Page 4 of The Mob: Shio Cuppacio
“I told you what the fuck it was, Bahati. I’m a fucking king, baby. You never had a fucking chance… You should have just stood down—sucked my dick, got this bread, and enjoy your fucking time. But you had to go and put a bug in your papa’s ear… playing with my bread. I’m indebted to no one, baby. Can’t no muthafuckas say they have the power to feed or starve me. The last niggas that did are six feet under, lined up in a row with dusty-ass gravel above them.”
Her gasps were drowned out by the music, but I could hear them. I could hear her going home to glory, along with the slickness of my dick still slamming into her pussy. It sent me on a euphoric high, knowing the last person who played with me would be the last person to play with anybody. Her father? He’d get by but never away. The loss of his freaky-ass daughter would be enough to send his ass back packing to Africa.
Taking my eyes off Bahati, I looked down at the beautiful mess our body parts made. My dick was glistening with her juices. Bahati was a good time. The same way she danced all over the internet for her couple of hundred followers to see, she’d done on this dick multiple occasions. She was good until she wasn’t. I was not ready to commit myself to a woman. How couldI when I was committed to getting my family out of the dark hold our forefathers had tossed us in? She knew I wasn’t on that with her, but every time I didn’t answer her phone calls or come over, magically, our supply was either short or nonexistent. I couldn’t have that shit. So, as fine as she was and as good as her pussy was, she had to fucking go.
Her face was now completely blue. She’d become weaker, and when I decided the sex felt too much like I was taking advantage of her, even though she initiated, the blood rushed to my dick, and I exploded inside her slippery tunnels.
Her eyes closed, and a tear slipped from them involuntarily. A glow flared beside me, and I turned to see while releasing her from my grip. I went tone deaf instantly. The only thing that could be heard was the thudding of my heart while I stared at the bright screen. The man, who had pieced the woman—who had all of my heart—back together, stood there, frozen in time, arms stretched wide. I’d just committed several acts of sin, not even ten minutes after hearing his message.
Pulling my pants up, I snatched my keys and scanned the room for any evidence of me being there. Taking one last look at the screen, for the first time in the years that he'd been with my mother, I had to disagree with the pastor.
I wanted more, and I would have more. There was no contentment.
I wanted more. I would have more. No room for anything else.
More money. More cars. More clothes. More books. More jewelry. I would have it all because a king is entitled to his possessions, and I would get it. But in my kingdom, we had several rulers who all wore a crown. Ezio Cuppacio. Metavello Cuppacio. Renello Cuppacio. And when the little Cuppacios were of age, the crowns would be passed down to them.
Stopping at the door of Bahati’s bedroom, I kept my back facing her limp body.
“I don’t have more money than your papa yet, but soon I will, love.”
There was nothing on this earth that could stop me from taking what we were owed. Anybody in my way was seen as a threat, and I didn’t care if they bled every month. Men and women could die slowly fucking with me. When it came to my family, all morality went out the fucking window.
I’m Shio Cuppacio, and any man or woman who threatens the last name would be sent to visit the first batch of Cuppacio niggas. This was the new age where you either got down or got laid down—on foe ’nem.
Chicago,before moving to Jagoda Bay
“Honoryour father and your mother, so that you may have a long life in the land that the Lord your God is giving you. Exodus twenty, twelve.”
Pausing, I waited for the word "father" to sour my taste buds. Instead of doing so, my tongue continued to hold the minty flavor of the peppermint I’d plucked from the crystal plate resting on a long, dark wood table in the narthex, and I resumed prayer.
“I honor my mother. Shannon is a good woman; a saved and spoiled woman that did the best to instill love and respect in a nigga. So, for that, I honor her to the fullest. She will never want for shit.Ever. If she asks for the fucking continent, I’m handing it over on a diamond platter without blinking. But with the way those Cuppacio boys are working her nerves, I know fo’ sho’ they're going to have to find another place to stay.” I sniggered.
Polished wood and the mix of rich, smoky, and sweet fragrances filled the air as I sat in the middle of the pew in the most sacred part of Metro Chapel Church: the sanctuary. My eyes scanned the empty pulpit, which in a few days would be swarming with sinners, hypocrites, and some of the worst motherfuckers in the world, hoping and praying that their presence and hefty offering would be seen as good enough for the big nigga upstairs to forgive all the fucked up shit they’ve done in the world. Motherfuckers like me.
Lowering my head, the Jesus piece resting on my chest felt like an anchor, even though it was the lightest and most subtle chain I owned. I’ve been debating having the jeweler make me something a little more flamboyant, flashy, and icy. But I hadn’t had the chance to get around to it yet.
“You can be the worst person in the world. Do so much unforgiving shit. Then you do some good, but that’s all washed out because you’ve done a plethora of bad. That was my father.”
Rubbing my hand down my wavy head, I licked my bottom lip. When I woke up this morning, I felt the weight of an elephant on my chest. It felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe. Even after saying my morning prayer, working out, and taking another jog around Ezio’s neighborhood, I still couldn't get my mind right. So, I got dressed and came here. Now, in my stepfather’s church, I was asking for a sign.
“I guess you wondering why is this black-ass nigga in my fucking house talking in circles? Truth be told, I don’t even fucking know.”
Gripping the chipped wood of the pew before me, I squeezed the polished finish and attempted to stand. Feeling a small hand on my shoulder, and her sweet perfume tickling my nostrils, I paused and dropped my head further.
“Son. Tell me what’s wrong?”
Shannon Washington. The woman, who not only gave me life but also showed me enough love to fill this church and the one down the block, stood over me as if she were six feet tall instead of the five feet, four inches that she is.
“What are you doing here, Ma?”
“Well, besides the fact that this is my husband’s church… I saw you on the camera and wanted to stop by and check on you.”
Shannon Washington. The First Lady. The strongest woman I knew, and saying that was a lot because I knew plenty of strong women. To be attached to a Cuppacio, you had to be strong. You had to be strong or you wouldn’t survive.
“I’m good—” I started to lie before she cut me off.
“Don’t lie. Don’t sin in the Lord’s house.”
