide and go seek. Fuck you mean you not bringin’ nobody new in?”
“I gotta marry one of ’em.”
“You ain’t gotta do shit but stay black and die.”
“Yeah, well, according to Don, I gotta stay black, die, and marry either Bahati or Solana.”
Tunan dropped the chicken wing he’d just picked up back onto the plate and twisted his lip. “On God?”
“On foe ’nem.”
“The fuck? Heeeeelllll nawl. What’s the alternative? I ain’t finna believe dat shit yo’ only option.”
The alternative is leaving the fucking mob and making my own way.
But if I leave, you ain’t in. If I leave, I’m leaving my family behind—my blood.
I can’t watch their backs if I ain’t in.
I can’t make sure everything is running smoothly on the front and back end if I ain’t in.
Me leaving is going to cause a whole domino effect of shit.
Plus, as easy as it sounds, no one just walks away from the mob.
“No alternative so believe it. In thirty days, another Cuppacio will be added to the family tree.”
Tunan was dumbfounded with his mouth wide open as he stared at me. If the shit wasn’t so fucked up, I’d be laughing.
“Don done lost his fuckin’ mind. I mean, I knew his mind was gone when we got dumped in the desert, but damn! Now I really feel fucked up behind marryin’ Glow. You coulda had her.”
“That's all you, bro, and the desert really ain’t the hardest challenge we've been on. Just be glad you came in when you did.”
“I would say, it ain't worth it, but it most definitely is. I know you’n want nan one of dem, but shit… if it’s gonna keep you on top, just do eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”
“You childish as fuck.” I chuckled while shaking my head.
“Real shit, you gonna have to spin in a circle and cover your eyes and point, and whoever you land on, dat’s the one.
The baby mama may sound like the obvious choice cuz she got yo’ daughter, but from where I’m from, niggas hate dey baby mamas—especially the first one.
Number two is always the sweet spot. The fact dat she hid the baby from you, no matter the circumstances, is questionable as fuck.
Now, Mexi-Mami, her being on dope can cause a whol’ bitch of fuckin’ problems. She could get clean and you could marry her, but dere’s dat possibility of her gettin’ right the fuck back on drugs.
She could get so sprung out dat she take you for errthang you got!
” His ass shivered, and I knew he was thinking about ole girl who cleaned him out.
“Den we got dem niggas she was promised to… I mean, ain’t no bitch in my blood, but you know Mexicans be deep.
Dey don’t die, Dey multiply. Shit, I’d hate like hell to be you. ”
I was indeed in a fucked-up spot, but there was no sense in dwelling on it.
I could walk away. I’d thought about walking away more than once since I’d been propositioned on that plane, but I knew it wouldn’t end well for my people.
We’d wanted this for so long to secure our family and reinvent the Cuppacio name.
We didn’t give a fuck about the mob; Don killing our fathers was a gift.
But when Ezio saw how Scarlett and the Rinaldi Mob were living, we all agreed our mamas and aunts deserved the same.
Merging was the better move for our family, and the wife requirement was simple to me—so simple that I’d been on Ezio and my cousin’s asses about finding wives and doing what was necessary.
Now, I was in the same position. The difference was that I had two beautiful women as options, and I wanted nothing to do with either of them.