The Family Business 3(57)

To me, it sounded like she was saying my name as a warning to everyone else that was present—like she was announcing me, rather than greeting me. Everyone who had been chatting just seconds before now silenced themselves.

“What, did I break up the party or something?” I raised my hands in surrender. Was the dark cloud I now felt hanging over me visible to everyone?

“It would seem to me that the party has just begun now that you are here, Vegas.”

This time it was Consuela who spoke my name. She was the grandmother of Paris’s son—although there had yet to be a blood test to prove the relation. With everything going on in the family right now, Jordan had been away with her. I had no idea that he would be back in the midst of this war, or that Consuela would be staying around. I hadn’t seen her since I got out of jail. It would have been nice to get a heads up, considering my past with her and my present with Marie. I couldn’t wait to get Junior and Orlando alone. There was nothing more awkward than standing in the room with two women you’ve slept with—although I hoped my thing with Consuela was such a long time ago that there wouldn’t be any kind of awkwardness left over between us.

“Consuela.” I returned the greeting. She was everything I remembered and then some. I couldn’t help but admire how tight her body was, even in her late forties. Whatever was in J-Lo’s water was in hers too.

“Vegas, Vegas, Vegas,” she said in a sensual, singsong voice. “You’re looking as handsome as ever.” Consuela started walking toward me. I stopped where I stood, as did Marie.

“You don’t look so bad yourself. I didn’t know you’d be in town.” I was trying not to be obvious as I checked out her curves, but I must have failed, because I felt Marie’s elbow jab my arm.

I turned to face Marie, looking at her like she was crazy. She was like a mirror, giving me the same look. She cleared her throat and nodded her head toward Consuela.

“Oh, yes.” I turned back to Consuela, who still had her eyes glued on me. If I had to guess, she hadn’t even looked Marie’s way. Marie was invisible to her. “Consuela, this is Marie. Marie, this is Consuela.”

“Hello, Marie,” Consuela said, still not taking her eyes off of me.

Marie didn’t respond. Consuela probably wouldn’t have acknowledged a reply anyway.

“Well . . . it’s good to see you,” I muttered, once again finding myself trying to fill in an awkward silence.

“It’s better to see you.” The singsong was gone. Her tone was full-on sultry now.

I swallowed and tried not to fidget. How was I supposed to respond to that, especially with Marie burning a hole through me with her eyes? And it didn’t help that my family was watching us like they were watching a movie on the big screen.

“I heard you were home for good,” Consuela said, “so I brought you a present. Something I’ve been holding onto for quite a long time. Something I should have given you years ago.”

“Really?” That was a surprise, considering she never wrote to me once while I was locked up.

“Really,” she said with a mysterious grin on her face. “Nevada,” she called out, turning her head to the side as if she was speaking to someone behind her.

That’s when I looked over her shoulder and noticed a boy stepping out of the pool He wasn’t a little kid like my niece and nephew. He was a teenager. He was a tall, wiry, athletic-looking kid, wearing a pair of USA swim trunks. What really made my heartbeats pause and my mouth drop open was what else he was wearing. The young man was wearing my face. He looked exactly like me. Not a younger image of me, but who I looked like at that given moment.

“Yes, Mother,” the boy said as he went and stood by Consuela.

“Nevada,” she said to him, “this is the man I’ve been telling you about all these years.” She turned and looked in my eyes as she said to her son, “This is Vegas, your father.”

“Well, there ain’t no denying that one,” Paris joked to Rio loud enough for all of us to hear.

She’d only verbalized what I felt, what I knew the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Poppa.” A huge smile spread across his face. “It’s so good to finally meet you.” He came over to me, and we just stood there staring at each other, until he threw his arms around me.

I didn’t know what to do. I slowly raised my own arms. Was I supposed to hug him back? I looked to my mother for answers. She was smiling just as hard as the boy was. My mother’s hands were clasped together, as if a prayer had been answered and she was thanking God. I placed my arms around his back.

I looked to Consuela. She was smiling, too, as she placed her hand on her son’s—our son’s—shoulder. Then I looked over to Marie, who raced away from the patio with tears streaming down her face.

I watched London chase after her, thankful for the assist, because once I held him, I did not want to let my son go.





Sasha





39


“Fuck!” I shouted in frustration. Being tied up in a room for days, mostly by myself, had begun to wear on me. It didn’t help matters that the only time I saw anyone it was one fine-ass man after the next. And those Muslim brothers had willpower, let me tell you. Every time they came in the room, they acted like they were immune to the power of the *, and that shit just turned me on even more.