Benny Goldmann is a nepo baby who graduated top of his class with a law degree from Yale University. His father is the CEO of Goldmann, Goodman & Associates, one of the top law firms in California—perhaps even the country. So, Benny had much to prove and exited college swinging to make a name for himself. He wasn’t going to let nay-sayers accuse him of riding his father’s coattails. 

Having the Augusta Abramovitz hire him to represent her interests ten years ago was his slam dunk—his opportunity to strut and show that he could build his own empire. 

And now he sits across from me.

“Alright, Miguel.” He spreads documents on the table. “You will get a copy of these for your records, and I encourage you to read them over carefully. In short, when you sign each one, you accept the following from Augusta Abramovitz’s estate,” he clears his throat. “The residence located at…”

As he rattles off properties, stocks, bonds, businesses, and the millions in Augusta’s name, my soul leaves my body and begins swimming somewhere on Mars.

What the fuck is going on?

Angie is just as astonished, her jaw dropping lower and lower as she sits beside Benny, listening to him list everything that will become mine if I sign the documents spread across the metal table like a Thanksgiving feast. 

“Wait.” I touch the pages as if dipping my toes into a pool to test the temperature. “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why any of this?” I motion over the documents. 

“Good question. When Augusta took over for her father, everything that belonged to the family was put under her name, with Jocelyn as the inheritor and successor if Augusta were to pass away. However, leading up to Augusta’s tragic death, she made changes to the arrangement. She said there was only one person she could entrust the estate to. One person her sister would least expect and would royally piss her off. That person is you.”

“But…” I shake my head. “Why? Why not Bernard?”

“She said you’re brutally honest, and you do whatever it takes to protect the people you love. So, she trusted that you would look after her interests and know how to navigate its world.”

“Uh…” I rub the back of my neck, which is swamped with sweat. Was Augusta on peyote when she made this ludicrous choice? “But I’m in prison for at least ten years. I can’t protect or oversee anything from here. Not to mention, I am highly unqualified.”

“Which is why Augusta appointed Bernard as your proxy if you were ever unable to make decisions due to illness, family obligations, etc. So, this means he will oversee things until your release.” 

“And then what?”

“And then you take over with him as your advisor, and under no circumstances can Jocelyn touch the family estate. Augusta was adamant that if you could not fulfill her wishes, she wanted the Abramovitz legacy and everything it entails to die with her. Therefore, if you choose not to inherit her estate, which is your right, I am instructed to donate everything to children's hospitals and cancer research and dissolve the Abramovitz name. ”

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Angie exhales.

“Can… we have a minute?” I say to Benny.

“Yes, absolutely.” He stands and walks to an empty table. 

What a bomb to be dropped. I blow out a long breath. “Baby, what do you think about all of this?”

“That it’s walnuts!”

“Yeah, but… what do I do? I can’t become Augusta. I can’t run her empire. That’s not what I want our lives to be about.”

“So don’t.” Angie shrugs. “Don’t do things the way Augusta did them. Do it differently. That woman was a lot of things, like a major cunt, but she wasn’t dumb. She must have given this a lot of thought, and now it makes sense why she wanted you to work for her and for Bernard to be your mentor. She was preparing you.”

“So, you’re saying I should sign?”

Angie reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Do what you think is best, and whatever it is, I’ll support you, but… it would be pretty rad to see the look on Jocelyn’s bitch-face when she learns the mansion, and all the family money will go to you—some personal trainer who moonlights as a doorman at a nightclub.”

“And currently incarcerated.”

“Exactly!” she laughs. “It’s the biggest fuck you from the grave I’ve ever seen, and it’s brilliant. Jocelyn may have taken her out, but Augusta gets the last laugh. It’s so savage.”

“I wonder how much time I have to think about this?” Turning toward Benny, I nod, and he rises from the other table to rejoin us. 

“Have you decided?”

“When is the deadline to sign?” 

“Augusta instructed that you would have a week from when I present the documents.”

“Then I want that week. This is a big decision, and it comes with great responsibility.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“If I say yes, I want Bernard to hire a new security team with people he trusts. The fire and Augusta's death likely displaced a lot of the staff, like gardeners, maids, and cooks. Should they choose to work for me, I want them to still have a salary while they wait for the mansion to be repaired. Accepting the inheritance also means there will be targets on my family's backs. So, I want them to move into the mansion and have a security team guarding them at all times."

“All of that can be arranged. Anything else?”

I shake my head. “No, but I’ll have more when you return. If I sign.” 

“Alright.” Benny collects his things but leaves copies of the documents. 

Angie waits for him to disappear through the exit, then leans in from across the table. “I think we both know what your answer will be.”

“Maybe. I still want to be one hundred percent sure.”

The guard pacing the visitor’s room calls out that it’s time to wrap things up, so we rise from the table, grins spreading across our faces, and Angie’s cheeks grow warm with color, her gaze avoiding mine bashfully. The moment we’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. It’s strange how eager I usually am to get to the end of our visits, yet at the same time, wanting the minutes to stretch so I can savor each second with her.

However, the reward of kissing her soft lips gives me the strength to endure the days until I see her again. 

She weaves her arms around me, and I wrap mine around her, my chin resting on the top of her head as we breathe each other in. If only I didn’t have to let go. The guard calls out again, and there’s some groaning from a few other inmates visiting with their loved ones, too. I pull away just enough to gaze at Angie’s beautiful face before pressing my mouth to hers. We’re only allowed a kiss, not a make-out, but I slip her a little tongue anyway. 

Saying goodbye is always hard, but as I walk back to my cell, there’s something about the cement floor that isn’t as solid and cold as before. 

∆∆∆

It’s been five days since Benny Goldmann rocked my reality with the inheritance Augusta left me. I’ve made up my mind, so now it’s just a waiting game until I can give my answer. For now, I keep my head down, lift weights in the yard, and avoid fights to get through the day. 

Little by little, this prison sentence will chip away until I’m free. 

But it’s hard.

Two tables over, a couple of inmates are in a spat over mashed potatoes. The bigger guy thinks he can intimidate the smaller guy into giving him his lunch. I hate bullies. Under normal circumstances, I’d walk over and use my tray to whack the guy’s head till he can’t see straight, but the big man has a swastica tattoo. So, I’d be an idiot to get involved. In prison, you don’t interfere with the business of other races unless you want a war and a guarantee of getting shanked in the yard. Just yesterday, a guy was murdered in broad daylight while the guard’s backs were turned. 

That’s how quickly things happen here.

One moment, the guy was cracking jokes with his buddies, and the next, five guys surrounded him, and in one blink, he was on the ground, bleeding out. The word around the cell block is he was a Crip who fucked another Crip’s girlfriend before he ended up here. So they had beef. We went under lockdown for the rest of the day.

“Gringos,” Chavez grunts and scoops a heaping spoon of mashed taters into his mouth. Emilio appointed this man as my watchdog to keep me safe. “They always fighting over food,” he laughs. “And it’s always big guy versus little guy. But they not like us, ey, Hermano?”

“Things are definitely different here.” 

And by different, I mean the unspoken rules and hierarchy. Incarcerated cartel members report to Chavez, and he reports to Emilio. The man isn’t very tall with his lanky frame and wiry hair like he got electrocuted, but he’s smart and runs a gambling operation on the down low. Inmates practically claw their way into these games since they can win things like cigarettes, Playboy magazines, extra Twinkies, etc. 

The other gang bosses respect him, too. Or maybe they’re just wise not to mess with the cartel? 

“Oh, boy…” Chavez sets his spoon down. “Here we go.”

Teeth fly out of the bigger inmate’s mouth after the smaller one smacks him with his tray. They bounce and roll like dice across the floor and bump into my shoes. Chavez goes to the nearest wall and leans against it. I join him. When brawls break out, it’s best to be in a position where no one can sneak up behind you. 

“I hope we don’t go into lockdown again,” I mutter.

“As long as no one dies, they’re getting tossed in the hole for a few days to cool off.”

For the next few minutes, things are chaos as the guards break up the fight while the rest of us watch as the neo-nazis go against other white guys. It’s wild because, even though half of them aren’t racist pieces of shit, prison life forces us to break off into our own ethnic and racial groups. So, these white dudes with Black wives and girlfriends at home get lumped in with men who hate them for loving someone darker-skinned. 

Chavez uses this opportunity to do a drug deal with a shredded Samoan guy we call The Rock. From afar, it looks like a handshake, but small baggies of coke are handed off, and Loa slides cigarettes into Chavez’s other hand as payment. When he walks away, Chavez bumps my elbow.

“People sleep on the Polynesians, but they’re good people to have on your side. When you get out of here, you should consider networking with them. Loa can get you connected.”

“Nah, man. I’m not messing with drugs when I get out.”

“You wouldn’t have to. You would just bring them into your circle of allies. Get to them before Jocelyn or The Hellions do.”

“Is that what Emilio suggested? He wants me to say yes to Augusta’s empire, doesn’t he?”

“Perhaps.” Chavez shrugs. “The Rock has people out there who report to him, and since they fly under the radar, your enemies would never suspect you have secret agents on your side.” 

“Secret agents? What are we, spies?” I laugh.

“You’re not looking at the bigger picture, Hermano.” 

“And what’s that?”

“You can be Don Corleone—the Godfather. Y con huevotes grandisimas,” he laughs, grabbing his balls to emphasize the joke about me having big ones.

“Yeah, well, kings get killed.”

“Not if they kill their enemies first. Emilio would have your back. Augusta was the love of his life, and he wants revenge.”

“I’m not someone’s puppet.”

“No, you would be the one controlling the strings. Think about it, Hermano. You have so much power at your fingertips, and once you have it, you can do anything you want. Don’t throw the opportunity away.”

The skirmish is finally broken apart, with inmates being dragged out, and we’re all ordered to exit the cafeteria in a single file with the threat of being tazed if we get out of line. We shuffle back to our cells, and the doors roll closed with a clang, but I welcome the solitude of my tiny living quarters. 

Fights make me anxious. My adrenaline spikes, and I’m always wired after a brawl happens, even though I’m not involved. There is no way Jackson would’ve been able to handle this environment. Granted, I didn’t think it would affect me this way since I’m used to beating up assholes or hauling them out of Penthouse, but this is different. 

In prison, a fight could kill me.

An hour goes by as I spread across my bed, reading a tattered book from the library. Getting lost in the pages of a story is my one escape. A guard approaches, blocking the pinch of sunlight seeping into my cell. 

“Open number three!” he shouts. “Gomez. You have a visitor.”

Furrowing my brows, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand. It’s too soon to be Angie, and my mom has a cold, so it can't be her. Evan visited earlier this month, and we had a good heart-to-heart, so maybe it’s Jackson and Alma with an ultrasound update? 

However, when I enter the visiting area, I come to an abrupt halt at who awaits me.

Jocelyn fucking Abramovitz.

The guard guides me to her, and she slides a small envelope across the table, which he pockets before walking away. Oh, I see what’s going on here. 

“Sit, Miguel,” she says.

“No, I’d rather go back to my cell. We have nothing to talk about.”

“I know Augusta’s lawyer came to you,” she says when I turn my back. “I know he offered you the family estate.”

“He didn’t offer. It’s mine.” I face her.

“No, it is mine. Rightfully.”

“Well, Augusta didn’t feel that way, so she left it all to me.”

“It’s not yours!” Jocelyn barks, and it echoes in the empty visitor room.

“Tough titties.” I shrug.

“I know you’re poor, so I’ll give you a reasonable lump sum, and you can even have one of our beach houses. Do you want a Ferrari? I’ll give you one of them, too.”

“Oh, I’m not poor, Jocelyn. I have all your money, so you certainly don’t have the right to give me anything that is already mine.”

A growl of an exhale releases from Jocelyn’s nostrils, and she might as well be a dragon. She stands and prowls at me, her fingers curling around my prison shirt collar, as she brings her face centimeters from mine. 

“You don’t have the connections or knowledge to run the family business. What makes you think the people who were loyal to us will follow you? You’re a nobody—a zero. I will take back what is mine and use absolute violence to get it. I will go after everyone you love.”

“That’s the problem," I cut her off. "You see me as someone beneath you, yet I’m in control of the empire now. You have no power, so you’re here on a desperate mission, but I’m the one with the last laugh."

Jocelyn snarls and drags her manicured nails down my cheek like a cat swatting a dog, leaving abrasions that sting. She must have drawn blood. So I snatch her forearms and shove her away. She skids back on her red-bottom stiletto pumps, her mouth gaping at the astonishment that I would dare lay hands on her. 

How quickly she forgets that Augusta stripped away any power she had.

She’s a nobody now.

“You will pay!” Jocelyn roars with tear-filled hatred. “Watch your back in here, Miguel. It will be a long ten years with an open hit on your name.” 

“And you watch yours. I’m not dumb. I already have people watching you, and you’ve pissed off some very violent men. So you be careful. Better yet, skip town. Your days are numbered.” I grab my junk and tug at it, mimicking Chavez. “I’m The Godfather now.” 

“You’re a pig.” She grabs her purse from the table and slings the strap over her shoulder. “Can’t believe Augusta was going to keep your baby.”

“What?” I grab her arm, but she rips herself free, whips out a tazer, and backs up while waving it at me.

“Fuck you.”

“What did you say about a baby?”

“Oh… you didn’t know,” she cackles. 

“Because you’re a fucking liar!”

“Guess we’ll never know if it was yours or Emilio’s,” she laughs. “Augusta is dead, and I’m dancing on her grave. You think you’ve won, but you have no idea what I’m capable of, and I will destroy you to get what is rightfully mine.”

Jocelyn leaves the visitor room, but I barely register her heel taps as she exits. She has to be lying. There is no way Augusta could have been pregnant. That woman was too blunt not to say anything. She would have told me.

Right?

One thing is sure: any doubt about accepting the inheritance has evaporated. So much has happened and changed since Angelina Mendoza came into my life on a stormy night. She pulled me into a hurricane of chaos where I lost myself, but in it, we found each other. We endured the rogue waves and rough winds, but the sky is finally clear, and I'm done navigating through murky waters in the darkness.

From here on out, I want sunshine.

So, I will do what Angie said and make the Abramovitz empire my own—manage it in a way that allows me to sleep at night.

But before I can do that, I have to get rid of Jocelyn fucking Abramovitz for good.

And then I will finally be set free.

*
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The next update will be the epilogue... Surprise surpiiiiiiiise 🤯

It snuck up on me, too.