On the way, Mook texted me, wanting to know how far away I was, telling me that the party was lit, and that there was a bunch of bad bitches there. Mook, Kendrick and Bray were the kind of niggas that would find out that it was a bunch of bad bitches in hell, and they would still pull up, not giving a damn that they were going to burn to death in the process of scoping out some fine hoes. I wasn’t like that. A fine bitch wasn’t something that was going to have me breaking my neck over. Don’t get me wrong, I was just like the next man that loved to see a woman with a pretty face, and a fat ass, but I wasn’t overly going like how my niggas were.
I hit Mook back, letting him know that I was fifteen minutes away. The whole time, I drove with the music blasting, rapping the words bar for bar, and before I knew it, I was pulling up to the mansion out in Brickell where the party was being held.There was a bunch of cars lined up on the street. When you got to the front of the house, there were niggas dressed up in suits, and they were doing valet. I rolled the window down on the passenger side, since that was the side that was facing them, and I got the attention of one of the dudes that was standing in the driveway.
“Dolo, what’s good?” he asked me, walking over to my truck.
I didn’t know him, but this was Miami, and everyone knew me, so it would make sense that he would walk up to me and call me by my name.
“What’s up with it? How much to back my shit right in the driveway?” I wanted to know.
“Shit, they charging a hundred for it. All the spots taken on the street, but it’s other parking options in the back. It’s a lot back there,” he said.
“You walked up on me, and you addressed me by my name. You should know that I’m not going to park my shit in a back lot. Watch out. Let me back my shit in, and I’ll pay you when I get out,” I told him.
He did just that, moving out of the way, and I pushed my car forward, put it in reverse, and I easily backed the car into the driveway. There were a few other luxury cars that were parked in the driveway as well. The baby blue Porsche 911 Turbo S that was backed into the lot belonged to Mook. Off to the side of his car was a white BMW M8, and that car belonged to Bray. I wasn’t shocked that they had chosen to pull their cars into the driveway, and pay that fee, compared to parking it in a back lot, or on the side of the street, risking someone hitting their shit.
I went ahead and paid the fee to the valet, and I walked over to the entrance of the home.
There was security that was posted in front of the door, which I wasn’t shocked about. It wasn’t a line or anything to get in because I was already late, so the party started already.
“You can’t bring that inside, man. You gotta leave that shit in the car,” the big, bulky security guard said to me, once he felt my gun that was housed on my waist.
Mook already told me earlier that I could finesse my heat inside the party if I offered to pay the security a little extra. Usually, at the clubs and shit in Miami, I was cool with most of the security guards, so they always let me get away with pulling up to functions, packing heat on me.
Instead of responding to him, I just reached inside my pocket, handed him a hundred-dollar bill, and I watched him as he discreetly looked around, made sure that no one was watching him, and then he stuffed the bill in his pocket.
“Go ahead. You good,” he told me, and I nodded, stepping inside the large double, doors.
That’s just how Miami was. Miami was one of those cities where money talked. If you slid the right amount across to the next nigga, watch how fast all the principles disappear. All I had to do was shoot this man one hundred dollars, and all the rules and shit that were in place for this party had quickly gone out of the window. I’m sure he was given strict instructions not to let anyone in here with a weapon, but he did what he wanted to do. In my city, I swear all you had to have was a few coins, and from that, following rules became optional.
I stepped inside of the house, and right now, there was loud music playing. I’m assuming that they were on a break right now from playing Elani’s new music because upon me walking in, they had T.I’s new song playing. Let ‘em know was blasting through the speakers. The beat was bouncing off the glass walls and the marble floors, and I could hear that shit vibrating through my chest.
There was a lot of people here. I’m not sure who the owners of this home was, but I knew that if I owned a home this nice, thelast thing that I would want is for it to be filled with this many people.
I loved the concept of having floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around the entire house, and that’s what was going on here. Although I was still standing at the front of the house, I was still able to look out, ahead of me, and see the city lights from Brickell through the patio door that led to the backyard. It was plenty of niggas posted up. You saw designer clothes, heavy chains, watches, all that fly shit. Women were walking around, barely wearing any clothes, with their asses hanging out, doing their very best to get chosen. The smell of weed in this home was loud as fuck. I fucked with the vibe that was going on.
Mook had already texted me, telling me the area him, and the rest of the guys were, so that’s the direction that I went in. I followed the instructions that they’d given me, and as I walked through, I could feel eyes on me. That’s when I turned to look in that direction, and the whole ‘Dem 9 boyz’ were posted up, and if them niggas were packing, and had that shit on them, they had a look on their face, as if they were all ready to pull their shit out and use it on me.
They went by dem 9 boyz because them niggas controlled everything off Northwest 9thand 79th. I didn’t fuck with them niggas, and they didn’t fuck with me, and mine. It’s been like this for a little over a year now.
My crew went by Money Block Mob or MBM. When I started this shit with my crew, we needed a name that was fitting, so I came up with MBM. That shit was a lifestyle. It was far more than being a gang. To be a part of this shit, you had to show loyalty. Your way of moving had to be legit, and most importantly, you had to be a true hustler at heart, that knew how to make some motha fuckin money.
Now, the reason why we didn’t get along with Dem 9 boyz is simple. We were beefing over territory. My crew pretty muchcontrolled all areas in Brickell, downtown Miami, Edgewater, midtown, and Wynwood just to name a few. Now, dem 9 boyz territory was based on being street- rooted, and it was generational. Remember, my pops wouldn’t hand this shit down to me, so when I got the ball rolling, and I had to come up with spots for territory, it was never something where my dad was able to pass down his old spots to me. That was the case with them niggas in dem 9 boyz. The head niggas in charge were two twin brothers. Elijah and Elias. Same age as me. I knew them niggas personally because I went to school with them. They daddy used to hustle just like mine. The drug game was handed down to them, and that’s why the traps and territory that they had was generational from their daddy, granddaddy, and so on that put the work in before them.
In this game, there had to be rules in place. You had to know not to step foot in another niggas’ territory because it was disrespectful. So, a little over a year ago, one of my young niggas took it upon his stupid self to start moving product in Liberty city, which is dem 9 boyz territory. In the drug game, that’s one of the stupidest things that you could do, and that was the quickest way to start a war. That nigga was stealing clientele, undercutting prices, all the while, doing that shit with MBM tatted on his fuckin face. Dem 9 boyz sent a warning to us, coming through our territory, airing our shit out, killing a few of our men, and we’ve been beefing with them niggas ever since.
That war should have never started. One of mine started that, so he had to die behind that.
Our beef was so bad that I knew that nothing good would come out of both crews being in the same room tonight. Even with me knowing that shit, I looked over at them niggas, flashed a smile like we weren’t in the middle of a war, and I continued walking to the back, spotting Kendrick, Mook, Bray, and moremembers from our crew. I went around, slapping it up with each of them, and then I stood right in the middle.
“Ya’ll know dem 9 boyz here?” was the first thing that I asked them.
“Hell yeah. We saw them pussy ass niggas as soon as we walked through the door. I knew if I told you that they were here, that you wouldn’t have pulled up. I know you be trying to be on your peaceful shit these days. Fuck them niggas though. They don’t want it with us for real,” Mook spat.
Mook was my brother from another mother. I loved him like we had the same blood running through our bodies. I’ll jump in front of a bullet for this nigga. We met after my pops was shot, and we moved back to Miami. We’ve been cool ever since. Same with Bray, and Kendrick. I loved these niggas. I loved the fact that the four of us were in a position to make money together too.
“How ya’ll feeling tonight?” Elani said into the mic, standing in the foyer of the house.
From where we stood, we could see her perfectly. Elani was a beautiful girl. Mook was always saying how she was just his home girl, but I felt as if the two of them were fuckin. I could see the gleam in this nigga’s eyes, as he was standing here, watching her speak into the mic.
