Prado poured himself some Hennessy and leaned back on the sofa, ESPN flashing in his face, with a satisfied smile.

Meanwhile, Francine and Chandra got out of the cab at a nearby hotel.

Francine walked up to the front desk, feeling like a fool in her wedding dress.

People were looking at her, some shaking their heads. Huge mascara rings were around her eyes, she could not stop crying.

She could not get a grip. Should she call the police?

Should she do something? Where did she go from there? Or should she just stay away?

“A room for 2,” Francine told the
receptionist. “And please, if one is available we don’t want to be disturbed.”

Francine settled onto the bed and hugged her girl until she cried herself to sleep.

Chandra seemed to be so at peace. She looked at her diamond watch and saw that it was getting late. She picked up the phone and called Prado’s cell phone.

He answered.

“Who is this?” he asked. “I don’t normally answer restricted numbers.”

It took a while before she said anything.

“Shh, Prado. It’s Francine.”

His face beaming, he said, “How are you?”

Francine was severely depressed. “I’m good.”

“Are you coming back?”

“No, Prado. I’m never coming back. Chandra and I are gone.”

“Come back. At least tell him face to face. He’s a wreck.”

“I can’t…you know what I can’t do that. It’s best if I stay away and cut all ties. Nothing can be salvaged. Nothing.”

“You should still tell him, Francine. That’s one of the things I love about you.”

“You. Love. Me?"

“Yes. Always have. You are a good woman. You have your flaws. We all do but you never struck me as the type of woman who run away from her problems and pretend they’re not there.

I love my brother, yes I do but he’s an arrogant asshole who my parent’s praise.”

“Prado…I. Love…”

Girl! Don’t! Don’t go there! You are hurt and you are vulnerable and you are feeling things you shouldn’t feel.

That’s what happens when you suck another man’s dick behind your fiancé’s back and think you could get away with it.

Shit blew up in your face. Things happened, like they were unfolding right now. Now you feel like shit! Now you wanna die!

Now you want revenge!

She couldn’t tell him the words. She
couldn’t tell him that she loved him. That she always has. Or did she? Was she finding a way through her hurt?

Was she trying to hold onto a piece of Samuel by thinking she loved his brother?

She did know that she once (years ago) dreamedabout Prado and wanted to be his wife and she wanted to have his children.

But that was a fantasy she kicked herself for. He was broke, a thug at
heart and lived life on the edge. He sometimes sold drugs. She LOVED the dope boys.

They turned her on.

They knew how to defend their women and keep them safe.