Now the car served as a reminder that his father was gone. He would never be able to hug him, nor thank him for the expensive car. He cursed himself for being so reckless with the mission he went on seven years ago. His father warned him about his temper. Serving time behind bars was proof enough that he needed to move smarter this time around.
“Damn,” Roy muttered, taking his long-time best friend in. “Seven years and you still walk out like a king.”
Roy’s smile reached his hooded eyes. He pushed off the car and took a step toward Luca.
“Welcome home, Don.” Roy winked.
Luca didn’t smile, only time he smiled was when his thoughts were murderous. Something shifted behind his eyes; it was a flicker of acknowledgement. That small flicker in his eyes was the closest thing that came to warmth from Luca. He clasped Roy’s forearm; their handshake was firm and familiar.
“LuLu gon’ lose her mind when she lay eyes on you.” Roy smirked.
Roy was the only person that referred to Lucille as LuLu. She was like a second mom to Roy, although his parents didn’t agree with his and Luca’s friendship since kids. Both men stood tall, Luca 6’4 and Roy 6’2.
“Where is she?”Luca signed to Roy.
“Let’s just say, she’s in her element. She got some special shit planned for you, let’s hop in the whip.” Roy nodded his head toward the sleek Maybach.
The driver stepped out, he bowed his head respectfully before briskly walking around to the back door. Roy circled around and glanced at the prison one last time. It pained him each day that passed knowing that his brother was locked down. He missed Luca dearly, he was his confidant, the one person that he trusted with his whole soul. There were times that he pulled up close enough to the prison just to smoke one and think of ways to break him out.
Luca slid into the leather seat; the scent of the interior embraced him immediately.
He tilted his head back against the seat, his throat tightened as he moved his matted dreads from in front of his face. The dreads served as a shield of protection. A way to keep people fromseeing all the emotions he’d gone through over the past couple of years.
“Take me home,” he whispered, voice rough and damaged with pain.
It was torturous to talk, so most of the time he chose to speak in sign language.
Roy nodded as if Luca’s whisper was a loud roar. He gave the driver instructions and sat back as the car rolled forward. The farther they got from the prison, the more the city returned to Luca. Both men were lost in their own thoughts.
Roy was ready to stand ten toes behind Luca. He would give his life to see him step fully into his power without any pull back. Things had shifted and changed, but the dirty game of the streets remained the same. Blood written hidden rules remained stained to the game. Roy was Luca’s second set of eyes while being locked down. A lot of shit had gone down out of Roy’s control. His ranking in the Bonetti mafia slipped from his fingers soon as Luca got locked away.
Roy didn’t mind it because he didn’t trust the mafia nor did he like being around the blooded men that sat at the table with the late Don. He had enough money and side plays out in the streets to keep his pockets fat enough until Luca was granted freedom. If the late Don needed him, Roy always fell through. Dontrell needing Roy was hardly because he had his own men he came up with and brough to the table. So, Roy played the background, placed on the outskirts of the food chain but creating a name for himself.
Di Luca was now at the top of the food chain. He was the Don, the man that every kingpin in So Cal had to answer to inorder to supply and eat in whatever city they ran. The Bonetti Mafia supplied more than just drugs. Financial and white-collar crimes like money laundering, offshore accounts and shell corporations, plus tax evasion, and embezzlement kept their profit endless. They had control over many shipping ports and trucking companies. Gambling and betting with underground casinos.
Before Dontrell Sr. passed away, he got into huge betting rings with sports. Loan sharking is what gave them another big boost. Then there was all the artillery that supplied the entire state of California with weapons. If the Don said no, it became law. If Luca had questions, then people had better come with answers. He now had the same power his father had to put everything on hold if he felt any type of way about anything.
Roy already knew there were lots of questions that Luca had. Most of them he wouldn’t ask, just watch to find the answers. A lot of blood would spill, but that’s what came with this type of life. Dontrell Bonetti Sr. got to a point in his power where he never dirtied his hands. He enjoyed his wealth, took trips with different women, and only went to necessary meetings to increase his fortune.
People feared what they didn’t know or expect. They only seen Di Luca in the dark shadows of his father. They heard stories about him being the boogey man. You look at Dontrell the wrong way, disrespect him, betray him…Di Luca came to personally visit you. Luca came to people when they were in their comfort zone.
You could be sleep in bed, in the middle of a nut, leaving the bank… He’d appear.
Roy sat forward, drumming his fingers on his knee. He wanted to reassure Luca about his freedom and also catch the wave he was on right now. Roy was dressed to impress in expensive threads he draped himself in. Creased dark denim jeans and a tan sweater looked good against his cognac skin. He had a fresh tapered fade and wheat colored Timbs on. One look at Roy, you’d see that he was a made man.
Roy wanted to know if he needed to change into his street clothes or remained dressed the same.
“LuLu got everything handled. Papers signed and sealed. Governor made sure it’s clean…as clean as it can be for you,” he stated confidently.
Luca’s jaw flexed. The bitterness in his chest crept upward sharp as glass. His mother’s political ties bought him freedom, but not peace or his kind of justice. He stared out the tinted window at a mural of his father painted on a brick wall right in the same hood his father was raised in.
The Last True Donwas curled beneath his mural. Luca smiled and made a mental note to find whoever painted that mural. Those words were disrespect. Whoever painted it and wrote the words out made a statement. A statement that he would prove to be incorrect. He was a new era, the new Don that people had no choice but to respect and take heed to.
“It’s a bigger one over on the Southside.” Roy followed his gaze.
“They are mourning him in a real way,” Roy continued, his words sounded like an excuse for the words written in cursive under his father’s mural.
Luca swallowed, the motion was tight and painful for him. His whisper came out like gravel dragged across concrete.
