Dontrell Jr. signed in sign language that he was ready to go to his cop escorts. Lucille’s heart cracked even more because she desperately wanted to run over to her son and comfort him. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but her conscience screamed to her that she let her youngest son down in so many ways. Her other son, Kentrell, was high out of his mind off cocaine. He had been a big disappointment today; he hardly recognized what today was. He didn’t even bother to show his face.
This morning, Kentrell openly got high in front of his mom. Something he wouldn’t dare do if his father was alive. He didn’t give a damn about the murder of his father, nor did he care about comforting his mom. He purposely started an argument and told her that all she cared about was laying eyes on Dontrell Jr. Lucille wanted to tell Dontrell Jr. to tread lightly and control his emotions for the remainder of his time until he got released. She didn’t need him messing up all the money she invested to have him freed.
Dontrell Jr. had selective mutism. He could speak but chose not to most of the time. His father’s death turned his darkened soul pitch black. He craved vengeance, he wanted to feel blood and receive answers. Soon as he was whisked away, Lucille swallowed down her pain. Being on her knees was all a part of an act for the cops that brought her son there to say his final goodbye. She wanted to appear like a fragile heartbroken woman who had just lost her husband.
Once Dontrell Jr. and his uniformed slaves disappeared, Lucille stood tall like the queen she knew she was. Thunder roared from the sky and the energy suddenly shifted as she touched her waistline where her pearl handled Desert Eagle rested.
“Two of you bitches got a pass to live, and those two bitches are Cherry and Amira,” Lucille spoke heartlessly.
“Now I don’t give a fuck about what none of y’all had with my husband. I’m only choosing the women that birthed his daughter and baby boy. The rest of you hoes paid your respects. I let you breathe through the ceremony, it’s time to leave.” She licked her matte red lips.
A hush swept over the cemetery. The wind picked up as the clouds continued to darken. All nine of the women shifteduncomfortably as they watched Lucille’s hurt transform into evilness. Dontrell Sr.’s men appeared behind her like demon-possessed ghosts. Like Lucille, they masked their hurt and stood tall like soldiers ready to protect their first lady.
“I thank everyone that showed face, my son Dontrell Jr. will be home soon. If you all will please?—”
“That autistic mutt won’t be able to step in Donnie’s shoes! My son?—”
Pop!
No one had time to even process what was taking place. All the attention went to Patricia as she disrespected Jr. She stated what everyone else was too afraid to say. How could Dontrell Di Luca Bonetti Jr. step in as the new Don when he never talked?
It was a question that everyone knew not to dare ask. Too bad Patricia’s statement cost her, her life.
“Your son was not my husband’s child, bitch,” Lucille spat.
A couple of gasps sounded off, and people shifted uncomfortably but nobody was shocked. Especially the people who really knew how Lucille got down. Dontrell Sr.’s men moved quick in their tailored suits. They dragged Patricia’s limp body out of Lucille’s sight with a trail of blood staining the soaked grass.
“Anybody else want to speak their permanent peace?” She waved her only belief of silenced peace in the air and aimed it at another one of his mistresses.
More of you hoes will die soon…Lucille’s thoughts were starting to guide her in the wrong direction out of anger and hurt. Deep down she knew that couldn’t happen today. She wasn’t supposedto kill Patricia but wouldn’t dare let a soul disrespect what she birthed.
Lucille scanned the crowd with cold, unwavering eyes, daring anyone else to challenge her authority. The tension in the air was suffocating; fear gripped at the mistresses hearts as Lucille’s fury radiated outward. Not a soul dared to move; even the wind seemed to hesitate, unwilling to cross her path.
Lucille smirked at all of the women. She winked her eyes and walked with her shoulders back, chin up to take a seat across from the open grave. The women left with bowed heads except the two she allowed to stay. Next, all of the Don’s rose to their feet in silence with their right-hand men alongside of them. A single red rose was in each one of their hands.
Lucille watched as the procession lined up, the men’s faces carved with stoic reverence. The weight of loss mingled with the uncertainty of what came next, settling over the gathering like a dense fog. Each Don paused before Dontrell’s grave, they dropped their rose onto the coffin in a silent ritual of respect. No one spoke, but the message was clear: the legacy of Dontrell Di Luca Bonetti was not to be questioned or forgotten, and the torch had already been passed, whether the world was ready or not.
Nobody understood the type of Don that would come from Di Luca Jr. Lucille knew that her son was a force to be reckoned with. She could control her husband’s wrath, but her son was a whole other ball game.
As the final rose fell atop the polished wood, a hush lingered, heavy and unbroken. Lucille locked eyes with each Don in turn, a silent warning exchanged in glances, a reminder that the oldorder had ended, and a new era was being forged in blood and silence.
“Lucille,” a deep voice boomed from behind her.
She closed her eyes and let the comfort of her husband’s big brother’s voice wrap around her.
“Glad you came, Lenny.” Her voice didn’t waver, nor did she turn to give Lennox her stained red eyes.
“I dragged that knuckle head boy of yours out the house. Told him to stay in the car until everyone leaves.” Lennox’s eyes drifted over toward his brother’s grave.
It was hard for him to breathe in the crisp cold air. As bad as he wanted to cry over his brother, he was raised in a different light. Men like Lennox shed their tears in the dark, out of sight and out of folk’s minds. Since him and Dontrell was young, he kept his reservations and disagreements tucked away from his brother. He used to look for approval from his father but gave up on that when he never received it.
“I’m gonna get Kentrell right, that’s a promise. He got?—”
He was cut off by Lucille turning swiftly in her seat to face him.
“He needs to get himself together, I don’t need you here in Cali trying to oversee anything. Your business remains in Vegas. I’m sure Dad wouldn’t be fond of your presence,” she spoke low so only Lennox could hear the clear threat in her tone.
“Kentrell is a fucking man. He doesn’t need a babysitter,” she added.
