The steps of the precinct might as well be a stairway to hell. I have one foot hiked on the first step while the other is planted on the sidewalk. Everything will change when I walk inside, so I’m wearing the black-on-black suit I wore for Augusta’s party since it makes me feel like Johnny Cash. If I’m about to hand over my life for Jackson’s, I’d like to do it in style. 

Thankfully, I’m not alone. Angie paces the sidewalk taking drags off a cigarette in a daze. When we met, she smoked constantly, but lately, she hasn’t depended on nicotine until now. She chain-smoked the entire drive here, and her fingers tremble each time she brings the cancer stick to her lips.

She wasn’t happy about my decision.

We fought. She cried and begged for me to change my mind, but when I didn’t, she stormed off to lock herself in the bedroom. After about thirty minutes, she came out, cried some more, and I kissed away her tears, which had us peeling off each other’s clothes and making love on the floor.

After that, we fought some more but finally came to an understanding. 

So, here we are, waiting for me to get the nerve to walk inside the police station with Henry. He called ahead to let the detectives know that I wanted to work a deal and what my conditions were. 

But I can’t seem to walk away from my girl or mom, who keeps wiping her eyes. What a disappointment I’ve become. My mom came to this country to give me a better life, and now I’ve ruined what she worked so hard for.

It’s actually a lovely morning, with the sun shining and birds chirping in the trees as if nature is letting me know I’ve made the right decision. However, I can’t help but notice the black SUV that pulled up across the street. My brows furrow, so Steve follows my line of sight, and his hand goes to his hip again, although this time there is a holster and a gun.

My shoulders ease when Bernard’s gargantuan ass exits the vehicle. We haven’t spoken since the party, and now I am on the steps of the precinct, which can only mean one thing to him: I’m about to snitch. 

This isn’t good.

He waits for traffic to pass before jogging across the street, and when he reaches the sidewalk, he leans against a parked car. Steve looks at me, silently asking what he wants me to do, but I don’t think the giant guy is here to hurt me. It’s daylight, there are witnesses, and he has a family he can lose. Plus, who does he have to report to now that Augusta is dead? Nevertheless, I approach cautiously.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I’ve been surveillance you.”

“For what?” 

“Things have changed now that Augusta is… now that she’s...” But Bernard can’t bring himself to say it, and he shakes his head before continuing. “Most of the guys in her detail have fled or are keeping a low profile till things cool down, but the rest have joined Jocelyn’s side. I don’t know if you saw in the news how a quarter of the mansion burned, but there was some sort of electrical fire. So, Jocelyn and her crew have left the mansion until renovations can be done, and it's no longer considered a crime scene, but I have no idea where they’re holding up.”

“Did you check their other properties?”

“Yes, of course, and they’re not at any of their seasonal houses or apartments, which means they must be working from a secret location I’ve never heard about, and I’m obviously on the outs. But I wouldn’t accept an offer from Jocelyn even at gunpoint. Augusta was good to me and my family, and she didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“I get it, but why are you here, talking to me?”

“Because I had a feeling.”

“That I’ll snitch?”

“I mean…” Bernard extends his arms, motioning around us. “This certainly looks like a good place to confess your sins. Plus, because of what happened that night, cops have been sniffing around and asking questions. I also saw them take you away in handcuffs. So, something is up. What did you get hauled in for?”

“It's unrelated.” I shake my head. “But they know I have ties to the Abramovitz.”

“And you’re going to tell them what you know?” Bernard nods, so I tilt my head with a narrowed gaze. 

What is this guy telling me without telling me?

“Depends on what they want from me,” I say.

“Is the DA offering you a deal?”

“My lawyer negotiated some terms, so I guess I’m about to find out if they’ll take it.” 

Bernard steps closer, his voice a deep rasp, “If I were you, I’d go in there and bury Jocelyn into the fucking ground. I’d paint her as a corrupt individual who worked alone and Augusta as an oblivious businesswoman whose love for her sister blinded her.”

“You’ve given this some thought, I see.” 

“If you don’t torch that bitch, Jocelyn will find a way to finish you. So you have to get her first. Augusta was a lot of things, but she was fair and well-respected. Who knows what Jocelyn will do to overcome her sister’s shadow? There will be war. Desperate people do desperate things, and I don’t want my kids growing up with her looming like a bloodthirsty dictator. Do you?” Bernard glances around and slips on a knitted cap. “Anyway, I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself.” 

As he jogs back to the SUV, Angie approaches, blowing out a cloud of smoke. She reeks of nicotine, but she’s anxious and stressed out, so I don’t say anything about it.

“What did he want?” she asks.

“He wants me to bury Jocelyn without tainting Augusta.”

“Why?” She furrows her brows. 

“He senses something bad on the horizon. Sounds like Jocelyn is going to war.”

“Fuck them!” Angie stubs out her cigarette. “You go in there and take care of you. Tell them whatever they want to know, so they’ll honor the damn deal. I know this is all my fault for introducing you to those women, and it’s been an absolute shitshow, but we’re taking our lives back. When you go in there, you’re protecting us—the family we made together. Got me?”

“Yeah.”

She slides her arms around my torso and rests her cheek against my chest. “I still fucking hate that you’re doing this. I need you, you stubborn, selfish asshole. I don’t want to be out here alone.” 

“You won’t be alone, baby.” I kiss the top of her head. “My mom, Sammy, Gwen, and our friends won’t abandon you.”

“It’s not the same. We were supposed to move into the new place with Ana, but now I’ll have to move in there alone, and I have no idea if my sister is still stuck in that care home. Everything is so fucked.” 

“No, it’s not. Augusta still put in a word with the judge. Her death doesn’t change that. You will get Ana back.”

“I don’t know. I feel like you’re gonna go in there, and everything will go tits up on us.” 

“Angie.” I pull away and hold her shoulders to look her in the eyes. “We went over this. Don’t spiral. Please, don’t spiral. I can survive prison. Jackson won’t. Even Sammy agreed with me when I explained things to him and Carmine. So, I can’t leave my friend hanging. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“I know…” She glances at our feet, and a tear rolls down her cheek. 

“Ah, don’t cry.” I wrap my arms around her.

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“I don’t either.”

We hold each other for a solid five minutes as traffic zips by and clouds drift above, casting shadows across the buildings. I breathe Angie in, memorizing her hair’s scent instead of car fumes and cigarette smoke. I kiss her lips and commit their softness against mine like a phantom feeling I can reminisce about when the nights are lonesome. I'm glad we got to make love one last time.

Pulling away, I trace her bottom lip with my thumb. “Do you love me, Angie?” 

“Yes.” She sniffles, her eyes swollen with tears.

“Will you wait for me?”

“Of course!”

“Even if I’m in there for fifteen years?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll understand if you meet someone and decide to move on.”

“Oh, fuck off!” She smacks my chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m ride or die.” She shrugs. “That’s my problem. I’m too loyal. So, you’re stuck with me. Plus, where else am I supposed to find such good dick?” 

With that, I toss my head back in a laugh that explodes from my chest. Fuck me running. This woman! Mrs. Angelina Mendoza…

I embrace her again and press kisses to the top of her head. “Good, because I’ll be counting the days until I get back to you.”

Henry clears his throat. “Are you ready?” 

“Yeah…” I unfold myself from Angie. “Don’t want to be late for the ball.” 

We walk toward the stairs, but before I embark on the journey up the steps, I stop to hug my mom. She buries her face in my chest, and she’s such a tiny woman but mighty in every way, so I forget she can cry. I hold her tighter, resting my chin on top of her head, and rub circles into her back as she cries softly. I’m glad she’ll have Steve to look out for her while I’m gone. 

“No llores, Mamá.”

“I’m not crying,” my mom objects with a sniffle.

“You are.”

“I just have something in my eyes.” She wipes them.

“Yeah, tears.”

“Well, so what?” She places her hands on her hips. “You’re my only son.”

“I’m your only kid, period.” 

A wail releases from her throat, so she covers her eyes, and her entire body quivers as she begins sobbing heavy sobs from deep in her belly. This time, Steve pulls her into his arms. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” he coos.

“No, it’s not!” she cries, her voice strained. “Everything you did for him years ago was all for nothing! Now we’re right back here with him going to jail, and I won't be there to protect him.” She turns to me. “It’s not too late. We can leave. Go to another country. I hear Puerto Vallarta is nice. Or we can even go to Canada. Live in a remote town.”

“Ma, you know I can’t. It’s time I stop running from the messes I make. This is how I atone for my sins, even though I’m taking all the heat for someone else. I have to do it.”

“I’ll never understand it,” she says, her shoulders sagging like an unwatered plant. “But if this is what you have to do.”

“It is.”

“Ready?” Henry asks again, and I take a deep breath with a nod.

“I’m ready.”

“I love you, mijo!” my mom calls out.

“I love you, too.” I blow a kiss.

And as I make my way up the steps, I don’t take my eyes off her or Angie. I need to commit their beautiful faces to memory so I don’t lose my nerve to go through this.

∆∆∆

A few months later…

The door on my prison cell clangs open and echoes across the cell block as the other cages open, too. It’s a bright morning with the sun beaming through the grimy windows and onto the scuffed cement ground, where someone mops, leaving behind streaks that glisten. 

I was transferred to San Quinton prison a few weeks ago after sitting in country jail while my trial took place. The sentencing was fair, considering my confessions, and because of the deal I struck, I’m serving only ten years with the possibility of early parole for more than one crime. Whereas Chloe was sentenced to eight years for killing Barry, and she also has to pay a huge fine that will likely drown her once she’s out of prison, but I don’t give a fuck.

Fuck her.

So, I could have been sentenced up to ten years just for Richie’s death, but dragging Jocelyn’s skank ass through the mud, just like Bernard said I should, served me well. The DA will use the information as they continue to build a case against the Abramovitz empire and its associates, and I will have to testify when the time comes. 

However, I didn’t like their proposal of going into witness protection once I’m released.

But I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Angie was in hysterics when the judge read the sentencing, but my mom was surprisingly calm. She even blew me kisses as the bailiff escorted me away. It was difficult looking at Mindy, though. When she took the stand, it was the first time laying eyes on her since the hospital. 

My throat was thick as I fought against the urge to cry as she wheeled herself to the stand and needed assistance to transfer to the chair. She was beautiful as always, and her family was there to support her, so at first, she appeared fierce in her cobalt blue dress, but then she looked at me. 

 A shadow of pain darkened her gorgeous face, and I was part of the reason for it—a reminder of what happened. And I don’t blame her for wanting to forget me or for rejecting the letters I sent wishing her well. 

“Cell number three,” one of the guards shouts. “You have a visitor.”

It has to be Angie! I stop doing pushups and get to my feet, then snatch the white ribbed tank top strewn across my thin mattress, and slip my feet into the shitty prison shoes they gave me. While exiting the cell, I tug the tank on, and my fingers graze my sweaty pecks. They’re getting bulkier. My time in the yard has not been wasted. I spend it in the warmth of the sun lifting weights, and I’ve been able to put my personal trainer experience to work as other guys come to me for tips. 

By the time I get out, I’ll be the size of a damn gorilla with a small clientele of reformed criminals. Perhaps I can still pursue my dream of opening a gym.

The guard steers me toward the visitor room, and it’s an open space with various tables where others get to visit, too. As soon as I walk in, my day brightens, seeing my baby. She’s in her signature fur coat that I always thought looked like roadkill, but now it reminds me of her. 

My heart.

My home.

I’m smiling from ear to ear, and I want to run to Angie, swoop her into my arms, and kiss her all over. But I can’t. Instead, I go to the table, ease onto the bench seat, and glance around before sneakily taking her hand in mine. We twine our fingers together, my thumbs rubbing her soft skin.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hey, handsome.” She smiles, but the guard pacing the visitor’s room clears his throat, and we retract our hands.

Angie’s smile fades. 

Neither of us is used to this, but we got lucky with me being sentenced to serve my time in San Quinton. It’s a little north of the city, so it’s not a terrible drive, yet things are taking a toll on her. She’s lost about twenty pounds, and I’m afraid she’ll wither away. So, I need to call my mom and make sure she’s feeding Angie properly and not letting her get away with surviving on cigarettes and coffee.

“Tell me how things are going on the outside?” I say.

“A lot,” she sighs.

“Give it to me.”

“Well, Bernard was right. Jocelyn is waging war, which has spurred a wild west atmosphere with every man for themselves. The Cartel is still number one, and Emilio is determined to take Jocelyn out, according to Sammy.”

“Speaking of the old man. What’s up with him and Carmine?”

“He and Carmine think they can strike a deal with Emilio. If they can eliminate Jocelyn, that opens a spot for them to oversee everything, but I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Hellions are a wild card. They went from reporting to Richie to Rohan Reddy. Meanwhile, he uses his political power to smuggle heroin to the Hellions to sell, but Sammy says it’s laced with fentanyl. So, overdoses have increased. He wants to stop that, which is part of the proposal he has for Emilio since Emilio imports clean cocaine from Colombia.”

“I don’t get it. How does that stop the overdoses?” 

“Because Sammy wants to propose that he and Emilio invest in clean heroin.”

“What!” My jaw drops. “I don’t like this. I want you to stay the hell away from that shit.” 

“Relax, I’ll never be a junkie.”

“I don’t want you near the coke either.”

“Babe…” Angie narrows her eyes.

“I mean it! It’s so easy to get sucked up into that shit. I had a buddy from high school who started snorting coke, then he moved on to heroin, then meth, and I never heard from him again until it was time for his funeral. Stay away from that shit.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. I know Franky likes to do a few bumps sometimes.”

“Miguel. I’m not going to touch any of it.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand, but the lurking guard clears his throat again and gives us a warning glare. She retracts her hand. “I hate this fucking place.”

“I know,” I sigh. “I miss touching you too, but Henry said I can apply for conjugal visits next year. I must maintain a clean record so they approve it, but this place is crazy. Guys get into fistfights here all the time.” 

Angie makes a guttural sound like a wounded animal and buries her head in her hands. “I hate this fucking place,” she cries. “I hate thinking about you getting into fights and having to look over your shoulder. I fucking hate it.”

“Baby, it’s ok. I can handle it.” I lean forward and kiss her head.

“No, it’s not ok. Every time I see Alma and Jackson in group therapy, I want to punch them in their fucking faces. Especially as Alma’s baby bump grows and she’s got that happy maternal glow, and Jackson dotes on her like she’s a damn princess.”

“Come on, don’t think like that. They’re our friends.”

“I’m too mad.” She cries into her hands. “Ten years is a long time.”

“It could be less than that.” I kiss her head some more. “Don’t forget there’s the possibility of early parole. So it’s nothing when you think about the many years we have ahead of us.”

Angie wipes her eyes. “Yeah, well, those fuckers better name their child after you!” 

“What if they have a girl?”

“Miguelina has a nice ring to it!” 

I bite back a laugh, but I’m pretty sure Angie is serious. “What about Ana? How is that going?”

This causes Angie’s eyes to illuminate with a smile. “In two weeks, she moves into our place. I wish I could show you photos of how I decorated, but they didn’t let me bring my cell phone in here. I bought that big, pillowy recliner you saw online, and it has your name all over it. No one can sit there but you.”

“That was an expensive chair. I hope you used the money I left you. At the same time, don't spend all of it on decorating.” 

“Who are you, my dad?”

“Angie…” I narrow my eyes. “I just want you to be ok out there.”

“I know,” she sighs. “And I am being responsible. I signed up for accounting classes online, and I’m going to become the most amazing budgeter you’ve ever met. I might even look into investing some of the money. Wisely, of course.”

“Good. That’s my girl.”

The guard approaches, so I retract from holding Angie’s hands. It’s ridiculous how I can only hug and kiss her goodbye but can’t touch her during the visit. He clears his throat.

“Come on, man. I’m not touching her,” I say over my shoulder, but the guard isn’t alone.

“You’ve got another visitor.”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else…” I stand from the table to greet a guy who isn't much older than me but looks like the kind of man who is cocky enough to take down goliaths in court.

“Benny Goldmann.” He sticks out his hand, exposing his gold, diamond-encrusted pinky ring.

“Uh… Miguel Gomez.” I shake his hand.

“I represent Augusta Abramovitz and her estate. Let’s chat.”

*
*
*

Happy Friday! The final chap is around the corner 🥹

For those who checked out Sugar Daddy Season (a standalone, but part of this series), I see you 👀 and thank you 🫶🏽

There will be familiar faces. For example, Mara is Lucas's little sister, & Enzo is Sammy's nephew 👁️👄👁️ The story takes place during the same timeline as the third act of this book, and is a fun lil side project for ONC 🥰