Until Death

C.D. SAMUDA UNTIL DEATH Omerta Book 1 Published by Yorkside Press All rights reserved. Copyright © 2023 by C.D. SAMUDA This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the expressed permission of the author or publisher. For information contact: Author: www.cd-samuda.com [email protected] https://facebook.com/cdsamuda Contents Introduction Index WARNING Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Meanwhile about sixty miles away… Chapter 7 Earlier that morning … around 6:30 AM Chapter 8 Chapter 9 That same night… Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Earlier that afternoon… Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 That evening over at the Richardson residence… Chapter 19 3:30 AM – four hours later. Chapter 20 Meanwhile in the news… Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Epilogue ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR Connect : ABOUT THE AUTHOR NOTE TO READERS Dear Reader, please note that this novel contains violence and explicit sexual encounters. Please proceed with caution. Introduction Meet Makeba Richardson, a 45-year-old divorcee who words hard for her community. She is a mother of two, with a father who lives nearby and a mother in nursing care. She is fierce, and not afraid … well maybe a little afraid. Meet Blaze, a 46-year-old Boss, who runs a tight ship. Quite a dangerous man who hardly shows his emotions, he handle’s his business with finesse. He might forgive you for owing him money, snitching to the cops, but he will never forgive any one who touches his family. A little background on LE Strident Park. Lower east Strident is a fictional town located in Cook County, Chicago. This diverse working class community consists Latinos, blacks and white – but mostly blacks. It is not a migrant community, although Makeba’s parents are migrants from Burundi, Africa. Index The following index includes Swahili terms of addressing family members. The word for Mother is the same in English – Mama, or Momma. Baba – father, dad Babu – grandfather Bibi – grandmother Binti – daughter Please note that the main female Character is first generation Burundi American. Her parents are migrants whose first language is Swahili. WARNING Violence included in this story that may trigger some people. Proceed at your own will. ________________________________________________ Chapter 1 “What do you mean a woman won’t let you tear the place down?” Blaze’s azure eyes hardened, his deep voice echoing like thunder. “Who the fuck dare defies my orders?” Scar shuffled on his feet as his boss rose from his shabby leather chair and placed both palms down on the crusty old oak desk. Baby blue dress shirt rolled up to the elbows exposed sinewy forearms. His jacket and a shoulder holster hung upon a hook on the wall behind him. Next to the hook was an antique cabinet which contained piles of old documents, two bottles of cheap whiskey and a wooden box with expensive Cuban cigars which were only available on the black market. Mounted on the wall over the cabinet was a Flintlock pistol valued at 1.5 million dollars which was a trade for goods and services rendered to a high-profile politician. The desk had piles of folders and papers scattered on the surface along with a whiskey bottle that was almost empty. A chair was in front of the desk with an old beaten up arm chair to one side. The stench of old furniture and alcohol was rife inside the small, dank office at the back of the old distillery he liked to call his headquarters. Walls were bare and recently white washed to give the space a cleaner feel, although the cement floor could use some deep cleaning of its own. The dull yellow lighting from the bulb hanging from the ceiling glistened off Blaze’s wavy jet-black hair that brushed his nape. Scar held his ground as Blaze’s eyes bore into his, demanding answers. “Boss, the old broad is kind of a tough cookie,” Scar said. “But if you want us to ice her, we can do that.” “No need for that. Get working on the collections and leave this old broad to me.” Blaze was becoming irritated with his team. If he wanted certain things done properly, he had to get out and do it himself. The mention of his name alone usually elicited fear in anyone who came into contact with his men. He was curious to know which woman dared challenge his soldiers as everyone within a two-hundred-mile radius know who he was. This old broad must be new in town. The only reason he didn’t order her the cement shoes was because he was trying to keep the feds off his back since the ‘disappearance’ of one of their agents. That particular one was as dirty as an old dishrag. Blaze dismissed Scar and pulled out the top desk drawer on his right. Reaching to the back he pulled out a Glock 40 and set it down on the surface of the desk. Unhunching himself from his position of leaning over the desk, he unfolded his shirt sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. Satisfactorily tucking his shirt into his waist, he straightened his tie before reaching for the holster. After securing the contraption he slid the gun into its place and slipped into his jacket. No one could deny that Blaze was a gentleman. He would never dream of intimidating a poor old woman in deplorable dress. His shoes were shined, and his suit freshly dry cleaned. Not to mention that he smelled as fresh as the ocean breeze … the scent of his aftershave. As he buttoned his suit and ran a large hand through his hair, he was reminded to pay Old Mack, the dry cleaner a visit. The old man was behind on his payments again. He had a soft spot for the old guy and didn’t want Scar and the men breaking his legs or anything. He