Mafia princess part 2 ma.., p.1

Mafia Princess part 2 (Married To The Mob), page 1

 

Mafia Princess part 2 (Married To The Mob)
 


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Mafia Princess part 2 (Married To The Mob)


  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters, and incidents occurring in the work are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, as those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons. Any character that happens to share the name of a person who is an acquaintance of the author, past or present, is purely coincidental and is in no way intended to be an actual account involving that person.

  ISBN 13: 978-0984332557 ISBN 10: 0984332553

  Cover concept by Deja King & www.MarionDesigns.com

  Cover layout and graphic design by www.MarionDesigns.com

  Cover Model: Shanel Nelson

  Typesetting: Keith Saunders

  Editors: Linda Williams and Suzy McGlown

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data; A King Production

  Mafia Princess Part 2/by Joy Deja King and Michelle Monay For complete Library of Congress Copyright info visit;

  www.dejaking.com

  A King Production

  P.O. Box 912, Collierville, TN 38027

  A King Production and the above portrayal log are trademarks of A King Production LLC

  Copyright © 2011 by A King Production LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission from the publisher, except by reviewer who may quote brief passage to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  This Book is Dedicated To My:

  Family, Readers and Supporters.

  I LOVE you guys so much. Please believe that!!

  —Joy Deja King

  This book is dedicated to everyone from the struggle that is determined to make it to the top. Know that all things are possible if you just stay on your grind and work hard!!!!!! Also, to my wonderful mother Tonya Cole, great job on raising me to be a determined and respected young lady. Mommy we have seen the bottom so there is only one other way to go!! Thanks for everything!!

  —Michelle Monay

  Prologue

  Present Day

  The turbulence from the severe thunderstorm caused the private jet to dip wildly as Semaj and Vega flew into New York City on the Learjet 60. Semaj gazed out of the small window. The scattered sounds roared thunderously as the lightning lit up the night sky. Her adrenaline pumped with anxiousness, but it wasn’t because of the striking rain clouds or the shaky aircraft. The average person would’ve been shaken, but the severe downpour was the last thing on Semaj’s mind. There were three oversized crates full of all white bricks aboard, and she knew the shit was straight up federal. No matter how many times she’d jet set pure coke, she never got used to transporting cocaine across the U.S. border from the Dominican Republic.

  “Fucking wit’ you and yo’ peoples, I done flooded East and West Baltimore with keys,” Vega said as he laid his head atop her lap with a U-shaped plush pillow tucked underneath his neck. “Went from copping twenty kilos to flying out to foreign places to pick up five hundred bricks plus, e’ry trip now, ma.”

  “Yeah, and now that I introduced you to my Uncle Ortiz, shit gon’ be even better for you, bay,” Semaj said, rubbing his Caesared-cut hair as she smiled slightly at him. It seemed as if she was staring down at a virtually perfect man. Most of Vega’s face was flawless, but there was a bad scar that ran from his wrist to the right side of his mouth. His right arm, shoulder and neck were burnt from the explosion, but the thought of Paris’s death caused her smile to broaden. Snake ass bitch, she thought as she noticed them approaching the small private airport.

  The captain made an announcement that the private passenger plane was about to descend and to prepare for their arrival at the landing strip. Once the aircraft was on the ground safely, the Milano family’s head henchman, Arturo exited the awaiting limousine, large umbrella in hand as he made his way to service them.

  The piercing sound of the opening plane door urged Semaj and Vega from their seats, and they walked towards the exit to get off of their private flight.

  “Hello. I hope you had a pleasant flight,” he smiled at Semaj. Do you need me to take your suitcase?” Arturo asked as he stood at the bottom of the boarding steps.

  “Nah, I’m good. You can grab them crates once you get me to the car and unload them into that black Lincoln that’s coming through,” Semaj instructed as she cautiously looked around before proceeding off the jet.

  Rain poured heavily from the darkened skies and the illumination from the Town Car’s headlights appeared close. “Damn, it’s storming cats and dogs out this bitch!” Semaj pulled the knitted hoodie over her head and wheeled her designer luggage across the wet pavement as she walked underneath the umbrella the bodyguard held for her. “Fuck is this nigga pulling so damn close for?” she frowned in annoyance.

  The Lincoln Town Car blocked the backdoor of the limo, but before another thought could register in her mind, the dark tinted window rolled down. Semaj’s eyes grew wide as she watched a dreadlocked Jamaican behind apparent night vision goggles emerge with a small handgun emitting an infrared beam. Her heart thumped in fear and she closed her eyes as she waited for the bullet that would end her life.

  “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

  Bullets whizzed past her, and when she turned around she saw Arturo with a hole blown clear through his forehead and a chrome .40-caliber pistol dangling from his hand as he crumpled to the ground. The side window on the small plane was shattered and the captain lay slumped over the control panel. Her head spun wildly and the hailstones hit her in the face as she turned quickly to check the status of her husband. When she saw Vega sprawled awkwardly on the pavement she screamed, “Oh my God!” Her hand shot over her mouth as she repeated this over and over again in a panic.

  Three men dressed in dark-colored clothing hopped from the backseat of the vehicle and ascended the jet’s boarding steps. “Don’t move, bitch!” the Jamaican driver barked as he held his gun out aimed directly at Semaj, daring her to move.

  Before she even realized it, the men had grabbed the crates, jumped back into the Town Car and screeched off recklessly. They were gone, and Semaj was without a half ton of Gio’s potent bricks.

  Hit with lead, a round splotch painted Vega’s white button- up shirt crimson. He gripped the blood spot with both of his hands simultaneously as his face grimaced in horror. The hot metal spread through his flesh like a California brushfire, burning up his insides. His eyes closed in agony as the cold rain fell on his injuries, doing nothing to chill the open wound.

  Everything happened so fast and unsuspectingly that it wasn’t until Semaj saw Vega’s blood wash up onto her cream loafers that she snapped out of her shocked trance. She looked around for assistance and immediately reality settled in; she was all alone. “Vega!” she screamed as she fell to the ground beside him. “Please get up, baby!” she cried as she unzipped her purse to retrieve her phone. “I’m calling for help! Just hold on!” Her shaky hands were barely able to dial 911, but she managed, and cradled the cell phone to her wet ear.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?” the operator answered.

/>   “Please, somebody help me! My husband—he’s been shot!”

  Semaj mumbled hopelessly and scooped up the umbrella in an attempt to shield Vega’s body from the torrent, as she compressed the wound with the clothes that she’d grabbed from her suitcase in order to stop the bleeding. “I need help! Hurry! Please, hurry!” After she told the operator her location, Semaj dropped the phone and concentrated on Vega.

  The heat flaming inside of his body was unbearable. The ache was excruciating. He was unable to speak. All he could do was gasp for air and groan as he grasped the bloody garments while attempting to stare Semaj in the eyes with desperation, but the rain was obstructing his vision. He could see nothing. He reclosed his eyes as rain sprayed his face, and the sluggish thump of his pulse caused him to shudder violently. He was dizzy. He was losing way too much blood. He gulped as he tried to suck in oxygen, but the water got in his lungs and he began to choke on his own blood as it overflowed from the side of his mouth.

  Semaj’s eyes burned as the rain mixed with tears fell from her face and onto Vega’s cheeks. The crying sky wasn’t letting up, as if Mother Nature was sobbing with her. Her throbbing head spun out of control and she felt like she was floating through air. Her chest ached, and she tried to inhale, but each time she tried to suck in air a twinge erupted through her heart. She was devastated. “Please, I need you, Vega! I can’t lose you too!” She closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side as if she were in disbelief.

  “Semaj!” he whispered, weakly. He heard her voice in his ear and it had given him enough strength to speak. She didn’t know it, but she was the one keeping him from slipping into unconsciousness. Her sweet tone was in the distance, so far away, but her soft, pleading mutters caused his eyelids to flutter wildly. Her melody was a temporary distraction from the agony. She was his dose of energy and there was no way he was going to let a gunshot wound tear them apart. They had things to handle—he had scores to settle, and until then he would remain in the flesh.

  “You’re going to be okay. Just hold on. Hold on, Vega!” she pleaded. Semaj heard the strident sirens nearing and the flashing red, white and yellow lights lit up the darkened black night skies as if it was a son et lumiere.

  Semaj stared at her bloodstained hands as she nervously paced back and forth in the hospital’s emergency waiting area. Her clothes were drenched in blood and her hair was matted down on her face. She walked to the oversized window and waited for her grandfather to arrive as she watched the sky fading from black to a dull gray. Dawn had set in on the horizon, but due to the constant showers, the gloom barely allowed illumination to the city streets. The dreariness matched Semaj’s somber mood; it seemed to fit the occasion. For the life of her, she could not wrap her mind around what had happened. Vega was undergoing surgery and hundreds of bricks were missing. She was clueless to the fact of who would want to rob them—who were bold enough to rob them—and the ache she felt in her soul hurt horribly.

  When Semaj saw five black bulletproof Hummers pull up to the hospital’s door, one behind the other, a wave of relief washed over her. Out stepped the Milano Hitters from the lead truck, clad in their usual trench coat attire. Their long, jet-black hair flowed as if the four of them were about to walk down the catwalk in Milan instead of guarding the hospital’s front entranceway for the Milano mob.

  Shortly after, Gio climbed from the backseat of the last vehicle and entered the building with an entourage of sixteen armed Dominican men behind him. Members of the Milano organization scattered around the area, preventing anyone from entering or exiting the premises. Four of Gio’s most efficient henchmen followed behind him over to where Semaj stood with a look of devastation etched to her face.

  ”Excuse me, sir,” one of the front desk medical receptionists

  said as she stood up from her post. “You all just can’t have people blocking all entryways. It is a fire hazard.”

  Gio disregarded her protest and never acknowledged her as he kept his stride. “Pay her!” he ordered. His lead worker slipped her a stack of money and didn’t lose his step alongside the boss. “Arretao perraf” Gio ranted, cursing the bravery of the nurse in Spanish. “See what it will take to have a medical care flight to transport Vega to the private hospital. Whatever it takes, make sure it gets done quickly and quietly,” he whispered as he spotted his soaking wet granddaughter.

  “G-Poppa!” Semaj ran to her grandfather and hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Poppa! I didn’t know! I don’t know who—”

  Gio placed his index finger on his lips, indicating to her to calm down. He hated for attention to be brought to him. He was discreet and preferred to talk in private. “Let’s take a step outside, Semaj,” he suggested in a thick Dominican accent. He removed his suede blazer jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then gently grabbed her hand as he led her to the forecourt of the hospital. An elderly man sat in a wheelchair out front, a winter scarf covering half his face as a lit cigarette dangled limply in his trembling hand.

  Gio pulled Semaj’s arm and headed to the crosswalk out of earshot of the old man. “Now, tell me what happened,” he said as he looked around to see which of his people were paying attention and the ones who were cautiously on the lookout. He noticed Emilia on the phone, apparently in a deep, serious conversation. Her facial expression was emotionless and her gaze was distant, as if she was staring at something in particular.

  “When we got off the plane, the Lincoln Town Car that usually picks up the work to deliver them to Uncle Bonjo’s pick-up spot pulled down. I knew something was wrong because of how the driver blocked my path,” Semaj admitted. “Instead of Jose being behind the wheel, it was a Jamaican. He had a gun hanging outside of the window, and before I could blink, he fired off shots killing our pilot and Arturo.” Her head dropped in sadness as she continued to explain. “By the time I noticed Vega had been shot, three dudes popped out of the backseat and grabbed all of the crates and got ghost.”

  “Uncle Gio!” Emilia called as she approached them. “I was just on the phone with some of our higher-powered sources who said they found the Town Car a few blocks away from the private airport, along with Jose’s corpse in the trunk, stabbed several times in the neck and a single gunshot to the head.” She looked over her shoulder and noticed the same Dodge Caravan creeping down the block that she saw when the call first came through. “Fuck this lil’ ass van keeps coming past here for?” she asked with suspicion in her voice.

  The three pairs of eyes glared, eyeing the darkly tinted van that stopped in the middle of the street. Gio felt something was odd, and he stared at the vehicle closely. Although all of his soldiers were strapped up, he still reached in his waistband as he simultaneously stepped off the curb and pulled out his Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol. He let it rest in his hand by his side. He threw one of his hands up threateningly as if he was inviting the occupant behind the wheel to step to him.

  The van immediately sped off, leaving Gio standing there with his hand in the air. He felt he was too old for this shit, but then again, he was never too old to murder a man. “Stupid motherfuckers!” He smoothly replaced the powerful gun into his leather holster. He waved his hand in dismissal, pulled out a Cuban cigar and lit it as he returned to the girls.

  Emilia leaned close to Semaj’s ear and whispered, “Some bullshit is happening.”

  “No doubt,” Semaj agreed. “Fuckin’ niggas getting real fuckin’ bold, nowadays. Fuck is behind all this bullshit?”

  “The only mu’fuckas I can think that even got the balls to pull some shit like this is them bitch ass Jamaicans. Ox’s people,” Emilia replied matter-of-factly.

  Gio immediately thought of the beef he had with the Rasta boys and regretted not killing them all off and everyone associated with them. He knew that Ox was pissed behind the massacre of his people, but who would’ve thought he’d have his private jet robbed upon landing? “Emilia, I need you to put your ears to the streets. See who’s talking and who knows what. If
you have to fill pockets to get information, then you do that. It’s time to cut the bullshit out,” Gio said, never raising his voice. “Get people on the phone now and see what you can find out.”

  Semaj noticed something wasn’t right. As she looked around, everybody seemed to perfectly placed. There were two overly- dressed men perched at the bus stop bench with their heads buried in the newspaper, and also three white windowless minivans exiting the parking garage booth. By the time she realized what was going down, it was too late. The daring Jamaican posing as an elderly man removed a Tec-9 from the side of the wheelchair and pointed in their direction. “It’s a hit!” Semaj screamed as she tried to warn everyone.

  Emilia was always ready, on-point, and swift with her shit. She ripped her trench coat open and pulled out the AR-15 automatic assault rifle and fired first as everything seemed to happen in slow motion. With precision, she let off shot after shot that filled the foolish imposter up with lead. The force of the barrage of military bullets threw him back and slammed him into the handicap seat before he could ever pull the trigger.

  All of the sudden, the two Jamaican men hopped onto the bench like frogs, both their feet planted firmly with machine guns in their hands, and began letting off shots at the Milano family. The three vans stopped at the hospital’s front entrance, and in the blink of an eye the backdoors on the vans seemed to open at the same time. Four men jumped out of each van, all of them carrying army weapons. The bullets from the automatic assault rifles filled the morning’s atmosphere:

  “Rat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat, tat!”

  Tiny flashes of fire danced around in the air intending to take down the Milano’s family—and in particular, the “Princess”. Pedestrians screamed and ran for cover in an attempt to escape the warzone while dodging bullets. It was complete pandemonium as shots rang out, hitting innocent bystanders and outgoing cars all in a special attempt to lay down Semaj (Milano) Richardson forever.

  Gio had grabbed a nine-millimeter from the side of his Ferragamo boot while firing at the Jamaicans who were closing in on him. Semaj caught the gun in midair that her grandfather threw to her. She spun around, adrenaline pumping, heart pounding heavily in her chest as they shot it out with the shottas from Kingston, Jamaica. Her eyes darted wildly around the temporary parking area as she aimed her gun and released one shot after another.

 
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