Episode 8: A Son for the Fallen Prince

Rico

Anna eyes me from across the room as her husband, the dictator of some landlocked Eastern European country vital to America’s interests, drones on with other very powerful men.

I keep my gaze leveled on her as I slowly sip the ginger beer these peons mistake for champagne.

My identity for the past two years has been a lowly cog in Italy’s government. Moorish, to account for my skin tone. It’s been interesting to see the different ways racism affects other countries. You’d think it’d be better once you’re out of the States.

Negative.

Still, these European bitches ain’t no different from the bitches back home. Still trifling hoes and untrustworthy creatures.

They just speak another language.

I shouldn’t even be here. My mind is still in Belize. My heart is where it’s always been, in that back room in that house in Raleigh Park. Only my body’s here, but once again, I’ve made myself indispensable to people who don’t take no for an answer.

When will I learn?

I down the ginger beer, wink at Anna, and begin moving through the crowd. The first person I make eye contact with is my boss. He grins, almost jumping up and down with glee. Somehow, he thinks this is his play. A way for him to move up the ladder of importance.

He thinks I haven’t fucked anything out of Anna yet. Like I haven’t been her affair partner for over a year, instead of just two months, when he “caught” me.

It’s why I couldn’t stay away too long. The powers that be are counting on me. They don’t give a fuck that my other half is in the ground, and that my Nan is losing her fucking mind over it.

I’ve always known Nancy Alvarez was a cold piece of work. She had to be, for my father to be the type of nigga he is.

But the shit she’s pulled these last few months… it takes the cake.

I push all that shit down as I enter the men’s restroom. Anna’s hot on my tail, and I slam her into the door and lock it.

She grins, her green eyes dancing all over my face. She tries to kiss me, but I jerk my head back, and hold my hand out.

Gotta pay before you play.

She scoffs, but still hands me the flashdrive I need. I pocket it, then turn her around so that her chest is on the door.

She pokes her ass out, and I look into the invisible camera, since all I feel are bones.

I gather her dress before she takes the fabric, and slip my other hand into her thong.

“So ready for me, slut,” I croon in Italian, making her moan as I fondle her folds.

She’s soaking, but recently, it hasn’t been enough to wake my guy up.

I’d been doing good. For years, I didn’t see, think about, nor hear about that ice cold bitch.

One look, that’s all it took.

Her bumping into me.

I even threatened her, but it didn’t matter.

She was all I thought about in Belize. She’s all I think about now.

I chanced a look on her social media a few weeks ago, and seen she’s back hanging with Grimey. Which means she’s back hanging with Trippy, even after I told her if I saw her with him again, I’d aim three centimeters to the left, like I should have done the first time.

Did she think because I let her think we were done, that the threat doesn’t still stand?

I’ve always been too lenient with her. Showing her and those around her mercy, when that’s not even in my character.

Wynter Snow, pushing my buttons since before either of us knew what that meant.

The bane of my existence.

Thoughts of squeezing the life out of her, of tying her up and making her watch me kill Set, and Trippy, and any other nigga that’s ever said her fuckin’ name make all the blood in my body rush to my dick.

I take the condom out of my pocket, lower my pants and boxers low enough to take my dick out, and slide on the protection, as more scenes of Wynter’s tears assault my vision.

Through all of the despicable things Wynter Snow has ever done, and she’s done some truly unforgivable shit, making me humanize my father is probably the worst.

It’s one thing to see him act erratic over Ma, to see their toxicity play out in the eyes of their offspring, and compare him to the devil.

It wasn’t until I gave into Wynter Snow after years of her begging me to let her in, that I understood why my father told us to run the other way from love.

We Alvarezes are not built for that shit. How out of control it feels when your heart is outside of your body. It makes you do crazy shit to get that control back.

Lie. Cheat. Gaslight. Destroy.

I feel myself softening inside of Anna, though by her moans that are grating my ears, she can’t tell.

So I switch the movie playing in my head to one of my favorites. Wynter Snow, in Raleigh Park, on the swings. It’s nighttime, after midnight, though neither one of us ever had a curfew. The first time we really hung out, just the two of us.

The moon was bright, and I said something to her, I can’t remember.

All I remember is her smile. Lazy, from the vodka we both were drinking, but still, almost brighter than the moon.

No one would ever think to ask her about me, let alone when we started whatever this thing is. But if they did, she’d probably say I fell for her when Ma died.

That would be a lie.

I tripped when I first saw her in the mall. Stumbled when she sent me that first song over AIM.

But I fell that night on the swings.

And I gave my heart to her, when she gave me her virginity.

“Shit,” I hiss, filling the condom with my seed. I back away from Anna like she’s on fire, pulling off the condom.

She’s panting hard, a small smile on her face, like this is the best sex she’d ever had.

And I can’t even remember the shit.

I knot the condom and slide it in my pocket with the wrapper, not taking any chances, smooth my suit out, and exit the bathroom. I got what I needed, and can wash up in my hotel suite.

Hours later, after decrypting the information on the flashdrive, I’m laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, when my burner phone chimes on the nightstand.

I reach and grab it, opening the text.

The first image, I had to zoom in. A DNA test.

Baby boy is 99.99% the son of Fredo.

My heart drops to my ass. I’d heard he was fucking with some young bitch, passing her back and forth to Slime, but slipping up and having a kid?

Fredo doesn’t do reckless shit like that.

My gut tells me this was intentional, even though, for whatever reason, they’d dropped her right after conception.

The next image is the mother, Jupiter, holding the baby. It must have been a home birth at the villa. Jupiter didn’t know who the father was, and apparently Slime dropped off the face of the earth after Fredo, so the next best thing was finding Nan.

She skipped a plethora of other muthafuckas who could help, because Nan’s version of “helping” was lightweight kidnapping this girl, and holding her hostage in Belize until we could get a DNA test after the baby was born.

I doubt Nan will let her nor the baby leave now that it’s confirmed.

But there’s not much I can do now. Not when my mission’s still live.

I only bought this phone because I knew Jupiter would be giving birth this week. After I look at the next image, the phone’s getting wiped, disassembled, and thrown out in trash all over the city.

I take a deep breath and click the final image; a close up of the baby with his name and birthday on some decorative shit Nan probably had someone make.

Mars Lamine Alvarez

11/11

“Damn,” I whisper.

My fingers itch to call up Haze, or Turk, or shit, even Slime, since my gut tells me he’d wanna know. But Nan swore me to secrecy, promising to even keep her son out of the loop.

I can’t go against her, not for this. Not right now.

I’ll reassess once my orders are up and I’m discharged. The powers that be know my time is limited. Eighteen or so months and I’m back being a civilian, able to make choices, able to have some control.

I just have to bide my time.

And hope Nan doesn’t kill Jupiter and take Mars for herself.