Page 15 of Dom 3
Dique laughed, that low laugh. “Bet.”
I hit Carmen’s line while we were still rolling to the next location. Her voice picked up on the second ring sounding fierce like she always did. She was leaving the courtroom like she had just owned it too, and I knew she did. “Dom,” she said. I could hear her heels on the floor, as the cameras buzzed in the background; she hadn’t even made it to her office yet and the news people were already all over her.
“You okay?” I asked, staring at the screen.
She was dressed in one her of sharpest suits looking like she should’ve been on the cover of a vogue magazine and I loved everything about it. “I’m fine. I just got out. They’re trying to get me to do soundbites before the ink even dries on the verdict. Can you believe that shit?” She said in a tone that sounded like she was still in front of the judge in disbelief responding to a verdict. It had that hint of humor in it that she reserves for judges who think they’re smarter than they are. “Told them two minutes. I need to change out of this suit before the cameras make me look like I belong to the damn prosecution.”
“Sounds like you still making boss moves, that’s what I like to hear, but when I ask how you’re doing, I don’t mean just courtroom talk,” I said. “You handled that case the way you doany other situation… quiet and clean just a beast in a dress.” I didn’t need to explain what I meant; she already knew I watched her work the way I watched everything important to me… close and careful.
“You sound like a father instead of a contract husband,” she teased, but there was warmth in her words that made a man feel tight in the chest and makes you want to be better for somebody. “Don’t get soft on me, Dom. I still have clients to worry about, and I’m literally baking a baby in here. I’m doing the absolute best I can to show up for everyone. Don’t get all sentimental on me.”
“I’m not coming over there to cry on yo’ shoulder,” I replied, letting a sly grin slide across my face. “I’m calling for two reasons. One, I’m proud of you. Two, I might need a small favor.”
There was the little pause and an instant shift from courtroom diva to businesswoman. It was crazy how she was so attentive. It was like flipping a switch. “Say it,” she said.
“It’s Keondra.” I muttered. She knew Keondra had a big ass mouth and a proud ass walk, but I was concerned about how that would look with when she was ever out front with a Royal. “Girl’s loud, too fuckin’ loud and she don’t understand public posture. She’s complaining ‘bout security like it’s a nuisance and dressin’ like she still shop at the same bargain spots she used to. That can’t happen… not with our niece in the middle of it or any other child coming after.”
Carmen made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. She was tickled by this shit as she continued to walk at a fast pace while talking to me. “You want me to be Keondra’s stylist, image consultant, and life coach all in one? What you think I am, Vogue with a badge?” She said it joking, but there was some truth in the joke. Knowing her though, she was already making a mental note of exactly how she was going to handle it.
“I want her taught,” I told her in a blunt tone. “She needs a new wardrobe. A new walk and learn how to answer questions so she doesn’t make us look like we running a fuckin’ circus. But I don’t want fake either so she can keep her edge, just learn how to filter it. Keep the hood-heart, lose the hood rat look.”
“Filter it?” she repeated. “You mean let her keep the sauce but stop letting it drip on the carpet when family over?” She laughed again too tickled. “Alright, boss. I’ll put Miss ‘Section-8 to Estates’ on a plan. I’ll make sure its new basics, tailored pieces for the occasions with neutral colors and all that good stuff. I’ll teach her how to clutch a purse like it’s a bible and how to answer a reporter without cussing just in case she’s ever in that situation if people find out who she is. I’ll make her rehearse answers until she can do it with her eyes closed.” She was smirking real hard now. “But you owe me… I need a nice romantic date from my husband and a foot rub.”
“You got that,” I said. I had never in my life rubbed no woman’s feet. “And Carmen?” I paused long enough for her to know what was coming. “Be careful in front of those cameras chasing you. Don’t give El Blanca no new footage to use in his playground.”
“Always,” she replied entering her office. “I’ll handle Keondra, and you keep the streets quiet for the funeral. You know it’s already going to be broadcasted because of him being a part of the cartel. We’ll show up like family, then we handle business.” She winked.
"Alright," I said, letting shit linger for a second. “Just get home in one piece."
“I will,” she promised, “And Dom?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t make me coach her into a whole different person. I like people with authenticity. I just want them sharper; that’s it so I’ll try.”
I nodded my head. “Understood.”
We ended the call with her heading back into the chaos with mics in her face and flashes popping so she could be interviewed. Meanwhile while Tone and Dique talked I just stared out the window thinking about how we both were hustling for the same goal. She was doing it with law, and me handling shit in the streets like the grim reaper. Between her court wins and soon to be baby here, it was a lot to look forward to, and I was gon’ make sure of that we always won.
The heat hit me the moment I stepped out the truck. Miami sun was cutting up today, making me feel like I was slowly baking. My security detail moved first… two men in black stepping ahead of me, scanning the block while I adjusted my shades. I wasn’t here to make a scene, but I also wasn’t here to play either. Keondra’s new house sat clean on the corner, light yellow with white shutters and it still smelled like fresh paint the closer I got to the porch. She’d been bragging all week online about “finally moving on up,” and not necessarily saying “how” but the way she ran her mouth on the phone to Dique had me curious, especially after I personally spoke to him about it before coming here. So, I brought reinforcements. A black sprinter pulled up behind us, and out stepped my stylist, Liyah, with two assistants hauling racks of clothes, garment bags, and shoeboxes damn near looking like small mountains.
“Gah damn,” one of the security dudes muttered under his breath.
I shrugged. “Welcome to fashion rehab.”
We walked up the walkway, and I didn’t even have to knock. Keondra opened the door wearing fuzzy slides, a bonnet halfway off, and a robe that she probably should’ve retired two years ago. Her eyes got wide when she saw me.
“Carmen? Girl what the fuck… you here to serve me more cease and desist? Cause I ain’t said shit to nobody about nothing.” She rolled her eyes crossing her arms over her chest. “I just feel like…”
I didn’t let her finish. “Good morning. You got coffee? No? Okay, we won’t be long.” I breezed right past her like I paid the mortgage.
The look on her face was priceless. “You just gon’ walk up in my house like that?” She asked, still holding the door open for Liyah and the team hauling the racks inside.
“Keondra, if we waited for you to invite us, you’d still be on live talking about how you moved up in life but still mentioning how stressed you are,” I said, scanning the living room. “Cute space though. Your decorator was a little heavy on the fake flowers, but we’ll fix it.”
“My decorator?” she blinked. “Girl, this came from Ross.”
Liyah winced. “Lord have mercy.”
