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  Juan-Pablo needed her family to understand that they were in grave danger. If the twins on behalf of their father even thought this wasn’t an above board deal, there could be repercussions.

  The debate continued. His men would do whatever he said, but just saying “Scott West” and “Garcia cartel” in the same sentence brought forth fear.

  Juan-Pablo pulled up several articles online and there she was, the night of Scott’s arrest, in a nightgown. It looked like her. Maxine was the real deal. He had to pay. When Juan-Pablo told his baby momma that she had to put some items back, she wasn’t having it. Spoiled Marisol wanted it all. Marisol’s mother agreed to fund the additional $150,000, but both were adamant that Marisol wouldn’t see another dime from either one of them for a very long time. Her mother opened a false wall and pulled out the cash and placed it in a shopping bag. Juan would bring her his share in the morning. Everyone agreed that the women had waited long enough.

  Marisol never came back into the room to see the women she wanted dead. Juan-Pablo and his goons came back and handed Maxine the heavy bag of money.

  Maxine looked down and said, “Do I need to count it?”

  “It’s all there, mami. But do you.”

  Skip wanted to scratch Max’s eyes out when she bent down and began to count out each stack. Satisfied, they turned to leave when Juan-Pablo said, “What’s your man’s son’s name again?”

  “Who? Bugsy or Meyer—or Gotti or Clyde?”

  It was his test because it was hard to see so much money walk out that front door. “Yeah, Meyer and Bugsy. Tell them Juan-Pablo said what’s up. And that you and I are good peoples.”

  Maxine nodded.

  Once they got safely away from the tenement building, Skip burst out into tears. She was sick with fright. “Skip, that sneaky bitch gotta die! I don’t care how long it takes, but she gotta go.”

  “Max, they was gonna kill us over some fuckin’ clothes! Ohmygod, I can’t. I got fuckin’ kids!”

  Maxine was scared too, but she lived to harbor hate. She wanted payback. As she drove back to 125th Street she kept looking in her mirrors to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  “And you saved us!” Skip continued through heavy sobs. “You thought quickly on your feet.”

  “We should rob that fucking house and kill everyone in it.” Maxine was still amped. If she still had a shooter on payroll it could be done. If Wacka wasn’t such a dickhead then this was something she would have hired him to do.

  Maxine didn’t bother to drive Skip home. Let her get home how she got there. Besides, Skip could try to set her up too. Maxine trusted no one. Skip was now whimpering as Max thrust sixty thousand in her hands.

  “Get lost, Skip. I gotta go.”

  “Damn, bitch. I almost died tonight. You ain’t gonna take me home? I got all this fuckin’ money on me.”

  “Take an Uber,” Maxine replied. “And it’s your fucking fault we almost got murdered. That’s your friend!”

  “You know, Max—no disrespect—but I think I’m gonna take this money and get out of town. You never mentioned your man was a drug lord or what type of heat you got coming around your corner. So after tonight, don’t call me anymore because I won’t pick up.”

  “Bye, bitch. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  16

  Maxine lingered in the backseat of the Escalade for a moment. She needed some time before she entered the federal building. Her two guards sat quietly. They were on her time. This was going to be her first visit outside of the hospital. Scott had been medically cleared and released from Presbyterian, but was immediately thrust into federal lockup to await his trial. Like Layla, he had been denied bail and remanded.

  It was late February, and the weather was identical to the wintry January they’d had. It was a bone-chilling 28 degrees in the early morning. Snuggled warmly in her coat and leather boots, Maxine climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward the federal building, her heartbeat pounding like a rock concert was going on inside her body. She needed money, lots of it, and she needed it fast. She didn’t have her diamond engagement ring on—a ring that was valued at one million. Would Scott notice it missing from her finger? Of course he would. She still hadn’t come up with an explanation for him if he asked about it. On top of all that, walking back into a jail after she’d spent over twenty years of her life in one was a terrifying feeling.

  The guards didn’t care who she was or who she was there to see. They treated Maxine like any other visitor. She was scrutinized and thoroughly searched from top to bottom—no contraband, weapons, no coats, and no purses—nothing. She was made to empty her pockets, and the female guards felt her up, made her unhook her bra, and examined her tits.

  Maxine started to have flashbacks. She was thrust back into her days of serving hard time at the women’s prison from New York to Louisiana. She wanted to forget that part of her life, but today she was trying to hold herself together. She struggled with the confinement and the bars of the building and the guards barking orders and escorting her from one area to another. She never wanted to go back to prison. The government had taken away twenty years of her life, and it had been difficult starting over. She took a deep breath and exhaled, and then proceeded forward. She was determined to visit Scott despite the anxiety.

  She sat in the visiting room with the other visitors feeling ambivalent. She had vowed to never see the inside of a prison again, but at the same time she knew she had to see Scott. He was the man with the money.

  Scott entered the room dressed in a gray jumpsuit. He still looked authoritative and imposing. He coolly walked her way. She stood up and embraced him with a warm hug and rapid kisses, and they exchanged smiles. Lingering displays of public affection weren’t allowed. The guards were watching everything and everyone closely.

  They sat down across from each other.

  “How you been, baby?” she asked him.

  “I’m a’ight. One day at a time,” he replied.

  He had healed considerably from his gunshot wounds. He was a strong man, and he was lucky to be alive. His reputation of cheating death had spread like his reputation of being larger than life. Many inmates were excited to see him, and many were completely intimidated by him. The guards tried to do their jobs objectively and be impartial with West.

  Maxine wanted to broach the subject of money, but she didn’t know how. She practiced for days, but it always felt weak when she rehearsed it.

  Finally, she said, “Money is becoming tight, Scott. I’m a grown-ass woman taking handouts from your son. I don’t like the way it makes me feel and I’m a little perturbed that you can’t see it from my position.”

  “Shit is crazy right now, Maxine. My lawyer told me that the feds froze all of my accounts. Which we expected,” he said.

  Scott knew that the government wanted to cripple him before the trial and take away any line of revenue he had.

  Maxine was so tired of this same song. Scott knew she wasn’t really talking about his legal dealings anymore. Shit done changed. She wanted to get money from the same place Bugsy was getting it.

  “I don’t know what to do, Scott. I’m lost. The board is pushing me out. Where am I gonna go?”

  “I’m working on something. Give it time.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “You think I’m going down for this.” It was a realization Scott didn’t want to face. Maxine was losing faith in him. That was the only conclusion he could deduce from her constantly bringing up his money.

  “I do not,” she defended. “Why would you say such a terrible thing?”

  Scott stared into her eyes trying to find the truth. “You seem preoccupied, distracted . . . almost in a rush like my end is coming fast and you want to cash out.”

  “Cash out? I’m not leaving, Scott. It’s just that I’m struggling out here and I have bills too.”


  “Bills? I take care of you, don’t I?”

  “Baby, I’m here to help,” she quickly said. “I know the business just like you, and I can play my part. I can work with Bugsy out there on the streets. I can be a benefit to your organization. I’m not that same girl you met over twenty years ago, baby. I learned a lot inside prison.”

  Scott was shaking his head before she finished her last sentence. “You? Nah, it’s too dangerous. And that’s not your world or your business, and I don’t want it to become your business. I don’t want anyone near my retirement funds other than Bugsy. And he doesn’t need your help. He’s doing fine by himself.”

  “And what if something were to happen to Bugsy, God forbid? Then what?”

  Scott clenched his fist and replied, “Nothing is going to happen to Bugsy. But if so, I have two other children to rely on.”

  “Meyer is in no condition to help, and Lucky has sided with Layla. Besides, you and I go too far back for you not to trust me.”

  “This isn’t about trust, Maxine. Things are on a need-to-know basis with you, and as long as your bills are paid and your needs are met, then why do you need access to anything?”

  Maxine didn’t want to be taken care of. She needed fast money, and therefore, their soft exchange of words started to turn ugly.

  “I’m your woman, and you treat me like a jump off!” she griped.

  “Maxine, now is not the time for this foolishness!”

  “I only want to help you. But how can I, when I don’t know shit about anything?”

  Through their bickering, Scott looked at her. “You’ve changed, Maxine. It feels like I’m talking to Layla. What is going on with you?”

  His remark bothered her. “I’m not Layla. How fucking dare you insult me like that?”

  “And that was always the good thing about you. You weren’t her. You were always smarter.”

  “I just need help, that’s all.”

  She averted her eyes from his, upset that she had to beg for her seat at the table. She wasn’t giving up so easily. She desperately needed the cash to pay Wacka.

  “Look at me,” he demanded. “I said look at me!”

  She shifted her eyes back to Scott. His looked showed intensity—anger more than concern.

  “Where is it?” he asked angrily.

  “Where’s what?”

  “Maxine, don’t play stupid with me. Where’s the ring I gave you? It’s not on your finger.”

  Her heart fell to the bottom of her stomach. She knew this was going to happen. She had to answer him. And with his intense gaze fixed on her, she coyly replied, “I lost it.”

  “What the fuck you mean you lost it? You lost a million-dollar, nine-carat pink diamond ring?” He was incensed at her stupidity and carelessness.

  “I wanted to tell you. I’m looking for it. I think it got stolen during the raid at the penthouse—the FBI probably took it.”

  “Maxine, it was on your finger at the hospital, so that’s impossible. That ring cost me a lot of money, and there’s no way you suddenly lose a million-dollar ring and act casual about it. Where the fuck is it?”

  “I’ll find it,” she said.

  “You better find that fuckin’ ring and tell me what the fuck is going on wit’ you, Maxine,” he said.

  She had no answers for him. Maxine could feel the extreme heat from him like he was the blazing sun. She’d never seen him look at her in that way—skepticism mixed with outrage. It was scaring her.

  Scott was on an emotional rollercoaster. He was jailed. Layla was jailed too. His son was in the ICU and hanging on by a thread, and Maxine was irritating him about things that shouldn’t be important at a time like this. He wondered if she cared that he was incarcerated, his funds were frozen, the feds were trying to crucify him, and that his empire and his family were falling apart.

  17

  Lucky peered out the window of the descending American Airlines flight and took in the sweeping view of Miami’s pristine, sprawling white sandy beaches and clear blue waters. She was buckled-up in first class, the only way she wanted to travel, and she felt apprehensive about being back in the Sunshine State. Her trip to Miami was purely business, nowhere near pleasure.

  Finally, the landing gear roughly connected with the runway and the plane began taxiing toward the terminal. The pilot announced over the loudspeaker, “We’d like to thank you folks for flying with American Airlines today, and we hope you have a wonderful time in Miami.”

  A surge of passengers started their exodus off the plane. Lucky removed her carry-on from above and was one of the first to stroll through the passenger gateway and arrive into the terminal.

  Lucky had reached out to Angel to set up another meeting two days before the shipment. Obviously they couldn’t talk over the phone, so she had to fly down to Miami. Lucky had lied to her mother. Layla was under the impression that Lucky was going to meet with Angel to tell him that their deal was off. It was a risk to disassociate from the cartel so suddenly, but under their current situation, Layla felt Angel would understand. Lucky had other plans.

  Outside the terminal, she linked up with her goons, who had driven to Miami beforehand in a Range Rover and were there to scoop her up from the airport. She climbed into the passenger seat with her dark shades and her serious expression.

  “Let’s go,” she said to the driver.

  It was a sun-drenched and balmy day in the city—85 degrees, a stark contrast to the cold and snow in New York City. The driver navigated the Range Rover to the Marriot Stanton on South Beach. Lucky had booked a room there at Angel’s request.

  The sophisticated hotel was located in the trendy SoFi area of South Beach—AKA south of fifth. It was an oceanfront hotel surrounded by top shopping, fine dining, and active nightlife.

  Lucky checked into her stylish room, which included a spa-like bathroom, platform bed, locally inspired art, and a spacious open closet. There was a private balcony with a view of the ocean and a shimmering infinity pool.

  The day was still bright with the sun peaking, and Lucky unwound for a moment, taking a shower with the handheld wand and waterfall showerhead. Soon after, the hotel phone rang and she answered.

  “Are you enjoying the room?” Angel said.

  “Everything’s fine,” she said.

  “Good. I want you to join me down at the beach in a half-hour.” He hung up.

  A half-hour later, Lucky was on the sunny beach dressed in a skimpy bikini and flanked by her men from New York. Angel stood near the edge of the beach wearing just his swimming trunks with the waves crashing against his feet. He appeared to be alone, but Lucky knew he had soldiers subtly camouflaged somewhere among the dozens of tourists on the beach.

  She approached him evenly with her men not far behind her. But she knew if Angel Morales wanted her dead, she would be dead—her men too.

  His back was turned to her and his attention was on the ocean. She stood next to him. He didn’t acknowledge her immediately. He continued to gaze at the ocean. There was no one around within thirty feet of them. It was like the section of the beach had been quarantined for his benefit.

  “Come, join me in the ocean, and we’ll talk there,” he said without looking at her.

  He proceeded into the water and Lucky followed. Lucky wasn’t a fool. She knew he was testing her to see if she was wearing a wire. The beach meant a bathing suit, less clothes to inspect, and the water would most likely interfere with any transmission. They waded into the ocean, the water rising chest deep.

  “I know you heard what happened to my parents,” she said.

  Of course he’d heard. It was his business to know. “The news of them has reached me,” he said.

  “My mother wants to discontinue business with you. I disagree with her. Despite everything that has happened, I want our business relationship to continu
e to flourish,” said Lucky.

  Angel looked her way with a questioning glare. He was silent. He understood the reasoning for Layla’s decision. The United States FBI had arrested her, and cartel bosses were always on their radar. She was tainted and could easily be flipped. It wouldn’t be wise play for Layla or anyone in her organization to become a snitch, though. The cartel specialized in dealing with informants.

  Lucky’s voice didn’t waver when she said, “But I have one problem. I don’t have any access to my mother’s money. The feds are freezing her accounts. So I’m on zero.”

  Angel’s eyes shot into her. “Then why are you here wasting my time? I’m a busy man and time is money.”

  “I understand that. But I can be a benefit to you—continue where my mother left off. I have this vision, and with your product continuing to flow up north, we can grow together. The roots have been planted; all I need is the product.”

  He chuckled at her ignorance. “You want my business on consignment. You are a foolish little girl. That is not an option.”

  “You don’t trust me because of my mother’s situation? I can assure you, Mr. Morales, my mother and my family, we are not snitches! And I’m not in my mother’s position. I’m willing to push forward and continue to make us both rich.”

  “I’m already a very rich man . . . powerful too,” he boasted smugly.

  It was becoming tougher than she thought.

  Angel locked eyes with the pretty young girl with her one flaw, her droopy eye. He’d learned of her ruthless beating which resulted in her slight disfigurement. He could only imagine how beautiful she was before the incident.

  “You’re young and you’re still pretty, despite your blemish. You should think of it as a beauty mark.”

  Lucky didn’t like to talk about it. But it was Angel Morales, and if he wanted to discuss her flaw, then she didn’t have a choice.