The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(59)

“Yeah, get the goons ready,” he said. “Tell ‘em to load up the choppas and mask up. And make sure they empty everything into that nigga.”





Chapter 35

Financially, things were going all wrong for Alexus Costilla.

Six weeks ago, she had invested over twenty-two billion dollars into various European and Chinese corporations, including multiple television networks, casinos, oil refineries, theme parks, and Internet websites. She’d put another billion into renovating decrepit African-American and Hispanic communities all across the U.S., and an additional seven hundred million had gone to Feed The Nation, the Costilla family’s non-profit organization that was dedicated to feeding thousands of starving families in America’s most poverty-stricken regions.

But just a week after Alexus’s $22.1 billion oversees investment, Beijing Holdings’ stock had plummeted, and since it had been the recipient of $18.7 billion of Alexus’s investments, she’s suffered a devastating fourteen billion dollar loss.

Then things had gotten worse.

A lot worse.

She’d been lying out on the upper-deck of her father’s 470-foot mega-yacht on the coast of Mazatlán, Mexico, reading Leo Sullivan’s captivating Innocent’s Revenge on her Kindle Fire tablet and occasionally glancing up at Papi, Uncle Flako, and T-Walk as they hammered golf balls into the Pacific Ocean, when suddenly her iPhone5 had jingled to life.

“Ms. Costilla?” CIA Director Bowden had said.

“This is I,” Alexus had answered.

“I, uhh…hate to be the bearer of bad news, but per the director of Homeland Security and the President himself, Operation Matamoros is being shut down until further notice.”

“What? You cannot be serious.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Costilla, but with the recent disappearance of Jennifer Costilla and our lack of knowledge as to the whereabouts of so much highly-enriched uranium, we simply cannot risk allowing your family to continue to import goods into this country. Or any other country, for that matter. Thirty-four hundred U.S. troops have already been deployed to the Mexican border, and we’ll have drones monitoring your family indefinitely. I’d advise you to, uhh, maybe get out of the business for a while. Focus on Costilla Corporation. Raise your kid and enjoy your wealth. And as for Jennifer Costilla…we’re almost certain she’s up to no good, so be careful. If you hear from her, contact us immediately.”

Ever since that daunting phone call, the Costilla cartel hadn’t been able to move a single kilogram of cocaine or heroin into the states, and the kilos they had stored at their Feed The Nation Facility in southern Texas were selling out more rapidly than an A-list celebrity’s sex tape. Alexus was now down to eleven thousand kilos of coke, thirty-eight hundred kilos of heroin, and eight thousand pounds of marijuana.

Recumbent on an Italian-made lounge chair beside the outdoor swimming pool at her massive South Beach mansion, Alexus sat her Kindle aside (this time she was reading Leo Sullivan’s Innocent’s Revenge 2) and took a moment to reflect on her situation. She looked at T-Walk, who was busy teaching King Neal how to swim. Mercedes and Cereniti were sunbathing in their bikinis on two of the other twelve lounge chairs.

Alexus sighed and said, “You know what? Screw this. I’m done stressing myself out over money. I have a child to take care of, and a fine-ass man to cater to, and—”

“A big-ass mouth,” Cereniti said. “We don’t have to talk all the time, yo.”

Mercedes burst out laughing.

Sucking her teeth indignantly, Alexus glowered at Cereniti, briefly considering cracking her friend upside the head with the Kindle.

“Back in Harlem,” Cereniti continued, “we used to hit bitches in the throat for talkin’ too much. Just whop! Fuck a bitch whole voice box up.”

“Well, hit me in my throat and see what happens,” Alexus retorted. “Keep talking like that. Go ahead. Let’s see if you make it to the second season of Down the Pole. I’ll send your ass back to Harlem in a beat-up Honda.”

Mercedes laughed again. “Ooooo, she got you on that one.” She reached across Cereniti and gave Alexus a quick high-five.

“Fuck both of you half-Mexican-ass, Nicki Minaj-lookin’ hoes,” Cereniti said, offering two middle fingers to the Costilla sisters. She tuned them out with her iPod ear buds, and seconds later she was shouting out the lyrics to Ciara’s latest jam.

Shaking her head and smiling, Alexus went back to reading the novel, feeling like the queen of the world inside her castle-like mega-mansion.

Formerly known as the Casa Casuarina, the three-story white-painted Versace mansion—with ten bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, and over twenty-three thousand square feet of living space—had been the most expensive mansion in the U.S. when Alexus purchased it for $125 million. An avid swimmer, she’d checked out the estate online and had instantly fallen in love with its swimming pool, which was 54-feet-long, lined with twenty-four karat gold, and adorned with tile mosaics and fresco paintings.

About twenty minutes later, just as Alexus was nearing the end of her favorite author’s latest novel, and as T-Walk was climbing out of the pool with King Neal mounted on his back, Mercedes sat up and said, “Do you think Papi…made Aunt Jenny disappear? I can’t stop thinking that somehow our daddy’s family might have had something to do with my mom getting killed. Maybe the same thing happened to Aunt Jenny. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that my mom was killed in the same city where your mom was almost killed.”