Page 1 of DOM: The Miami King

They call me‘Dom: The Miami King’ and not ‘cause I begged for that shit, and not ‘cause I threw money around for clout. Nah, I earned that title in blood, silence, and moves they don’t even fuckin’ write about in the book of street legends. In a city full of sharks, backstabbers, and crab in the bucket mentalities, I made myself untouchable.

See, Miami ain’t no muhfuckin’ playground. It's a concrete jungle wrapped in palm trees and bikinis. One minute it's mojitos and yacht parties and the next, somebody's brains are splattered on a penthouse wall, and fuckin’ with me, you just had to pray like hell that it wouldn’t be yours. I came up dirty, hustlin’ anything that could flip whether it be, pills, packs, or pieces. I learned fast that this world didn’t give a fuck ‘bout how you feel, only what you control so I took control of the streets, the money, and ofeverything around me.

As the head of Royal Enterprises, I’m clean on the books but dirty in the streets. Shit looks clean on paper with luxury rides, real estate deals, and offshore ‘investments’ but in reality, it’s all smoke. Behind the scenes money gets laundered, bodies disappear, and the government stays blind ‘cause I know how to feed the right mouths. My operation has grown to be one of the biggest worldwide too; pushing imports from Italy, Dubai, and Tokyo... but what people don’t know is half of them trunks have been loaded with bricks before they hit the showroom. It was more than just engines and leather in those whips, it was power and product. The only reason I’ve stayed above water this long is because I move smart. I never got greedy, and I never cared about being loud. As a matter of fact, I kept my circle tight and my enemies guessin’.

My lil brother Dominique was runnin’ the West Coast side of the operation. He was straight up wild. I always had to tell him:“Keep yo’ hands clean, Dique, or I’ll do it myself.”He’s straight West Coast born and bred, raised in them Compton streets before mama moved us to Miami. Dominique used to bang and run with the set heavy till I yanked him out the set and made him an offer he couldn’t resist; run the West Coast as a part of Royal or die in them same streets he bled for. Now he got his own team, his own corner, and I trust him for the most part. The problem was, Dominique didn’t always follow rules, that he followed vibes. It was always somethin’ with women or trouble. All the same shit I didn’t have time for.

Then there’s O’Shynn, my beautiful baby sis. The eye candy that dudes loved but knew not to fuck with. Her and Dominque are twins but O’Shynn had brains like a Wall Street killer, with a fuckin’ heart like a damn icebox. She runs the books and makes sure every dollar is doubled, with every risk being calculated. But even she be out there runnin’ her strip clubs at night like we ain’t one mistake from a Rico charge. I hated the shit but that was a part of her I didn’t understand, and she rarely allowed us to be close enough to. However, she protected her brothers just the same as we did her and washed a lot of money through those clubs too.

Now, Carmen was a very frugal piece to the puzzles of my life. She’s my wife by arranged marriage. They knewofCarmen, but they didn’t know about the nights she stayed up with me when I was bleeding and broken. They didn’t know the way she’s carried the weight of my name like it was hers or how far back we really go. They think she’s just a smart girl from Trinidad who caught a lucky break, but they didn’t know what it cost her to survive Miami. I still remember the day I met her like it was yesterday. It was six years ago, on the corner of 79th and NE 17thAvenue in Little Haiti.

I was posted up at the Arab store on 79th, waiting on a package. It wasn’t nothing major, it was just some small-time drop, something I was moving for a connect before Royal Enterprises became what it is now. I had just finished handling some drama on the west side and my hands were still bruised, my hoodie rested on my head, and I had my Glock in my waistband. That’s when I saw her pretty, brown-skinned ass. She was thick as hell too. She was rockin’ a cheap apron and arguing with some old man in Creole. Her accent was strong, but she held her own without an ounce of fear in her eyes.

I leaned on the wall outside, just watchin’ her. She came out with a mop bucket, cussing underneath her breath, with her curly hair wild and forehead glistening from the heat. I watched her for like... five minutes as she just cleaned not sayin’ a word to nobody, but her presence was loud.

“Yo, you always mop like you got beef with the floor?” I called out, smirking.

She froze wearing a stank look on her face like I was the dirt she was tryna scrub. “You always watch women like they owe you something?” she snapped back, not missin’ a beat.

I laughed. “You from around here?” I asked, stepping closer.

“No,” she said. “And I ain’t interested in being from here either.”

I guess that was her way of sayin’ she was just passin’ through. But somethin’ told me she didn’t have many options either. I’d seen that look in people’s eyes before. It was the kind that saysI’m here ‘cause I ain’t got nowhere else to go.

She tried to quickly walk past me, but I caught a glimpse of her ID badge pinned to her shirt that read: Carmen Joseph. I never forgot the name and two weeks later I went back to that bodega on a random ass Tuesday. I ain’t even need nothin’ either. I just walked in, grabbed a water and waited. She was behind the counter, reading a thick-ass paperback book with no cover.

“Back again?” she asked without looking up.

“Oh, you remembered me?” I asked.

“You wearing the same hoodie, ain’t that hard to remember,” she shrugged.

I chuckled ‘cause she could say what she wanted, it was more than a hoodie she remembered. Females killed me with that shit. “I’m Dom.”

She glanced up, unimpressed. “Carmen.” She replied but this time she smiled, just enough to tell me what I needed to know.

I started pullin’ up more after that. I wasn’t really applying pressure. It was more so casual, plus I enjoyed talking to her ‘cause she was smart as fuck, and I also didn’t mind staring in her pretty face. I brought her food a couple times and offered her a ride once when it was rainin’. She always declined talkin’ ‘bout she didn’t take favors from men, but one night, I caught her sittin’ behind the store quietly cryin’ and tryin’ to hide it. The immigration papers on her lap had a big ass red stamp across the top that read:Visa Expired.

When she looked up and saw me staring at her, she froze. I ain’t say nothin’. I just sat beside her, lit a blunt, and let the silence speak. After a while, she wiped her face and said, “They gon’ send me back. I ain’t even done nothin’ wrong. I just work and pay rent. I literally tried to be invisible.”

I looked over at her. “You ever think about gettin’ married?”

She furrowed her brows. “What, to a stranger?”

“To me,” I said, dead serious.

She blinked a few times. “Why?”

“’Cause I see somethin’ in you, and I think you deserve to stay.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” I said. “I know you got grit. I know you don’t owe nobody. And I know you ain’t askin’ for shit. That’s enough for me.”

We sat in silence again, and she never said yes but three weeks later, we were at the courthouse. It wasn’t no kissin’, and no ring, it was just paperwork; because I had plans for her and was always calculated. I knew exactly where she’d fit into the Royal family. I put her in school and paid her tuition that same day and she never asked me to.

Years later, she was still here and our marriage, it was business. I ain’t never sugarcoat shit. I needed cover and she needed papers. We both signed the line knowin' what it was. I figured I’d hand her the keys, set her up in the penthouse, and she’d stay out the way. But Carmen? Man… I got her all wrong.

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