Being that the club was in one of the most popular areas in Atlanta, I already knew what time it was. We weren’t going to have much time to defend ourselves and get the hell out of dodge.

  I knew there was no way in hell I was going to let Javon get caught up. I slid underneath a car just as the truck was hit with the launcher. The explosion rocked the area, causing the people in surrounding buildings to exit and scatter. That was good for us. That gave me and Javon cover. I slid from under the car and quickly blended in with the crowd. I had to get my sights on Javon again. I was getting too old for this shit.

  “Javon,” I yelled, hoping he was in hearing distance.

  I got no answer. The boy was a quick runner. So I was hoping like hell he had gotten the fuck out of dodge.

  All I had was my 9 mm since we had to abandon the truck before we were ready. I spotted two of the shooters searching the crowd. They were more likely looking for Javon than for me. I used their tunnel vision to my advantage. I raced with the running crowd, dipped behind a car that had been abandoned, and came up behind the two shooters. One shot to the back of the head put the one closest to me on his face. I kicked the other one in the back of the leg as he turned around; then I snuffed his lights out with a bullet to the right temple.

  I snatched up his AK-47 and went to find my nephew.

  Chapter 15

  Lucky

  I didn’t know just what in the hell was going on, but nobody, and I meant nobody, came for me and mine. Even if I didn’t have the protection and blood of those who ran the Commission, any man, woman, or child who came for me would regret it until their last dying breaths. We had just been ambushed. Barely escaped with our lives; in broad daylight, no fucking less! We lost about ten men and barely escaped with our lives. We had some bumps and bruises, but we were alive.

  I looked at the Catholic priest, the Jewish mobster, and my uncle. Although I only shared blood with my uncle, who some claimed was actually my father—another story for a different day—the Catholic and the Jew were family to me as well.

  “You get to Atlanta and see just what in hell Javon got going on down there,” my uncle said.

  “You think he would be stupid enough to have something to do with this?” I asked. I was furious. My blood was on lava and I was ready to kill or be killed. Didn’t matter to me. Not now. The small underground bunker we were in had men from all walks of life lined up ready to go to war. Javon was a cool dude, but if that fool had been crazy enough to try to snuff me and my people out, son was done.

  “No,” my uncle said. “This felt personal, but it may link back to Claudette.”

  “Luci is right,” Absolan, the Catholic priest, said. “You need to get to Javon. Make sure he and the rest of the Syndicate are okay first.”

  They called my uncle Luci, short for Luciano.

  Cavriel nodded. “Word just came through the wire. This was a Syndicate-wide attack.”

  My brows rose. “Say what?”

  My uncle nodded. “Sí, across the board. Take a private flight and get back to us on what is going on. We cannot make this trip with you. It is too dangerous.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Uncle. I’ll leave my best men here with you.”

  He shook his head. “And who will be left to travel with you? No. Take your best with you. I’ve already called Italy, Absolan has called to our people in Vatican City, and Cavriel has called Jerusalem. We will be fine here. No one knows this place but our most trusted, and even they don’t know all the ins and outs.”

  Uncle Luci had a bruise under his right eye. Most would have looked at the old man and thought him to be frail and too thin, but when it came time to get down to business, Uncle Luci reminded me of the Italian mobsters of old. The old man came from under his trench coat with an Uzi and let it spray. He got the bruise under his eye from falling to the ground to take cover when the Uzi was emptied. The same could be said for the Catholic and Jew. Those old men showed that an OG from any faction was still an OG no matter when the time called for it.

  Still, I could tell that the firefight had taken a toll on them. They looked haggard and tired out from all the running and leaping over cars. “You three will rest while I’m away,” I stated more than asked.

  “We have no time, Lucky. We must get ahead of this thing before it gets out of hand,” Cavriel said.

  “This is true,” Absolan said as he stood. He spoke in his native tongue when he told one of his men to bring in the prisoners. That’s right. We kept two of those motherfuckers alive.

  I stood with a machete in my hand. I’d seen Mama Claudette use a machete on many occasions. Even from when I was a kid, I remembered the way she handled one while torturing or murdering someone who had dared cross us. I also remembered the look in Uncle Luci’s eyes as he watched her. Something akin to love, pride, and lust. I’d never gotten a straight answer when it came to what went on between those two. Not even my mom, who looked uncannily like Mama Claudette, would speak on the subject. I stopped asking after a while.

  Two men were dropped, naked, hands tied behind their backs, in the middle of the room. One was black and the other Mexican. I immediately recognized the symbol inside of the black one’s wrist and the mark on the other one’s chest. I frowned and so did my uncle.

  “São Africana and the Mexican Cartel?” Uncle Luci barked out as he jumped up from his chair. “Working together?” The man’s face was as red as the shirt he had on.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Cavriel spat as he stood over the two men.

  Absolan kicked one man in the nuts when he walked over to them. “Speak, you filth!”

  “I thought the Africana faction in Brazil was an ally to the Syndicate,” I said.

  “As did I. This explains why Javon told me he was having problems with shipments out of Brazil,” Uncle Luci said. “Make them talk,” he ordered me.

  I smiled. The black man on the floor held eye contact with me. I knew he wasn’t going to open his mouth. He was too calm. He welcomed death and maybe even torture. I let my eyes travel to the Mexican on the floor. He too watched me, but he fucked up. As I stepped closer, I saw the glimmer of fear in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but he was unsuccessful. I yanked the man by his left foot. When I swung my machete, steel cut through tendon and bones.

  I tossed the man’s foot behind me. His screams and yells fed my need to hurt him some more. It didn’t surprise me when he damn near passed out. Uncle Luci didn’t let him, though. He placed a small folding chair near the man’s head and pulled a small black bag from the table. MAMA C was embroidered on the outside. He pulled out a long needle, jammed it into the man’s heart, and woke him back up.

  “You only have so many limbs left. Tell us why the Cartel is working with the Africana faction,” he asked the man.

  Water leaked from the man’s eyes just as piss and shit leaked from his penis and asshole. The man’s answer was to yell unintelligible Spanish and to spit at Uncle Luci. The old man jumped back with swiftness but not quick enough so the spit wouldn’t land on one of his hands. He grunted, stared the man down for a long while, then stood. He grabbed a Clorox wipe from the bag then wiped the back of his hand. Once he was done, he went back to the bag and pulled out another needle then held it out to me.

  I grinned wide. Mozambique cobra venom. Mama Claudette had a whole arsenal of shit to make people talk, but this was my favorite. I laid my machete down then put on the thick gloves. I grabbed the needle from Uncle then straddled the man. Two of my men held the man down, one at his feet—well, foot—and the other holding his head.

  “This is going to hurt like fuck,” I told him just before forcing his eyelids wide with one hand then injecting the venom with the other.

  The cocktail of toxins consisted of nerve poisons harmful to the sensitive cornea. The stinging pain often sent men and women into convulsions. There was no doubt the shit would leave them blind since it was directly injected into the eye. I stood then looked down at the man as he bucked and squealed like a pig.

  Thick puss started to form around his eye while he foamed at the mouth. I looked at the black man then smiled my best smile.

  “You’re next,” I threatened.

  He simply gave a slow blink then turned his head. The Africana faction often trained their men to withstand torture when they trained. I knew it would be hard to get him to talk, but not impossible. My attention was turned back to the Mexican. He started speaking Spanish rapidly. He was telling us something.

  “Slow down. Slow down,” I said. I spoke Spanish very well, but the man was speaking so fast that I was having a hard time comprehending.

  “Tratando de adquisición.”

  “Who’s trying to take over?” I asked.

  A movement behind him caught my attention. The black man had used his legs to take one of my men down. He did some kind of ninja move. Jumped from the floor and the next thing I knew, he had brought his tied hands underneath his feet so that they were now in front of him. He’d grabbed the gun from my man’s belt so fast that all I could do was grab my uncle and take cover.

  “Trader porra,” he yelled at the Mexican before placing a bullet in the man’s head.

  I jumped up and tackled the man just as he tried to shoot himself in the head. Even with his hands tied the man was quicker than lightning. He tried to us his legs to flip me off of him, but I was quicker. I flipped him over my head, got to my feet then kicked him in the head, rendering him unconscious.

  Cavriel and Absolan had been guarded by my men. Uncle Luci slowly got to his feet. As he dusted off his clothes, he said, “Keep him alive. Leave him here. Get to Atlanta. If this is some kind of hostile takeover, Javon’s in trouble and so are the rest of you.”

  Chapter 16

  Javon

  I was shaking. Too much adrenaline, anger, and low-key fear was racing though me. Bullets blazed past me. For the life of me, I wasn’t sure how or why none of them hit me, but I had to think that it was Mama protecting me. Shit, I mean if the old lady ended up in heaven, after everything she had done, including the mayhem she had put on others and the blood on her hands, then Mama could protect me anytime. Hell, I’d start to believe that some people in heaven might have owed her some things, if she made it to the pearly gates. But that’s neither here nor there, as Mama would say.

  For now, her grace was protecting me. Because my armored truck was in a blaze, in the chaos of it all me and Uncle were split up. It worried me, but I was good with it. Shanelle had the best aim in the house, but Uncle was a beast with tactile maneuvering. That was why I was happy he was here regardless of what he had said, which was a hell of a lot. I didn’t want to think on it, so I pushed it outside of my mind and checked my surroundings. I had a key to the club, so I knew that I could roll inside unnoticed if our enemies stayed distracted.

  But for now, because I was waiting it out, I crouched low then sprinted away from the battle around us. Ahead of me was a large Dumpster. I decided to use it as my shield until I could make it to the front of the club. At that point, I was biding my time. We were in Buckhead. The rich folks in the area were not about to let their property drop down and become devalued because of some shooting going down. Therefore, I knew that it was only a matter of time before the cops showed up.

  Whoever these fucktards were, they clearly weren’t thinking about those odds. Or, they didn’t give a damn about it. Taking a quick glance, I decided that they really didn’t give a damn. Unfortunately, I did. I needed insurance just in case. So, I dug in my pocket and sent a text to Shanelle. The message simple stated, Emergency. AT lawyer.

  AT was code for “Alert Trey.” He was our in with the police for now. The positive was that if he could set me up with protection if I got caught, then I needed that set up immediately. Mentioning our lawyer was to say call her as well.

  Checking my Remington, I reached in my pants, pulled out the small box that held more rounds, and reloaded. Everything was feeling like the last fight in the parking lot when we saved Shanelle. That’s when it clicked in my mind who these niggas were. The pattern was glaring. These dudes had to run with the same ex–São Africana crew. Quickly peering beyond the side of the Dumpster, I did a mental count. Who was the nigga running them? Why were they parked out in front of Melissa’s? Where was she at, as well? Nothing was sitting well with me.

  As I crouched, pressed, nearby the pounding of boots came my way. In one fluid move, I stood up, flipped my Remington in my hand, then sent the handle of my gun against the underside of my enemy’s chin. I watched his head crack back. He stumbled in surprise trying to right his balance and come at me. As he did so, I flipped my gun again then pumped several rounds in his body. Glancing down at him, I snatched his gun and tucked it behind my back. I then patted him down, noting the burned-out São-A branding, and I found a hunting knife.

  Taking it, I looked around, pulled him behind the trashcan, then noticed Uncle. I flagged him down. The old man came my way with a slight shuffle and it bothered me. It was clear he had been hit because, any other time, the old man moved as if he were in his early thirties with no major issues. Now, he was clearly tired out.

  While he made his way to me, several men chased after Uncle. He turned to shoot off rounds and, as he did so, the bodies fell behind him without him squeezing off any bullets. Uncle’s face turned to look around then above us. He was as surprised as I was. More bodies dropped, leaving a clear way for Uncle; and I helped with it. I used my shotgun effectively then turned to see who was helping. Sunlight glinted momentarily in my eyes, keeping me from seeing who it was.

  As Uncle slid to my side, I glanced up again to where he pointed across from us on a roof of a building close to the club, but I saw nothing. Yet, more men were being taken out. Heads were imploding. Arms and legs were being blasted off. Blood was everwhere. Yet, I saw no one on the roof. It was as if there were a ghost, and it baffled me. Whoever it was, I was grateful. Returning my attention to the body at my feet, I took a knee and hoisted it over my shoulder.

  “Any way out of this, nephew?” I heard Uncle ask while panting.

  We had to move out and quickly. Flashing lights were coming our way and I didn’t want either of us caught up. “Yeah, in the club.”

  “Through the tunnel exit,” Uncle said while he glanced around. He moved out of my way as I dropped the body in the Dumpster. “You knew about that?”

  I shrugged while looking down at him, then wiped the sweat from my forehead with my arm. “If I didn’t, I do now. Got anything that I can light?”

  “Push it, and I got you, nephew,” he said, digging in his vest.

  With a sharp grunt, I pushed the Dumpster in a roll then let off several rounds. Uncle, from behind me, tossed something circular in it and pulled me backward.

  “Run, boy!” he said, heading to the back of the club.

  Following him, we ran as fast as we could as a large bang went off. I glanced at him with wide eyes and covered my ears then fell to my knees. “The fuck! You had a grenade!”

  “A Molotov cocktail, nephew. A little moonshine can go a long way.”

  With that, we managed by the grace of God or Mama Claudette to make it into the club. Locking the door behind us, we caught our breath then quickly moved on. I followed Uncle as he shuffled and pointed for me to go in the back. Lights were flickering off and on, streaming their beams around the massive club. It seemed empty in here and I appreciated the quiet. I needed to think.

  “You get any inkling of an idea of who is guiding these people?” I heard Uncle ask, rubbing his leg.

  I watched him move to the bar, pull a bottle down, then slide his hand against the side of a shelf. Behind me, near a tall supporting beam, appeared a door. The old man leaped my way. I made sure that he wasn’t leaving a trail of blood and I glanced around. I felt eyes on us. It was fleeting and for a second I thought it was Melissa. However, her car wasn’t anywhere around, and the place was locked up tight. I only was able to get in because of my key and access code. So, Melissa being here didn’t make sense to me. Which meant she was here.

  Leaning in to my uncle I whispered, “Go down. I’ll be behind you.”

  “That’s not smart of you, nephew,” he muttered back, also watching his surroundings.

  “I know, but you feel it, don’t you?”

  Uncle gave a slight nod, then reached up to thumb his nose. “Yeah. We got a traitor in the midst.”

  “So, I’m not tripping then. It’s M?”

  “Mm hmm,” Uncle said, affirming my thoughts.

  “Go ahead. I got this,” I said, ushering Uncle down the tight corridor then turning around. As I did so, I looked around again.

  “So, you just going to play hide-and-seek with a brotha? You want me dead, so don’t be a lame and hide. Face me.” I stood there talking to air. There was nothing but silence and the flashing lights.

  Pounding started on the doors of the club. I could hear a large commotion and it made me antsy. Maybe she wasn’t here. Maybe Uncle and I were tripping. Either way it went, I didn’t have time to wait around.

  “Lissa. Whatever the hell is going on with you right now that has you hiding and ignoring your family, especially with us almost being killed out there, it’s going to come to light and I’d rather you come to me on some real shit and talk this out.” I looked around then slowly backed up to the door. “We’re family. No matter the good, the bad, we’re here. We may whoop that ass, but in the end we’re family and we’re your home. Come talk and leave the bullshit behind you.”

  With that I went down the corridor, hearing the door shut behind me. Everything I said was a bald-faced lie. If she did have something to do whatever the hell was going on outside with us being ambushed, best believe I planned on feeding her the same bullets that came for me and mine. You don’t gun down your family and expect a housewarming. We ain’t the Huxtables.

  By the time I caught up with Uncle, he was sitting on an old plastic bottle crate, drinking from his bottle of vodka and pouring it over his bare leg. “’Bout time you showed up. Thought I’d have to wobble my old ass back to you,” he said in a tired huff. “As the old negro American saying goes, I’m getting too old for this shit.”