Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Grandpa doesn’t expect us to band together. He expects us to stay separated, like how some of our parents tried to do us, because of his influence, while growin’ up. He’d purposefully cause division. Create cliques and confusion in the family. Messy, devious shit. Almost everyone says Kage is crazy. But Kage was the only one who was man enough, at the age of thirteen, to do what all of them were too chicken shit to do as full-grown adults.”
“I can’t argue with that. Kage has some problems, but his instinct and bullshit detector is trigger happy, and scary accurate.”
“Kage used to make fun of me.” Roman smiled sadly. “Call me ‘Pretty Boy,’ things like that, but he was protective of all of us, too. He took the role of oldest cousin seriously. So, since you say you’re communicatin’ wit’ him, and now with me, I say we stay as a united front. The three of us at least. People outside of our family can’t understand this. Can’t get how one man can control a business, a family, and a whole damn city the way he does, but when you grow up the way we did, we get it. I got you, man.” He patted his back.
Lennox took him into his arms and hugged him. Roman was the cool and collected clown. He was damn good with numbers. A slickster. Hard to pin down and read at times, too. Daring and arrogant. When he offered himself to you, that was a compliment. He was stingy with his time, and even more stingy with his advice.
They hugged one more time, said their farewells, and he walked away, slowing when he heard all the locks sliding into place. Roman stated that before Grandpa had sent his goons to grab him, he had three locks on the door. Now, he had five and a big ass loaded rifle hidden in the umbrella bin, right by the front entrance…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Granddaddy of them All
Lennox stared at the missed call number. He didn’t know who it was, but they’d called multiple times. No voicemail. No text. He chose to ignore it, but not block it just yet. He arrived at his father’s house after such a busy, and somewhat fun-filled, day. He was looking forward to this evening, too—even though he realized it more than likely involved plentiful arguing.
Nadia had made it clear how she felt about his recent goings-on. He had no regrets. The butting of heads would ensue. He pulled up into his father’s long, winding driveway. The estate was just as he remembered it as a child. Well-manicured lawn. Lion statues outside of the front door, and a winding front porch with plentiful hanging plants. Mama used to take care of those plants and flowers. Now, Dad had a gardener, and he barely kept up with what was what.
Lennox made his way to the front door and rang the bell. He had his own separate security code to enter the house, but he wanted his father to come directly to the door. Open it for him. Let him in. He waited for a minute or two, then rang the bell again. He knew Dad was home, despite the long time waiting for him to answer the door. Dad had become a recluse to some degree after all.
Finally, his father arrived. He could see him approaching from beyond the frosted glass of the door windows, crossing the marble floor one stride at a time. A dark royal shade of blue draped the shadowy figure.
Dad paused at the door, as if needing to take a deep breath, then opened it. He stood there in his thick sapphire robe and matching slippers, a gold crucifix pendant around his neck with sparse chest hair showing beneath it. Dad’s dark blond hair with wisps of gray at the sideburns was somewhat damp as if he’d recently gotten out of the shower. His slight widow’s peak gave him a look of intelligence and wisdom—something Lennox believed was nothing more than a physical stereotypical trait that his father didn’t actually possess.
“Lenny, what a surprise.” Dad’s eyes remained rather small, and his lips curled ever so slightly, as if it took all of his strength to muster a shred of kindness. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Was just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d swing by.”
Lennox looked down at his father’s hand. Long, pale fingers were wrapped tightly around a cold one. He swallowed the unspoken reaction that hung on the tip of his tongue by not saying, ‘How many is that so far today?’ Instead, he asked if he could come inside.
“Of course. You’re my son.”
Dad opened the door wider, and Lennox stepped over the threshold. He looked around as he heard the door close hard behind him, and several deadbolts being locked. Then the beeps and button noises of the alarm being reset. The house smelled fresh, new and airy, as if Dad had just moved in. The marble floors were spic and span, as was the opulent furniture and large frescos that gleamed beneath real gold frames that sparkled as if they’d just been dusted. The place reminded him somewhat of a museum. Not a thing out of place. Not a speck of dust, not a touch of life or essence. So different from the days when he and his sister raced around chasing one another, hollering and screaming for the hell of it, and did cannonballs in the indoor pool to the blasting sounds of rock ’nd roll, country, and rap music.