Unknown's POV:

I sit in my black cushioned chair at my dark wooden desk. My with wife beater is tucked into my brown khakis that are held up by my black belt. My white Chuck Taylor's with the red strip across sits next to my feet as I sit in my black socks. My clean skinny mustache is line up nicely but is connected to my Short cut goatee. I have my hair slicked back with gel and gold cross around my neck. My tattoos cover my arms, torso, and neck. I have two teardrops under my left eye for all the right reasons. You may call me little killer because im only 5'6 but I will cut your fingers off one by one if I wanted to. I smoke a cigar as I wait for these fools to get back. I have two guards that stand with guns on each side of the room and two outside of my door, with one whose behind it.

In walks Loco, Joker, and Leftie. We call him leftie because, in order for him to be part of the organization, we told him to cut off his right hand. He did it and that's why we respect him. Loco will do anything, to anybody, anywhere, anytime, anyplace. We need more like him. Joker is the total opposite of his name. He's completely serious about everything and doesn't have a sense of humor at all. That's how he tricks his opponent, you can't see his emotion.

Me: "Did you do what I asked you?" I asked them, taking a hit of the cigar.

Leftie: "Yes, Boss." He nodded.

Me: "Did she see him?" I asked, blowing out smoke.

Leftie: "Yes," He nodded hesitantly.

Me: "Good, now bring in Raquel," I leaned back as I dismissed them.

I look at the picture of my mother on my desk and the hate that's been built up inside of me is all for her. My mother was murdered when I was 18, her and my stepdad John. They never found the bodies or who killed them but I did my own research. It took me about 8 years to find out who did it but I was shocked to learn who was the culprit. I will avenge my mother's death. But, I like to do shit the Cartel way. Slowly, painfully, and disrespectfully. Let's just wait until that precious little angel of theirs turns 18. She'll be ready to fulfill the prophecy of her stepmother.

Raquel: "You said you wanted me?" She asked as she walks in.

Me: "Yes, I need you to do something for me..." I began to speak.

De'Mario's POV:

I'm at the warehouse clearing my thoughts with some good weed. Someone was in my house last night, my daughter sneaking nigga in my house, I keep seeing ghosts n shit, I'm being followed by who knows what, and I just found out that my pops was murdered last night. That's too much in 24 hours. That's why this blunt is all that I need right now. A nigga has been stressing out of this world and ain't got a break. I heard a knock at the door and my attitude came back with just a snap of a finger. I don't feel like talking to anybody right now and that's all people ever want to do when I'm not in the mood.

Me: "Come in!" I yelled loud enough for them to hear. The cloud of my smoke invaded Fitz' lungs as he dared to continue entering my office. He coughed dangerously and nearly choked causing me to chuckle.

Fitz: "That's some good shit." He stood in a daze.

Me: " Ain't it doe?" I chuckled some more. I didn't realize how high I was until now. "Wassup man?"

Fitz: "Nun, just came to check up on you," He started. "You looked bothered when you came and you've been quiet in here."

Me: "Yeah," I nodded. "I got a lot of shit in my mind."

Fitz: "I can tell," He sat down. "You wanna talk about it?"

Me: "That's what my psychiatrist is for." I shook my head.

Fitz: "Well, he or she obviously ain't doing their job cause you ain't changed one bit since your wife died." He shot.

Me: "I noticed that too." I laughed and it faded slowly. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

Fitz: "You've always been crazy, D. Being depressed and crazy is two different things." He said.

Me: "I don't like the feeling of this shit man, it's horrible." I admitted. "But I don't know how to get rid of it."

Fitz: "Well, how did you get over ya moms?" He asked.

Me: "Shawny.." It was a respectful silence for a moment before he spoke.

Fitz: "Then maybe, it's time for you to move on." He suggested.

Me: "I don't know, man." I replied. "I still feel like there, you know? I can't move on when she hadn't even left me emotionally, Nd mentally."

Fitz: "It's hard, and I know. My wife died ten years ago. She was shot by a stray bullet when she was leaving the store during a shoot out." He said.

Me: "How'd you get over her?" I asked.

Fitz: "I didn't." He shrugged. "I just learned that being sad all the time wasn't gone bring her or our unborn child back."

Me: "She was pregnant too?" I asked.

Fitz: "Yeah, although she was only three months, it's still a life. The bullet shot her in the stomach. I was depressed for about a year or two but then I realized that thinking about it only made me worse. So, I just learned to deal with. I still miss them and I cry sometimes on some real shit but I gotta keep going.' He sighed. "You have to let it go because you still have your kids. But If you feel like there's something more, go look for it."

Me: "Thanks, man." I dapped him.

Fitz: "No problem," he dapped me back.

Me: "Here, take a hit of this shit. You need it just as much as I do." I chuckled and he joined in. I feel him because he went through it. This is some advice I can actually Listen to. I appreciate niggas like him. Someone who can relate. Forgive me Shawny but I may be letting go, but baby I will never forget you.

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Who do you think "Unknown" is??