Moodlist
Lady - Fela Kuti
Ngaï Tembe Eleka - Franco Luambo
Salvatore - Lana Del Rey
I Wanna Be Like You - Ibeyi
Compared to What - Roberta Flack
The two brothers were in the beautifully decorated home office of the older sibling. His girlfriend had recently done a bit of an overhaul and it was just what was needed. A previously minimal office, was now decorated with a few pieces of African and Brazilian Artwork and sculptures. There was a painting depicting a scene far away; the detail was incredible. The room was now a beige colour and the furnishings were still black.
The feel of the room went from barren to a modern take on the Neo-African aesthetic. It didn't look like a caricature of an African Art Bazaar, or the overcompensation of a man who had never been to the continent. It was an homage. If you didn't know who's office it was, you would know it was that of a black man.
The feeling of her presence in the room is the only thing that kept the older man from knocking over the carefully curated shelving unit she had put together.
"What is it Ray?" A poor greeting to a man he had worked with for over a year, but the Russian didn't expect anything better from his boss.
The younger man watched the conversation go on. It was short. At first, his brothers face drained of all colour. That's what made him sit up and put his hand to the gun he had tucked into his waist band.
It seemed like the melanin had dropped off to make room for a new, red complexion. It was almost like watching a cartoon character, be animated to have a red tint, slowly rising to the top of their head. Although no steam emerged from his ears, the man observing his brother knew that whatever happened had to do with a) his girlfriend and b) was serious.
The conversation had ended as quickly as it started.
"They..."
"They what, Gelo?"
"They, shot... They, shot at her." It was a mumble. Enough for Vince to hear but her needed to be sure.
"What do you mean Angelo, speak up!" A sense of urgency passed between the two men, almost like static electricity.
"THEY FUCKING SHOT HER VIN!" There, a much more unambiguous attempt by the older Leone.
The yell Angelo had cast forward was accompanied by him standing up, movements filled to the brim with rage.
With that much being said, the two men hurried to the injured woman.
Ari, the receptionist, heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Rapid gunfire. She could hear it below her, coming from the underground garage.
She knew not to call the police.
Unbeknownst to most, the building next door was also owned by Angelo. That building wasn't a commercial office unit. It was more of a warehouse. It seemed to be vacant.
That was intentional.
After all, it was a warehouse where 50 men were currently processing a shipment of weapons to be sent to Venezuela. Guerilla warfare had broken out during the economic ruins of the country. And people needed to defend themselves from the state.
Instead of calling the police, she called Raymond, who she knew was in the next building over, seeing to the fact that the shipment was complete and that no sticky fingers were at play.
Upon hearing the news, the Chechen moved quickly. He had a feeling.
Unfortunately, his feeling would be confirmed when he saw the young woman he saw as a younger sister or a niece, was making her way to the elevator, clutching her side.
Her all white outfit revealed the source of the bleeding. Today's events would put an end to the young woman wearing the colour. He picked her up and made haste of taking her back to her office, where he knew the appropriate tools to administer support would be. When they arrived, Raymond made quick work of taking her coat off and cutting her shirt away at the site of the bleeding. Her pants were pushed down to give him space. He made sure the young woman sat upright in the desk, much to her dismay. She just wanted to lay down. Allowing her to do so would have cause her to bleed out from her wound quicker.
It was a two and a half inch long wound, running horizontally along the side of her body. The bullet meant for the middle of her abdomen, had hit her at the side between her waist and her hip. It was clear to see the bullet hadn't entered or exited her body. However, it had nicked an artery, close to the skin, which caused the profuse bleeding and was the primary concern for the Russian. He folded up a clean towel and applied pressure. Her body jerked in pain and she tried to squirm away but he wouldn't let her. After some time elapsed, he told her to apply pressure so he could clean his hands and prepare for the next part.
He took his belt off, folding it and giving it to the young lady. She had begun to sweat and feel disoriented, so she was unsure what to do with it. Taking it back, he gestured for her to open her mouth, and then put the belt between her teeth. Her eyes widened, bring more sclera to view than normal. She knew that this next part was about to be painful.
"I'm sorry, this is going to hurt." His father tongue left his mouth. She understood it and braced herself.
She wasn't a drinker, but having a crystal decanter with some tequila in it felt like the decorative piece that was missing.
She never thought she would use its contents like this.
Raymond removed the towel and poured a bit of the spirit over the wound before she could refuse for him to do so.
The scream that followed made him wish he had been shot instead.
The belt he had placed between her teeth jolted with the force she had exerted in it. Her jaw was clenched and her neck was fraught with tight muscles. The leather strap obscured the clarity of her voice somewhat, but did nothing to hide the guttural quality of it.
She was in pain.
After having sterilised it, he reapplied pressure and dialled his boss, putting it in speaker.
"What is it Ray?" His tone was clipped and curt, due to the less than desirable advice his brother had just given him.
"Vanessa has been shot. The receptionist heard rapid gunfire and called me. I have stemmed the wound but you need to get to the office with a doctor soon, she will need stitches." And with that he hung up, not wanting to hear the fall out of the news. He also knew that the distressed woman would worry about her man, and couldn't afford her to spare any of her precious attention on a man who would ultimately be fine.
I survived.
I don't think my life was ever truly at risk from the wound I sustained. But it fucking hurt.
Angelo was sat at the edge of our bed in our home, and looked at me. He hadn't taken his eyes off me since they made contact in my office. Until he left the just now.
The doctor had dressed the wound sufficiently, and took his leave, his parting words consisting of instructions of how to take care of it. His party favours were daily kits of dressings and antiseptics.
Then I heard Angelo yelling. A lot.
It was only natural, the woman he loved had been shot at close range. Her life was under threat. However, it didn't seem that this was all that had him heated.
"IT WAS THE FUCKING RUSSIANS I KNOW IT WAS. THEY'RE NOT GONNA TAKE HER FROM ME TOO GUIDO." I assumed Guido had been doing his job to try and calm him. He was seeing red. He didn't operate at peak rationale when his emotions were involved. He wasn't like me, able to take a balanced approach. For him emotions had to be swept away to make effective decisions. It's what men do, not understanding that they should underpin as opposed to take over or acquiesce.
I got up slowly, wincing when my wound folded due to its location. My man in distress was enough of a motivating factor to push through.
His back was facing me when I stepped out of the room. I could see the tension in his posture. His hand was on his hip and his other on his head. Old man vibes.
"Babe, I've told you everything I remember. I highly doubt it was the Russians. They go from sophisticated nerve agent assassination to drive-bys? Unlikely." Calm, considered, thorough.
That's what I do. It's what I had to do, even though I should have been in bed, resting.
"Vanessa, go back to bed. Why are you up?" His quick walk over to me and the affection that poured out gave Guido the hint he needed and he left us to it.
"Angelo, you're going to kill yourself if you go in hot like this. I am confident it wasn't them. Have we pulled the surveillance? Let's think about it. These men were less than six feet away from me. They mowed the Escalade down. They knew I had been hiding on the floor, yet their aim never lowered. No one got out to finish the job. To me it seemed like they were actively trying to miss me. I don't think it was the Russians." A well constructed case, by someone who would go on to develop a mild case of PTSD from the assault.
"Okay, then who was it?" I didn't have an answer for that, and that's all it took for him to press ahead with his initial assumption.
"You're going away for a while. Ray will take you to one of the safe houses. You'll be there for a month. If by then the threat hasn't been neutralised, your stay will be extended." The hell I am.
The thought of not only missing Christmas with my lover, but being away from him until my birthday, or beyond then didn't sit well with me.
More than anything though, I didn't want to be away from him.
A) I didn't want him to do anything stupid.
B) I was holding everything together by my sheer will and force. I needed him to console me.
"Okay, great, so let's start packing our clothes." A succinct way to tell him I would not be leaving without him.
He signed, running his hand over his face. This was going to be a tough one.
"Please Vanessa, do not be difficult about this. I know, it's shitty. I hate that its come to this, but I can't focus with you here. I was supposed to protect you and I failed. Please allow me to make it right. I will do all that's in my power to make sure your time away doesn't run into the new year. Please, just let me pack for you." If he thought he couldn't focus with me, God knows would would happen without me.
"Lo, you are gonna run the streets real stupid. Please. Either we both go so we can regroup and plan, or I stay. What if this was the plan? To get me to the safe house, away from the city? It would be much easier to get away with something there." I was grasping at straws. He wasn't having it.
"You think I'm about to bleed the block now? If anything else happens to you V, I'mma level this city. And I'm taking the first flight to Moscow straight after." Not what I wanted to hear.
"Why do I feel like you just want an excuse to go after Vasiliev? You always tell me to be open about what I need from you. Okay, I'm being open. I need you Lo. I will cease to function if I'm not around you. Please, I don't want to go. Don't make me." Tears. I wasn't trying to manipulate, but I wasn't mad that I had teared up with emotion either. It only helped my cause.
He hugged me, forgetting about the location of my wound and when I winced, I sealed my own fate.
"Okay, that's it, you're going. But you might be right. Instead of going one of the safe houses, you'll go somewhere else. You'll know where you are when you get there. It's going to be a long drive, so make sure you're dressed comfortably. If you put out what you want to wear I'll help you. But you're going. That's final." I knew it was. And I knew it was for good reason. But I couldn't help but feel rejected.
This is why I always held back.
He could see this in my reaction, and held my face in his hands. The tears I was once ready to weaponise fell anyway, even though I didn't want them to. He wiped them with his thumbs.
"Give me a week. I'll come and join you soon. I just need to set things in motion. You know I don't want to be away from you. I'm going to deal with insomnia for a week but it's all for the right cause."
I nodded, not wanting to risk breaking down in totality. His hug made that happen anyway.
After we said our goodbyes, I left the boys in the foyer. They watched as Ray, Angelo and I made our way to the car.
"I don't want to go, Lo." I was at the door of the car at this point. Trying to throw a last Hail Mary. It didn't take. Instead I was given a tender kiss and a hug. This would be the first time we had done that in front of the men that formed our band. The moment was thick with emotion.
"I know. But it was never up for negotiation." It was. I got a 4 week suspension reduced to a week. At least we would see in the new year together. I'd let him think that though.
"What were you going to do if I really refused?" That's when he presented a capped syringe to me, from the depths of his coat pocket. I don't have to ask to know it was a sedative.
"Fuck you. I'll see you later." A chuckle came forth from us both. The cold air has displaced with bursts of warmth. It took a while for the steam to vanish.
Now would have been the perfect moment for him to say it. To assure me of his devotion to me.
It didn't happen, and as we moved off, I tried to mentally pour alcohol on the wound that left on my heart.
He said the drive would be long.
He didn't say that we would be headed for the middle of nowhere. Because that's what it seemed like we were doing.
We were somewhere in the early beginnings of the Midwest, when we pulled up to a gate.
Some hushed words from Ray and we were granted entry. The drive was long and winding. And I knew at that point I could only be due to be meeting one woman.
That nigga.
Why would he not tell me that I was going to be staying with his MOM?
Oh, he would hear about this!
But I tried to prepare myself mentally, and patted down my hair in an effort to reduce its volume and remove the thoughts that seemed to have got caught up in it.
He had told me about his mom. She was a force of nature, according to him. My favourite kind of woman.
In this life I now led, I didn't often get the chance to encounter powerful women. Not for lack of them existing, but due to the efforts that were made to keep them out of the ranks. It was a shame really, and an oversight. The gender imbalance would make the group prey to the same risks again and again. Women just had this thing, this ability to influence. They were missing out.
Maybe I could put together a team of girls. I had enough sway to do it. And it would be glorious. I would definitely be on my way to outbagging him soon.
Because I would.
Her silhouette stood at the top of the drive. She wasn't in a power pose per se, but I could see the unfuckwithableness from here. After all she had bagged and kept a Mafioso on tender hooks for 30 years. He spent his last moment on earth with her, telling her to sneak out of heaven when she got there to kiss him at the border.
Very corny, but you get the vibe.
I wanted to take this opportunity as a learning lesson. To learn from the woman who knew the man I loved better than I did. I just hoped she would be willing to teach.
She wasn't what I'd been expecting.
Angelo had never been good at describing. As a child, the refrain of our song was "Use your words, Gelo!"
So I wasn't surprised that he wasn't able to effectively describe the woman of his affections.
"She's life mama, you just gotta meet her!" Is what he told me over the phone. He had the same tone of voice he did when he was five, trying to explain the wondrous frozen treat that is Gelato for the first time. I had high expectations, as excitement is something quite difficult to rouse out of my dear son.
My expectations had been exceeded. By a lot. She was a formidable young woman. The kind of woman it took me much longer to become. She was an old soul. Attentive and an engaging conversationalist. She recognised the Fela Kuti and Roberta Flack records I had on display and we had an enlightening chat about Fela's commentary about the tumultuous political run that Nigeria had faced since it's independence in 1960. Events that happened well before the both of us were born.
She put her Filmic playlist; an amalgamation of songs she had heard that formed the score of her life. It was trip through decades and destinations she had yet to reach. The sounds of Franco Luambo strumming on the heartfelt "Ngaï Tembe Eleka" took us to The Democratic Republic of The Congo. It felt like we were at a neojazz bar in the capital Kinshasa or as it was then called Leopoldville in 1968. That gave way to Lana Del Rey's Salvatore, a soft lullaby about a woman who becomes enamoured by a mysterious man.
The latter seemed to describe her circumstances perfectly.
Dying by the hand of a foreign man, happily.
She didn't see it that way though.
She was magnificent. A girl I could have seen as a daughter in a different life. I felt this need to protect her, as she had not had the adequate measures in life to stop her from arriving here.
I couldn't help but wonder.
Why is she with Angelo?
Don't get me wrong, I loved my son. I truly did. And I saw the best in him. But she was advanced. A woman after a life of growth and evolution. She was just shy of six years his junior and she had already lapped him in the race of emotional intelligence.
He might have outpaced her in money, but she had more life experience that him and his siblings combined. They had never really had to struggle or suffer for anything. Their father and I made sure of it.
Tony. That man.
The boys weren't spoiled or afraid of a hard day's work. Legal or not, what they did took time and skill. And I was proud of them. Even the one in prison.
Wild. That boy.
Her arrival in my son's life coincided with an uptick in business. I was firmly kept out of it but I had my means of finding out.
Vince. Thank God for him.
She was good for him. And by the look on his face, when we chatted over FaceTime, she was good to him. I received selfies of afros and tanned skin from their trip to Brazil and my heart smiled. He was so happy. They both were. I just hoped he could keep her that way, for his whole existence depended on it.
"Miss Monique, what advice would you give me that you wished someone had said to you when you were my age?" Her eyes were curious, she wanted to learn. Teachable. A student of life. She had the eyes, the vision. So I told her the truth. A truth that would take my son a long time to forgive me for telling her.
"I would say, live your life for you. Make sure you're pouring as much time and care into yourself as you are the other people in your life. You can't pour into anyone's cup if yours is empty." It was the mistake I made. I fell in love. Did I regret that? No. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Our relationship was ephemeral, but I was given three pieces of heaven by that man. They were all my angels, though I couldn't name them all Angelo.
But I gave a lot. Overlooked more. Tony was a hard man to be with. Uncompromising at best and coercive at worst. I would never tell my sons that though, for lack of wanting to speak ill of the dead. I always told him that one day he would have to be truthful about how he hurt me. He would have to answer for his sins. I thought that his sons would be the people who dealt the blow but he ended up dying before that could happen.
"Vanessa, don't over accommodate. Bring your whole self to your relationships, platonic or romantic. Because when you don't, and the mould is cast, there won't be any room for those things. And they won't leave you. Instead they'll become compacted and fester. And then the home you built for the love you share will be the last place you want to be." Speaking from experience.
Tony having a wife was what made me leave. There were a lot of other things that made me stay away for 20 years.
"These men are not definitively bad. Not good, but not irredeemable. But sometimes, they seek a spiritual cleansing from us. That's why they seek out the best of us, the purest. And not in the sense of virginity or all of that mess, but those of us that are the most intense. The most heightened versions of ourselves. And they will bathe in our waters. They will be healed. And then they'll get out without draining the tub and rinsing it down. They won't use their new glow to refill the pool they took a dip in. And they'll do it again. And again. And again. And then turn around and ask you why you're so dirty. And that's when they find another and repeat the same thing with them. " We were both tearing up at this point. I had never gotten to say those words to anyone. Loving Tony set me up for a life of mistrust and loneliness.
Instead of liberating me, his death pushed me to the edge of sanity. I had been trapped in these walls for months with transient companionship and seldom phone calls. I didn't resent my children, for it was the life I chose with my eyes open. But I couldn't see another young girl go down the same path. I wasn't advising her to leave, but to remain whole. Her own person.
"When you love someone, enmeshment feels so natural. Two become one, that's the idea. But it's so dangerous. Because if you where whole before, and you were, then what will you become if you slip too far into him? Set boundaries. Enforce them. It will be hard. And it will hurt you more than it does him because you can't help it. You want to be open to him, after all, it's the only way to get him to open to you? Fuck that. He goes first! Because laying himself prone at your feet like that will be gut wrenching for him. And that emotion will be enough to caution him from doing anything but honouring you and yours. Period, as you young girls say!" Teary laughter followed. It was loud and resounding. She was open. And learning.
"Period."
___________________________
Chapter 17 is a wrap!
Of course V survived!
Is the response from Angelo warranted or is he being shortsighted again?
How did we feel about meeting mama? I definitely didn't want to do the evil MIL trope. Vanessa can't ask her mama for advice because her mama doesn't lead a life that Vanessa wants to emulate. Monique is a magnetic woman. She's the well read and travelled aunty that comes back from vacay smelling like vanilla and oud.
I picture her as the stunning Gina Torres but please feel free to pick someone else!
What did we think about her advice? I cried writing it because it hits home for me. There's so many women in my life I wish I could have told that at 22!
Please, leave your advice for me, or Vanessa or each other in the comments!
Just to let you all know, we're switching gears next chapter. We get to meet Malia more intimately. I love her, she's a hoot!
LMK what you think will happen next!
LOVE YOU LONG TIME - DUCHESS 🤍🤍🤍