Previously: "Ophelia!?" Myles whispered as his eyes widen at the sight in front of him.

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Dripped in elegance, Ophelia stood in the foyer of the luxury Townhome. From her vantage point, she had a gorgeous view of the pool that overlooked Kalico Beach. As usual, she was dressed to impress. Her hair was styled in a sleek bun, pinned to the back of her head. It complimented her formal red dress well, as the matching shoal draped her forearms. She held the crystal clutch in front of her, showcasing her wedding band with pride. Her demeanor spoke loudly, she was a woman of class, wealth, and power.

Her peering eyes wandered over his shoulder, as she studies the girl who stood behind him. Ophelia pouted her ruby red lips, she wasn't the least bit surprised. Myles was still a little boy at heart; he will always be. Breeding and dining hoochies was a tasteless hobby, but it was his hobby.

"Now, is that any way to greet the woman who gave birth to you?" Ophelia asked callously.

His eyes narrowed as he pressed his lips together. One foot in front of the next, he made his way over to the bar to pour himself a drink, a strong drink.

"What are you doing here, Ophelia?" annoyance laced his tone.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." She gestured between Vashti and her son, "That would be ever so rude of me." Her voice rang out in a high pitch.

"No, I was just leaving," Vashti spoke up. Readjusting the bag on her shoulder, she made her way towards the wooden door.

"Good," Ophelia said nonchalantly. With poised, she strutted over to the tan, leather sofa, where she made herself comfortable.

"Vashti, wait!" he shouted. Vashti halted near the door, a bored expression graced her face as she watched Myles stride towards her.

" You don't have to leave." he pleaded.

Ophelia groaned loudly, her son was pathetic. Dramatically she rolled her eyes while reaching for a piece of paper on the coffee table to fan herself with. Myles heard his mother, but he was tired of her barmy antics. He was a grown man, yet she treated him like a simple schoolboy.

Inhaling the toxin from the burning blunt, she rudely blew the billowing smoke in his face. Vashti smirks wickedly as she flicked the ashes from the end of her blunt onto the rug.

"I have better thing to do with my time!" she stated bluntly, "It was nice meeting you, Ms. Ophelia."

"Oh, Darling. It's Mrs. West to you." she chuckled. Crossing her legs, she watched Vashti walk out of the door, leaving her son in a state of bewilderment.

A pleasing smirk curled in the corner of her lips, "So, that is why you couldn't answer your phone?" she scowls, " You were too busy screwing that hood rat!"

"Mother, don't start with me. I've had enough of your crap!" He shouted.

Walking over to the bar, he refills his glass with another shot of bourbon.

"You're not going to offer your mother a drink?"

" I would offer you a drink, but we both know how you act once you get a little liquor in you." leaning against the bar, he swirled the bourbon in his glass, "Why are you even here, Ophelia?" he rose an eyebrow.

Crushed by her son's words, Ophelia picked the imaginary lint off of her dress. Clearing her throat, she spoke, " MJ was rushed to the emergency room last night. Dianne called in a panic. She couldn't get you so she called your father and me -"

"Step!" Myles interrupted her.

Crossing her legs, she clasps her hand in front of her as her lips fell into a thin line. She knew Myles hated Robert, her husband, but Robert raise and mold Myles into the man he is today; a successful, young, black lawyer. She knew her son only wanted to spite her because of the things she had done to give him this lifestyle. Ophelia didn't mind, black men were always ungrateful to the women who showed them love. Myles was no exception, he was just like his father, an all-round circus act.

Her hand gripped the chair handled, as she cleared her throat, " I'm afraid MJ seizures has returned."

Myles gulps down his drink. Studying his mother, he asked coldly, "What does that have to do with me?"

"It has everything to do with you. That little boy is your son. And he needs his father!" she preached.

"Is he really my son!? " he paused. A light chuckled escaped his lips, " Three years ago, I came home to find your husband balls deep in MY WIFE. Come to find out YOU knew and allowed YOUR HUSBAND to raw dog my wife for the past two years." The veins in his neck began to throb, he walked towards an irritated Ophelia, " NOW you have the heart to sit here and tell me that child is my flesh and blood!

Rolling her eyes at his childish ways, she uncrossed her legs, "Myles, I am not having this discussion with you. Robert and I had to leave a very important dinner to cater to your son. From now on, we expect for you to man up and take care of your responsibilities. You are not a bachelor anymore. You are a single father with a two-year-old son." Gracefully, she got up with her chin rise high, as she made her way toward the door to leave.

"I want a paternity test!"

Ophelia stopped in her tracks, his words echo through the home as if it was a hallow dome.

She turns on her heels, "We already spoke about this. Do you know what a child will do to your father's reputation? Do you know what a scandalous affair will do to our lives? As if it isn't bad enough your estranged wife is a streetwalking, crack addict," she kept eye contact with Myles, " If I were you, I'll keep my mouth shut before you crumble the empire I worked so hard to build." Her malicious words held a hidden threat.

"We'll just have to see about that," he said defiantly.

" Oh honey, we shall see. Now be a good boy and go see your son." she blew a kiss in his direction before leaving Myles to the comfort of his thoughts.

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Darkness crept across the sky, painting the blank canvas into dark hues, as the sunset hid behind the horizon. The humidity in the air slowly dropped, allowing for cool air to invade the land. Simultaneously, the streetlights flickered on, giving the children heed to their mother's warning.

Silently, the streets of Westbrook were falling asleep, but in the neighborhood of Chester Oaks, the residence was wide awake. Several vehicles were parked along the sidewalk. Their occupants were all in attendance for the birthday bash being held in the backyard of the one-story brick house.

Loudly, the music played, muffling the voices of the men playing basketball on a makeshift court. Martin Romello nervously sat in the passenger seat of the parked car. The engine was still running as clouds of white smoke escaped through the muffler of the Toyota Camry. Slowly, the combustion gas mingled with the night air before becoming one.

The pungent scent of tobacco lingered inside the car. Its ashes littered the carpet, mimicking a hopeless graveyard. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, although the air condition was on full blast. Unconsciously, his leg began to bob as he checked his watch once more. It had been fifteen minutes since his girlfriend, Nicole Young, went inside the home to retrieve his money.

Just hours ago, in the parking lot of his apartment complex, he had an unfriendly run-in with two of the Syndicates lead henchmen. His face was battered, his sides bruised, and his back branded by a hot iron. His life, loyalty or corporal position held no worth when it came to the death of Machine Gun Lewis. He was nothing to them, neither was he anything to the men who pulled him into the fiery hell hole.

He knew the beating he received was only a warning for what was yet to come. In their eyes, he killed Machine Gun Lewis, but in the eyes of Santos, he was a "trusted" thief.

He opened his coat, retrieving the itinerary. Two hours before midnight, he was set to depart Westbrook, New Haven on a direct flight to his parents in Cleveland, Ohio. There he would lay low until he was able to move the remaining kilos throughout the streets of Ohio. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he dug into his pocket for his carton of Newport.

"You got to be kidding me!" Forcefully, his fist vigorously beat on the dashboard as he yelled boisterously. Wincing in pain, he fell back against the headrest before tossing the empty carton to the floor.

Anxiously, he removed the dime bag from the glove box. His eyes filled with desire as he opened the plastic bag to the heavenly, white temptress that patiently awaited him. He dipped his middle finger into the powder, coating it with his sinful desire. Eagerly, he rubbed the snow-like treat onto his gums. Martin was starting to relax, slowly he exhales allowing the drug to make love to his soul. In no time he grew hungry for more. Taking the same finger, he snorted the coke through his nostril.

His sniffles filled the car, his nose turned red, and his eyes began to fill with water. Even the high he was slowly experiencing couldn't take away the tortures memories. His hands were covered in blood, corruption, and greed. His own father, the chief of police, couldn't save him from himself.

His burner phone rang, bring him out of his thoughts, the blue light emanated throughout the dark car as the unknown number flashed across the screen.

"Speak," he spoke sternly. He glances out the tinted window, making sure Nicole was nowhere in sight while he took the call.

"Becky is crossing the border!" A husky voice muffled across the line. The sound of a heavy-duty engine roared into Martin's ear. " I want the next half of my money wired to me as soon as your plane touches the asphalt of Hopkins Airport, or you won't have a mommy and daddy to go home to." His malicious grin echoed throughout the rigged as split coat his auburn beard.

Jeff Romello, the man on the other end of the line, was Martin's older brother, although the two practically swam in the same gene pool, they shared nothing in common; until recently.

"I'll have ya money. Just be patient with me."

"A man can only be patient until the last rooster crows." the line went dead. Just as Nicole opened the door to the car and thrown the black duffel bag into Martin's lap.

"Is this all of it?' he asked while opening the duffel bag to reveal his pride and joy.

"Mi tek all di funds wi had inna Madda wall." Her Jamaican accent was thick.

She rubbed her pregnant belly as she felt their baby kicked. She was only six months, but she looked as if she was ready to go into labor any day now. She had her mama to thank for blessing her with big bones. Nicole looked at her man, the father of her unborn child, in admiration. He had saved her from herself and gave her a place to call home. She noticed the open dime bag on the dashboard as he proceeded to count the stacks. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. He had promised her he was going to quit for the sake of the baby and for her. He was doing good for the past three weeks but old habits die hard.

"Yuh tell mi yuh quit!" angrily she reached for the dime bag that contains little remnants of cocaine. She held it up to his face, her homely calm and pleasant demeanor slowly changed, her face contorted, her nostrils flared, her beady eyes held fiery, unintelligible words gushed from her mouth filling the space between them like a raging sea, unafraid of releasing its emotions.

"Wah is dis!?"

"What does it look like, Nicole!" he shouted. His unruly hand ran through his hair, his jaw clenched as his fist violently beat on the dashboard.

"MARTIN! CALM DUNG"

He turns towards an astonished Nicole. His hands wrapped around her throat, roughly he pushed her against the window. A wicked grinned left his lips, his eyes filled with amusement as he watched her clawed at his hands while struggling for breath, and her eyes filled with fearful tears.

Nicole was once a beautiful, witty, strong-minded, young woman until Martin turned her into his human punching bag. It didn't take long for Martin to break down her walls, turning her into damaged goods. After all, she needed him more then he needed her.

"Where is the rest of MY MONEY?" he loosens his grip slightly.

She was shaking, her eyes pleaded with him to let her go. She was afraid to speak because she knew what he was capable of doing. It was only three months ago when Martin had started abusing her, it was always above the body, he didn't want to harm the baby. She knew she didn't deserve this treatment, but she needed her papers to stay in America. She will always be grateful to him, but she couldn't wait to get the hell out of this abusive relationship.

"ANSWER ME!"

"Mi neva tek any funds from yuh."

His hand removed from her neck, forcefully he slapped her across her face. She cried out as the powerful blow swung her head to the side.

"SO, WHY IS THERE ONLY FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS IN THIS BAG!" Martin shouted through clenched teeth." YOU THINK IM PLAYING WITH YOU, HUH !"

He pushed her further into the window, his hand still clenched around her neck, while he jabbed his free hand into his pocket, pulling out the pocket knife.

She whimpered loudly, tears fell from her eyes like the winter raindrops.

"SHUT UP!" He pointed the knife at her stomach.

"Jesus Christ, Martin put dat away!" she pleaded.

"No! You play with my money, I play with your life."

The razor-sharp blade pierces through her jacket, his eyes held no mercy as he stared into her helpless soul. Her shill erupted throughout the car, swallowing the tension as if it was a black entity.

" SHUT THE HELL UP!!"

He covered her mouth muffling her screams, his bottom lip quiver as he watched her eyes widen. Fear had overcome her.

"WHAM!.........WHAM!"

Martin peered over her shoulder to find her mother standing on the sidewalk holding a take-out plate cover in foil. Lively, she interacted with the men playing basketball as they respectfully greeted her. Her head was covered in a bluebonnet, as a pink duster clothed her body.

"Get yourself together. If I hear you mumble one word to your nosey mother about this, I will slit your throat," he whispered in her ears, his ragged breath blew onto her skin making her tense. He slowly eases off of her, a smug grinned tugged at his lips. Sitting back in his seat, he threw the duffel bag into the backseat. Nicole kept her eyes on him as she slowly straightens herself in her seat. She wiped the tears from her eyes and fixed her clothing.

"WHAM!............WHAM!"

" Mi kno dis pickney hear mi a knocking!" her mother yelled. Cupping her hand, she tried to peer through the tinted window.Martin sucked his teeth as he rolled his eyes at her presence. He proceeds to screw down the window, while Nicole rested her hands on the starring wheel.

"Yuh Duncebat!Yuh nearly make mi trip." she beseeched as she rested her hand over her racing heart.

"You'll live," Martin said nonchalantly.

Nicole leans forward, much as her stomach would allow, to get a better view of her mother.

"Mada, wah yuh wa?" she tried to give her a pleasant smile

"Nuh, skin yuh teeth at mi!", she placed her hand on her waist. " Yuh run inna an out di yaad had Oliva crying fi fi him mada .Dat bowy needs fi him mada, Nicole."

Nicole smile dropped. Oliver was her five-year-old son, the son she had neglected to be with Martin.He had told her that he wasn't going to raise another man's child if she was going to be with him. What was she to do? she needed papers to stay in America in order to provide her son a better life.

"Mi promise to spend time wid him next weekend. Mi been busy, dat a all"

"Hmph! Wah sweet nanny goat ago run him belly." she gave Nicole a motherly look," Anywho, mi bring yuh sum food,yuh need fi feed that baby cause yuh look likkle." she handed the plate to Nicole through the window.

"Thanks."

Martin listen as the two proceeded to converse, his eyes remained on the mirror staring into the distance.

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Chester Oaks
Westbrook, New Haven
Time: 7:38 pm

The night rumble in its slumber, as an army of monstrous clouds defeated its guarding stars. The western winds whispered woefully through the distorted leaves as they gracelessly fell from the oak tree onto the windshield of the isolated car.

Behind the wheel sat the making of a stone-cold killer. Vashti turned to the passenger seat to appreciate her apprentice. There the gun sat comfortably. It beamed wickedly at her, as it admired the power she held at her fingertips, and all it took was the pull of the trigger.

Caressing the cold metal, she cocks back the gun, placing a round in the chamber.

 The men had started to retire from the court to the porch of a vandalized home. 

Martin remained fixated on the rearview mirror, he kept his eyes on the suspicious vehicle that had been following him all day. 

"Inna de morrows, Pickney. Mi a guh put Oliva to bed." Mada said tiredly, turning back to her house.

Turning the key in the ignition, the car purred to life, igniting the headlights. Slowly, the car made its way towards them.

"GET OUT." He spoke harshly to a bewildered Nicole, but not taking his gaze off of the rear view mirror. She didn't budge. Angrily, Martin pushed open Nicole's door as he shouted at her to escape.

Vashti screwed down her window, her true identity hidden. With her apprentice in hand, she put it to work. With an explosion, she watched as Martin's window shattered as the bullet tore its way through, eager to embed itself in his arm. Blood erupted from the bullets new home, in a wail of pain he ducked down, grasping at the wound. Nicole terrifying screams resounded in his ears inviting fear to befriend them. 

Desperate, Martin tried to quickly crawl his way in between the space of the front seats to the safety of the back, but Nicole remained paralyze with fear, continuously screaming. Mada threw herself to ground to avoid the ensuing barrage, crying out to Nicole. 

Content with its work, Vashti gave it some more. Back to back, the apprentice lit up gleefully, growing more bloodthirsty with each explosion. Several shots needled through Nicole, splattering her blood through the car's interior, before one silenced her. Out for blood, Vashti got out of her car to inspect the work of her underling, peering into the car, she fires her three final bullets into Martin's body. One in his thigh, two in his back. A cowardice kills, but a job well done.

In a hurry, Vashti threw herself back into her car, in a hurry, she sped of leaving a trail of deadly skid marks behind her. The gun smoke lingered in the air, morphing into the grim reaper himself.

"NINE- ONE - ONE, what's your emergency?" 

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