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  Mafioso

  Part Four

  Nisa Santiago

  Melodrama Publishing

  www.MelodramaPublishing.com

  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 Four. Copyright © 2018 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

  eISBN-13: 9781620780978

  EBook Edition: July 2018

  Printed in Canada

  1

  NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital was one of the best in the city. It was affiliated with two Ivy League medical schools and was one of the world’s busiest hospitals. And tonight, Presbyterian became a whole lot busier. The admission of two men created commotion in the lobby, the emergency room, and the exterior of the building. The presence of the FBI loitering about made folks’ heads swivel back and forth, and the gossip started. Who were the agents here for? Who was hurt and why? Was it the mafia? A drug kingpin? A killer? Questions circulated through the hospital as things looked like they were spinning out of control with visitors, agents, and doctors.

  Bugsy was the first to arrive at the hospital. He raced to Presbyterian with his carload of goons, including Choppa, to visit his father. The news of his father being shot multiple times was terrifying, and the presence of law enforcement was worrisome. But despite the discomfort Bugsy felt, he knew Scott needed him.

  Maxine was there to meet him, and she was frantic with grief. She had been crying since the incident. “They’re not telling me anything, and they won’t let me see him. All they would say was that he was in surgery,” she told Bugsy.

  “What they got on him?”

  Maxine shook her head. “Drugs, I guess. It all happened so fast, Bugsy. Scott thought it was a hit, and before I could fully process the scene, he was shot. They treated us like shit and kept screaming that he was a drug kingpin and he was going away for life.”

  “Don’t worry,” Bugsy said to the teary-eyed Maxine. “I’ll handle things from here.”

  Agents were everywhere, implementing their strict protocol within the limits of the hospital. The victim was under arrest and a drug kingpin—allegedly. Maxine figured Bugsy could use his position and influence to find out what was happening. He was Scott’s son; she was only his girlfriend.

  Bugsy walked over to the nurses station to get an update.

  “Patient’s name?”

  “West.”

  “He just got here. They’re prepping him for surgery.”

  “He’s already in surgery. We’re waiting for an update from his surgeon.”

  “Sir,” she snapped. “I know you people are used to—”

  “You people?” Bugsy was losing his patience with this stuck up, presumptuous bitch.

  She continued. “I said, Meyer West just got here. Now sit down and wait for an update.”

  “Meyer?”

  “One more word and I’m going to call security.”

  Bugsy was one second from smashing her face through the Plexiglas. However, he had more tact than that. He needed answers, so he worked his charm and said calmly, “Did you say ‘Meyer West’, ma’am? I was asking about my father, Scott. Meyer is my twin brother.”

  His humbled tone and respect made her feel important. She looked down at her computer screen, feverishly tapped her fingers on the keyboard, and then replied, “Meyer West just came in with multiple gunshot wounds. Scott West arrived less than an hour ago and you are right, he’s in surgery. No update yet.”

  Hearing that his twin was shot up too nearly knocked Bugsy off his feet. What the fuck was going on?

  At that moment, Lucky arrived with her goons. She went straight to Bugsy, and he filled her in. The news also devastated her. Not only was her father shot, but Meyer too. To Bugsy and Lucky, the fact that both of them were gunned down on the same night wasn’t a coincidence. Someone was gunning for their family again—and Scott was being set up.

  “I can’t lose either of them,” Bugsy said. “We need answers on Meyer.”

  Lucky hugged her older brother tightly and frowned at Maxine sitting across the room. Why is that bitch there? But it wasn’t about Maxine at the moment. She was worried about her family.

  The agents looked their way, and Lucky felt her stomach do a flip-flop. Would they arrest her right there? What did they have on her father?

  The siblings watched the FBI make their presence known; their radios crackled boisterously in the room. Their flight jackets and bulletproof vests were embroidered with “FBI,” and they flaunted their holstered guns and badges. There were over a dozen of them crowded from the lobby to the emergency room. They were there to intimidate and investigate.

  Everyone was baffled. What case did they have against Scott? Who was snitching? They didn’t know. No one in their organization had been arrested lately. Bugsy kept tabs on everything and everyone, and he had eyes and ears inside the local police department. But this was federal, and these alphabet boys were more tight-lipped about indictments.

  Three agents patrolled outside the hospital, watching the comings and goings of men known to be part of Scott’s organization, snapping pictures, taking down license plate numbers, and seeing who was a new face and who wasn’t. And they weren’t being subtle about it either. They were bold in the faces of the gangsters and killers.

  From Bugsy’s understanding, his father had been arrested for drug distribution. But until his arraignment, no one knew what the specific charges were. The only thing they knew was that Scott was still in surgery and law enforcement was monitoring his condition.

  “Where’s our mother?” Lucky asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been calling her,” said Bugsy.

  Layla’s absence added to their uneasiness. Where was she? Bugsy and Lucky had been frantically calling her phone and leaving messages, but they hadn’t gotten in touch with her yet.

  Bugsy and Lucky went off to a nearby corner to talk in private. They whispered carefully to each other about family business. There were too many folks around to speak openly. Lucky felt that her brother knew a lot more than he was saying. He was the brains of the family.

  “You didn’t see this coming?” she asked Bugsy quietly.

  “No,” he muttered to her. “I can’t be everywhere at the same time.”

  “And Meyer . . . what is going on?”

  Both of them were desperate for answers, but they were among a sea of people—more observers than influencers. Their brawn and brains were weakened by the presence of the FBI. They were the West’s kryptonite. And they were under attack.

  From across the room, Maxine watched Bugsy and Lucky converse. She overheard Lucky inquiring about Layla. They needed to know. Their mother had been raided too. She dried her eyes, took a deep breath, and proceeded toward the siblings.

  When she reached arm’s length of them, Lucky pivoted and scowled at her. “Get the fuck away from us, bitch! We don’t want you here!”

  The harsh words stopped Maxine in her tracks. She and Lucky locked eyes briefly—the tension between them was thicker than a brick wall. Clearly, the immature child hadn’t heard about her momma’s beat down. Maxine was about to put them paws on her, but one look at the federal agents and she quickly came to her senses. Another time, she thought. She w
as going to tell them about Layla, but fuck it.

  Lucky convinced herself that if they weren’t in the hospital surrounded by folks and police, she would have cut Maxine’s throat. She despised Maxine and made it known repeatedly.

  Bugsy slightly touched Maxine’s arm to try and comfort her.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said to her followed by a quick smile.

  Maxine nodded and walked away. Lucky glared at her brother and hated that he was so neutral with Maxine. What about Layla?

  “Why is she here?” Lucky griped.

  “She was with our father when it happened,” he said.

  “I want her gone, Bugsy. You know when Ma gets here she is going to fuckin’ flip.”

  “Lucky, chill. We got too much going on for you to be worried about Maxine,” he said coolly.

  Bugsy’s ringing cell phone interrupted their chat. He answered, while Lucky stood by in silence. She was trying to keep it together, but it was difficult. The FBI was all in their shit, her father and brother were probably dying, Maxine was there while her mother was MIA, and she couldn’t do anything about any of it.

  Bugsy ended his call and looked at his sister.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “That was a source of mine, and he tells me that Luna shot Meyer,” he said.

  Lucky’s jaw dropped. “Luna? How the fuck is that possible when he’s dead?”

  “I don’t know. Meyer’s apartment building is all over the news saying it’s the scene of an attempted murder-suicide. Luna was identified as the shooter,” said Bugsy.

  Bugsy felt like he’d started reading a mystery novel in the middle. Meyer supposedly killed Luna, so how could Luna have shot him? He couldn’t have come back from the dead. Bugsy was angry at Meyer. How did he become so sloppy? How did it all fall apart? If Meyer didn’t die from the gunshots, Bugsy was going to kill him for not killing Luna when he had the chance. Meyer had lied to everyone. Why? Bugsy was stumped.

  ***

  Maxine sat alone on the opposite side of the hospital lobby, sunken into the dark blue armed chair. She couldn’t get rid of the picture of Scott’s bullet-riddled body from her mind. Witnessing it all—her man arrested and lying in his own blood, the loud voices, the disarray—was traumatizing.

  She felt like an outsider even though she was Scott’s fiancée. It felt like the room was getting smaller and the walls were collapsing around her. She was having a hard time catching her breath, though she was seated and still.

  Security was clumped together with everyone in the reception area, trying to keep harmony in such a tense environment. The room was full of henchmen, both Scott’s and Layla’s. There were over a dozen men from Scott’s organization—hardened gangsters and killers lingering amongst the sick in the atrium, and many of them were intimidating the civilians with their presence alone. The hospital staff tucked them away from the rest of the patients and families so that they could keep order. There was too much happening in one night. The FBI and a notorious drug organization under the same roof—it was a melting pot of disaster.

  Maxine’s paranoia was amplified. Between the FBI kicking in the door, Scott’s condition, and Wacka’s blackmail, she wasn’t able to think clearly. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Wherever she turned and whatever she tried to do, there were obstacles. Although Bugsy was extremely nice to her—and she thought he treated her like a stepmom—he hadn’t stood up to Lucky for her. And Lucky wasn’t going to go away so easily. She was a sharp thorn in Maxine’s side, and her prick felt like it was festering.

  Maxine’s dilemma was clear-cut. Should Scott die, so would her power and ties with his family and the organization. She was just gaining traction with Scott, and he was just about to add her name to some of his legit business dealings. Now, if he died, she would have nothing except the pricey ring on her finger. Lucky and Meyer would see to that. With most of her nest-egg from her parents’ home depleted by Wacka’s blackmail and Wacka still harassing her for five million dollars, her future was looking bleak.

  2

  Layla sat in a small, drab room in the federal building in New York City. She was exhausted, alone, and terrified, and everything from her hair to her clothing was in disarray.

  A few hours earlier, federal agents had busted in and raided her home, and she gave them a run for their money. She hid inside her panic room and refused to open the door. It took the agents nearly an hour to break into the tightly secured room with battering rams and explosives. When they finally put their hands on Layla, they were far from nice. Two federal agents took it upon themselves to rough her up for the hassle she put them through. But Layla fought back, punching one agent in the nose. They’d barged into her home, and she wasn’t going down without a fight. After they finally had her subdued, they read her rights and cuffed her.

  She released a deep sigh and shifted in the metal chair behind the metal table. On the opposite side of the table was another chair for the interrogating agent when he came into the room. There was nothing for her to do but sit and wait, and she only had her thoughts and her mistakes to occupy her time.

  Layla knew that the FBI only moved in on you if they had a solid indictment—hard evidence. She thought about Maxine. Could Maxine have ratted on their organization? But that bitch didn’t know anything, did she?

  Sitting in that windowless room for hours had her mind going berserk. She replayed everything, trying to deduce where she had messed up or gotten sloppy. How did she get into this predicament?

  Finally, the door opened and Layla turned to observe three suited agents coolly walk into the room. They looked at her straight-faced. Two of the agents remained standing nearby, leaning against the wall and watching her closely. The primary agent on her case took a seat opposite her.

  She locked eyes with the tall, pasty agent with exceptionally broad shoulders sitting across from her. He was lean with a muscular physique under the suit, clean shaven with piercing blue eyes that looked predatory, and he had an aura of confidence about him. He reeked of law enforcement. Had it been an amateur in the room with him, he would have come off as intimidating. But Layla was no amateur, and his daunting stare didn’t faze her.

  “You’ve been a very busy woman, Layla West,” he started off.

  She remained quiet. She had nothing to say to them, and she had nothing inside her apartment—no drugs, just a registered gun and some cash. And did they have a search warrant? She didn’t remember them producing a warrant to raid her place.

  “That agent you hit, you broke his nose,” he said.

  “I wish I would have broken his fuckin’ face,” she quipped.

  The agent didn’t laugh. “You are a feisty bitch, I’ll give you that. But you fucked up. You do the crime, you do the time. But if you play ball with us, we could work something out.”

  Her mouth stayed shut and her eyes continued to glare into his.

  “Your options are few, Layla. As we speak, your husband is in surgery fighting for his life. He shot first and my men shot back. So far it’s touch-and-go with him. And your son, he too is in surgery, shot multiple times, but that was a separate incident from your husband. So you have a son and a husband in the hospital, and you sit here in jail,” he said to her. “It’s all falling apart for you, Layla.”

  She remained silent. Was he lying? There was no way—he had to be lying. Which son? Layla refused to show him any emotion, although she felt sick to her stomach.

  The agent said, “Help us help you. We want your connect, Angel. And we want your husband. You’re a heavyweight in this city, I see, but you’re nothing compared to your husband and Angel.”

  “I’m no fuckin’ snitch,” she growled at him.

  “No, you’re a coward who lets innocent people take the weight for you. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what happened to naive Maxine Henderson?”

 
; “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come on, Layla, admit it. You play tough, but you can’t survive hard jail time. Right now your mind is telling you that you will find a way out—a loophole or some sucker to fall on the sword for you, and I am telling you that you don’t have nine lives. You get one chance to cooperate with me. One. If not, I go to trial with what I got, and I promise you that I’ll get a conviction.”

  “With what evidence?”

  “So you admit that there is evidence to find?”

  He momentarily confused Layla. “I did not!”

  “With your indictments, you’re looking at life, easy.”

  “I want to speak to my attorney. I’m done wit’ y’all.”

  He shook his head. She was being stubborn, but they were always stubborn. When the arrest was still fresh, they always felt there was a chance for freedom without snitching on their cohorts.

  “If you roll the dice against us, Layla, I can guarantee that you will not win. I’m giving you a chance to help yourself.”

  “Like I said, I’m done wit’ y’all. I want my attorney present. Fuck you!” she cursed at him.

  Her insult didn’t faze him. He sat across from her nonchalant. He didn’t care if she cooperated now or later. He still was going to win. She would be charged with the RICO act and her case would be brought forward to the grand jury. They had an ace up their sleeve that they felt would lead to guilty verdicts and lengthy imprisonment.

  Composedly, he replied, “It’s your life—well, what’s left of it.” He pushed his chair back and stood up.

  She’d invoked her right to an attorney. Their interrogation was done. Layla knew the rules.

  The three agents filed out of the room, and the door closed behind them. Layla was left alone, taking in everything the agent had said. Scott had been shot, and she had no idea which son had been shot too—Meyer or Bugsy. He purposely left out the name so she could feel helpless and confused. She fucked with them, and now they were going to fuck with her.