Mafioso [Part 1] Read online

  Mafioso

  Part 1

  by

  Nisa Santiago

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Mafioso - Part One . Copyright © 2017 by Melodrama Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address [email protected].

  www.melodramapublishing.com

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017909508

  ISBN-13: 978-1620780800

  First Edition: October 2017

  Printed in Canada

  Books By Nisa Santiago

  Cartier Cartel: Part 1

  Return of the Cartier Cartel: Part 2

  Cartier Cartel - South Beach Slaughter: Part 3

  Bad Apple: The Baddest Chick Part 1

  Coca Kola: The Baddest Chick Part 2

  Checkmate: The Baddest Chick Part 3

  Face Off: The Baddest Chick Part 4

  South Beach Cartel

  On the Run: The Baddest Chick Part 5

  Unfinished Business: The Baddest Chick Part 6

  Guard the Throne

  Dirty Money Honey

  Murdergram

  Murdergram 2

  The House That Hustle Built

  The House That Hustle Built 2

  The House That Hustle Built 3

  Killer Dolls

  Killer Dolls 2

  Killer Dolls 3

  Mafioso - Part 1

  Mafioso - Part 2

  Mafioso - Part 3

  Mafioso - Part 4

  1

  September 1994

  The pearl white BMW 535i sailed east on Linden Boulevard, nearing the Cypress Hills projects between Sutter Avenue and Linden. The car was clean and brand new, fresh off the lot from the dealership in Long Island. The air conditioning was on blast, protecting the driver from the intense heat outside, as Mary J. Blige’s “Love No Limit” played from the speakers. The sound system was so crisp, Maxine felt like Mary J. was in the back seat singing.

  Twenty years old with a lot to look forward to in her life, Maxine was an exquisite woman. She had ebony skin, high cheekbones, and bright eyes framed by long lashes, and her long, luscious black hair came flowing down to her shoulders. Though petite, she was curvy in the right places, and she had a contagious smile. She sported a diamond tennis bracelet, a Rolex watch, and DKNY gear. Her hair was always done, and she always had money in her pockets.

  Maxine was in her second year at John Jay College and wanted to be a lawyer, but her one weakness was Scottie—her sexy, thuggish bad boy. Scottie was a fledgling drug dealer making money in Brooklyn. The car was a gift from him.

  Upbeat and thinking about her man, she sang loudly to the track, nodding to the beat. She drove past the Cypress Hills projects and continued toward Blake Avenue in East New York, where her parents owned a newly built two-story brick home that came with its own driveway—a luxury in Brooklyn—and was surrounded by a wrought iron fence.

  Maxine’s parents were hardworking, law-abiding citizens who instilled morals, education, and hard work in her from the time she was young. They tried to keep her separated from the harsh reality of the street life.

  From the time she was born, Maxine had a roof over her head, plenty of food to eat, clothes on her back, and two loving parents. Having all that was a rarity in the ghetto, and for a long time, Maxine followed her parents’ rules and lived morally.

  Until Scottie came into the picture. Scottie took her virginity and spoiled her with expensive gifts. He was becoming her guilty pleasure.

  Maxine stopped at the bodega near her home. She had a taste for some gummy bears and a Snapple. She climbed out of her new car looking sporty in a miniskirt, tank top, and white Nikes. All eyes were on her, because of who she belonged to. The men could only watch and admire her from afar, knowing Scottie was nobody to fuck with. He had come out of the Lafayette Gardens projects, and he had a grimy reputation across town.

  Maxine strutted into the old bodega with Scottie on her mind. The pearl white 535i sparkled on the dilapidated block. The girls lingering nearby gawked at her, wishing they could have what she had.

  Maxine picked up a few things inside the store and placed them on the counter in front of the Puerto Rican clerk. She smiled at him. He smiled back. He rang up her items, and she paid him with a twenty-dollar bill.

  Maxine gathered her items and exited. The minute she stepped out of the store, Sandy glared at her, looking like a devious bitch with her protruding belly. Four months pregnant, she was mad at the world.

  “Look at dis dumb bitch here!” Sandy shouted, flanked by her two younger sisters, sixteen and seventeen.

  They both glared at Maxine too.

  Maxine wanted no trouble. Her smile turned into a worried look. Sandy had always been a bully to the weak and was a well-known booster and troublemaker in the hood.

  “I don’t want any trouble, Sandy,” Maxine said humbly.

  “What, bitch? You don’t want any trouble? Bitch, you is trouble.” Sandy, her eyes filled with pent-up rage, got in Maxine’s face.

  “Come on, Sandy. You’re pregnant,” Maxine said.

  “That’s right, bitch—pregnant by Scottie—and don’t you forget it. I’m carrying his baby, not you, bitch.”

  The news made Maxine grimace. She felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. How could he? Is it a lie? Sandy had always had a thing for Scottie, and Scottie was no angel. He was the man every bitch wanted, and most had sampled his dick more than once.

  “Wh-what?” Maxine asked, her voice trembling.

  “I’m carrying his baby, bitch. What? You thought he loved you? You thought he was gonna be faithful to your ass, bitch? Fuck outta here, you dumb, bird bitch! You think you better than me?” Sandy was so close to Maxine’s face, her spit landed on Maxine’s lip.

  The sisters were inching closer to Maxine too, ready to attack on Sandy’s command.

  Maxine stood there, timid and afraid. She was no fighter. She couldn’t protect herself from Sandy or her two sisters. They were savages—raucous and extremely ghetto. Maxine stood there, hoping she would leave the area unscathed.

  The diamond engagement ring on Maxine’s left hand caught Sandy’s eye. “He bought you that ring?” she asked.

  It was too late to hide it from her. Maxine became even more afraid. “I got no beef with you, Sandy.”

  “Fuck that shit! Yo, he bought you that ring?” Sandy asked again, her voice loud and loaded with jealousy.

  “Your beef is with Scottie, not me.”

  By now, a small crowd had gathered around Sandy and Maxine, many of them hoping to see a fight today.

  Maxine just wanted to disappear. Why did I stop at the store? She was almost home. Now doom loomed her way. It seemed like there was no escaping a confrontation with Sandy, who’d always been jealous of her.

  Sandy had been fucking with Scottie for years, and he had never given her anything. Not even a bite to eat. She did everything for him—hour-long blowjobs anywhere and everywhere, anal sex, fucking his brains out whenever his dick was hard. The only thing Sandy had to show from her sexual escapades with Scottie was the baby in her stomach. Yet, he hadn’t claimed it. Sandy didn’t want to become just a nagging baby mama to Scottie. She wanted him in her life full time, but it seemed impossible if Maxine was around.


  “Yo, you a fuckin’ crab bitch, fo’ real!” Sandy yelled.

  Maxine repeated, “Sandy, I don’t have any beef with you.”

  Thwack!

  The slap came out of nowhere. Sandy struck Maxine so hard with her open hand that Maxine’s face whipped around. It felt like the right side of her face was about to melt from the sting of the attack.

  “Bitch, we got beef now! What?” Sandy scoffed.

  Maxine stood there in tears, as the crowd laughed and jeered.

  “Ooooh! Yo, she hit that bitch into next week, yo,” someone joked.

  “Yo, she violated that bitch,” another said.

  “I’m not trying to fight you, Sandy,” a teary-eyed Maxine said. “You’re pregnant.”

  “What, bitch? Pregnant or not, I’ll still fuck ya bitch ass up! What? Do somethin’!”

  Maxine could only stand there, defeated in shame and fear. She could do nothing. Trepidation swelled inside of her.

  “Sandy, please, let me pass. I want to get to my car and go.” Just a few feet away was Maxine’s white chariot on wheels.

  “Fuck that car! I should bust out your fuckin’ windows!” Sandy had her fists clenched.

  One of Sandy’s sisters exclaimed, “Sandy, stop toyin’ wit’ this bitch and fuck her ass up!”

  They crowded around Maxine. It seemed like a fight, or a beat-down was inevitable.

  Maxine felt like a bug caught in a spider’s web. There was no escape. Victim written all over her, her lip quivered.

  ***

  Sandy didn’t care about her pregnancy at that moment. Now, she felt like she wanted nothing to do with Scottie. The only important thing to her now was fighting for her respect. “Yo, watch me do this bitch,” Sandy hollered, a fierce look in her eyes.

  Maxine knew the attack was coming. She had nowhere to run. She wished her best friend Layla was around.

  There was another slap to her face—louder and harder. The tears trickled down Maxine’s face.

  Sandy taunted her. “Bitch, what? Go ahead, bitch, fuckin’ leap! I dare you.”

  Everyone was anticipating a fight, but then a minor miracle came Maxine’s way.

  Two uniformed beat cops turned the corner and walked toward the gathered crowd. The cops fixed their eyes on the people standing outside the bodega.

  One cop asked, “What’s going on here?”

  “Ain’t shit goin’ on, pigs!” a young block-hugger yelled.

  “Fuck the po-lice!” another shouted.

  Maxine found her moment. She calmly slipped away and walked to her double-parked car. She climbed inside and drove off.

  Sandy could only watch as her opportunity to beat Maxine down slipped through her fingers.

  ***

  Instead of going home, Maxine drove to Lafayette Gardens projects. She was devastated by the news of Scottie getting Sandy pregnant. She couldn’t stop crying.

  Few people in the hood had cell phones, but Scottie and Maxine did. She dialed his cell phone repeatedly, but he was OT on a drug run and not answering. She left him several messages.

  2

  Two weeks before fall, Brooklyn was experiencing a heat wave, and everyone was on the verge of misery. Lafayette Gardens projects was alive with the thugs and drug dealers lingering from block to block, gambling on the corners, and drinking malt liquor. The kids played in the gushing waters of fire hydrants, while the fiends searched to feed their addiction. The area was notorious for violence and drugs. The projects were a breeding ground for violence. One would think the 88th Precinct being directly across the street would impede the criminals, but it didn’t. The murders and crime were continuous, like the 88th Precinct didn’t exist. Niggas just didn’t give a fuck!

  Maxine arrived at Lafayette Gardens, marched up the urban pathway leading to the lobby, and made a bee-line to the elevator and pushed for the third floor. She banged on Layla’s apartment door with a sense of urgency.

  Layla opened the door and saw her friend’s disgruntled expression. “Yo, what’s up, Maxine? What happened to you?”

  “Sandy just came at me.”

  “What?”

  Maxine stepped into the apartment and told her ghetto friend everything that had just transpired.

  Layla became animated with rage. She was a lot more upset than Maxine had anticipated.

  “See, I told you to stop fuckin’ wit that nigga. He ain’t no fuckin’ good, Maxine. But fuck that shit! We gonna find that bitch an’ handle her triflin’ ass. I don’t like her ass anyway.”

  Layla readied herself for battle. Her long hair went into a ponytail, and she tied a red scarf around her head. She applied a thin layer of Vaseline on her face to avoid getting scratches and scars, although she wouldn’t let Sandy get that close. She reached for her pistol and knife, placed both into a small bag, and quickly got dressed.

  By now, Maxine was wavering. She wanted no trouble, and Layla could easily create a world of pain. Layla was a violent beast. A hustler, drug mule, and dealer, she shoplifted and loved to fight. She was a hardcore banger, down to the bone. The two became friends in junior high. Layla loved hanging around Maxine because it was easy to control her, and she became Maxine’s guardian angel in the streets.

  The two marched out of the building and headed toward the white Beamer. For Maxine, it was too late to turn back. Ready to exact revenge in Maxine’s name, Layla was hyped, and there wasn’t any calming her down. She lived and breathed for moments like this.

  Maxine pulled away from the curb with nervousness. With Layla carrying a pistol and knife in her car, she feared the worst.

  “Yo, before we make moves, stop by the store,” Layla said. “I gotta get me a Dutch.”

  Maxine came to a stop at the first bodega she saw. Layla jumped out of the car and went into the store. Maxine left the car idling. She was in deep thought. I should have just gone home. Knowing Layla, things were about to get serious.

  Two minutes later, Layla came back to the car. She pulled out the Dutch Masters cigar and a whole bag of weed and rolled up while Maxine drove. Maxine was never a regular smoker; occasionally she took a few puffs because Layla was always encouraging her to do so.

  It didn’t take long to arrive at Maxine’s part of town. The sun was gradually setting, but the heat was still lingering. The girls parked in front of Sandy’s building on Sutter Avenue. The area was typical Brooklyn, filled with people and traffic, and the dry cleaner and the supermarket across the street had people coming and going. The heat didn’t discourage folks from loitering outside. The hustlers drove by in their nice whips blasting the latest rap music.

  Biggie Smalls’ new album, Ready to Die, was the talk of the town. It bumped from passing cars and out of apartment windows. Biggie Smalls was Brooklyn born and on the come-up. Finally, Brooklyn had someone to claim as one of its own. He was making a name for himself in the music industry, and Brooklyn had only love for him.

  Layla took a pull from the blunt and simmered in the passenger seat. “I got your back, Maxine. Don’t even worry. I’m gonna handle this bitch for you. Real talk.”

  Maxine was even more nervous now.

  “That’s her building right there, right?” Layla pointed to the seven-story structure.

  Maxine nodded apprehensively.

  “You know what floor that bitch is on?”

  Maxine nodded. When they approached the apartment and knocked, there was no answer. Either no one was home, or Sandy was ducking them.

  “It’s good, yo. We got plenty of time. We gonna fuck this bitch up.”

  The gun on Layla had Maxine worried. She didn’t want it to be that kind of party. Layla was unpredictable, and though Maxine considered her a friend, there had been times when Maxine found herself in hot water with her parents because of Layla.

  While they waited in the Beamer, Maxine’s
cell phone rang. It was Scottie finally calling her back.

  She was about to answer it, until Layla intervened. “Nah, don’t respond to that nigga right now. Fuck him!”

  “But I need to talk to him.”

  “Yo, let that nigga wait. You shouldn’t be sweating that nigga; have him sweat you. He out here gettin’ the next bitch pregnant, got you lookin’ stupid, an’ you gonna answer the first time he calls you? Fuck that!”

  Maxine let his phone call go to her voice mail.

  “That’s my girl. Don’t let that clown nigga play you for a fool, Maxine.”

  Scottie called back, and Maxine sent him to voice mail. Layla smiled, seeing her friend finally had the backbone to stand up to the nigga.

  For an hour Scottie kept calling, and Maxine ignored his calls. She knew he would be furious. He’d already left several messages on her phone. She knew he hated to wait and to be ignored. If she was in class, he expected her to leave just to take his call.

  Maxine went to his voice messages and listened to the first one. She put it on speaker for Layla to hear.

  Scottie’s rough voice boomed through the phone. “Yo, what the fuck, Maxine? Why you ain’t answer the fuckin’ phone? You call me wit’ some drama shit about some bitch bein’ pregnant an’ you don’t pick up? Pick up the fuckin’ phone!”

  Maxine deleted the message.

  “He should be upset,” Layla said, “wit’ his cheatin’ ass.”

  Maxine played the second message. Once again, his rugged voice roared through her cell phone: “Yo, you bein’ a fuckin’ bitch right now, Maxine. You fuckin’ hear me? Answer the fuckin’ phone, bitch, because you got me upset right now. I swear, I’ma fuck you up, bitch. Where you at? You got me callin’ you over and over an’ you ignorin’ me. When I see you, I’m gonna fuckin’ hurt you.”

  “He ain’t gonna do shit. I got your back, Maxine. Don’t even sweat that nigga.”

  Maxine played his third message.

  This time he shouted, “That new whip I bought you, I’ma fuck it up an’ snatch that shit back, bitch . . . have you walk ya ass around Brooklyn. Take them shines away too, bitch, since you wanna play games wit’ a nigga an’ not pick up the fuckin’ phone. I’ma see you, bitch.”