tears trickled down America’s cheeks.
“Very well said,” the judge said, nodding and smiling at me.
I held America’s hands, facing her in my dark blue blazer, black slacks and wing tip shoes, feeling like I was on top of the world. The judge looked at America.
“Do you, Ms. America Stallings take Omar Stanfield, to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you apart.”
“I do,” America proudly stated, staring into my eyes with a smile.
He repeated the same vows and I looked at my beautiful woman and said, “I do.”
The judge announced that we were officially married. I pulled America into my arms and gave her a passionate kiss.
“I love you,” I proclaimed.
“I love you,” she repeated.
It was official. She was my wife. Now I had to step my game up and do me on a more positive note. I had opened a new chapter in my life, and so far it was looking good.
8
Respect what’s mine.
Know not to cross that line.
I won’t have to get out of line
and clap you with my nine…
Omega
I ran Jamaica Queens with an iron fist. I wanted to be more feared than any gangster that came up before me. I acquired my reign in Queens violently through blood. My name ran thick through these streets like traffic and I had cash money longer than train smoke.
I was a street soldier for Tyriq’s vicious drug crew and learned what I could from him until I set his punk ass up. Tyriq and Tip were gun down by Demetrius’ hit men in New Jersey. I watched their brains spill and their blood splattered across the front seat and couldn’t help but smirk. It was the beginning of my rise to power. Tyriq had fucked up and it cost him his life. He fucked up by bringing Vincent in the mix and a bloody war ensued with the Columbians.
In order for me to stay on top, I had to stay smarter, wiser, hungrier and more vicious than the next gangster. I couldn’t look weak, and couldn’t show any kindness. That was how I survived the war and proved my control on the streets.
There was a constant anger in me, driving me to care about anything but that money and my business. I had trust for no one, except for my right hand, Soul…who was released after doing a four-year bid. He was missed and I knew that I needed him by my side again. The two of us together again, we could own New York.
I rode around Queens in my candy red Lincoln Navigator with the vertical Ferrari style doors with the windows tinted and having the door handles, the gas tank cover and the exhaust chromed out. My interior was pearl white with red stitching and four small flat screens hung from the moon-roofed ceiling over each seat. And my truck rested on 26” chromed rims that made my truck feel like it was reaching to the sky.
I was showing my wealth, but not too blatantly. I didn’t want the feds to come creeping up on me. I had enough enemies hating on me and didn’t need the heat from law enforcement anytime soon.
It was a cool clear night and I felt this inward calm, knowing Soul was home and I had to go see my dude and show him a good time. We came up together since we were knee high. From playing in dirt and sand, slap-boxing
each other in the streets, stealing snacks out the bodegas, fighting, running trains on bitches, we both got in the game together on the strength of my older brother, Rahmel. Soul was the one nigga that knew me best and the one nigga I would die for. We stood tall and held on to the attitude that we either gonna ride or die for each other. There was a promise that if one fell, then the next man would stand tall and hold the block down. I did that.
Soul was coming home to an empire that I had built over the years, and unfortunate for him, he caught a gun and drug charge and did that bid alone. I owed the nigga my life. The D. A. wanted to offer him a plea for exchange that
“Very well said,” the judge said, nodding and smiling at me.
I held America’s hands, facing her in my dark blue blazer, black slacks and wing tip shoes, feeling like I was on top of the world. The judge looked at America.
“Do you, Ms. America Stallings take Omar Stanfield, to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you apart.”
“I do,” America proudly stated, staring into my eyes with a smile.
He repeated the same vows and I looked at my beautiful woman and said, “I do.”
The judge announced that we were officially married. I pulled America into my arms and gave her a passionate kiss.
“I love you,” I proclaimed.
“I love you,” she repeated.
It was official. She was my wife. Now I had to step my game up and do me on a more positive note. I had opened a new chapter in my life, and so far it was looking good.
8
Respect what’s mine.
Know not to cross that line.
I won’t have to get out of line
and clap you with my nine…
Omega
I ran Jamaica Queens with an iron fist. I wanted to be more feared than any gangster that came up before me. I acquired my reign in Queens violently through blood. My name ran thick through these streets like traffic and I had cash money longer than train smoke.
I was a street soldier for Tyriq’s vicious drug crew and learned what I could from him until I set his punk ass up. Tyriq and Tip were gun down by Demetrius’ hit men in New Jersey. I watched their brains spill and their blood splattered across the front seat and couldn’t help but smirk. It was the beginning of my rise to power. Tyriq had fucked up and it cost him his life. He fucked up by bringing Vincent in the mix and a bloody war ensued with the Columbians.
In order for me to stay on top, I had to stay smarter, wiser, hungrier and more vicious than the next gangster. I couldn’t look weak, and couldn’t show any kindness. That was how I survived the war and proved my control on the streets.
There was a constant anger in me, driving me to care about anything but that money and my business. I had trust for no one, except for my right hand, Soul…who was released after doing a four-year bid. He was missed and I knew that I needed him by my side again. The two of us together again, we could own New York.
I rode around Queens in my candy red Lincoln Navigator with the vertical Ferrari style doors with the windows tinted and having the door handles, the gas tank cover and the exhaust chromed out. My interior was pearl white with red stitching and four small flat screens hung from the moon-roofed ceiling over each seat. And my truck rested on 26” chromed rims that made my truck feel like it was reaching to the sky.
I was showing my wealth, but not too blatantly. I didn’t want the feds to come creeping up on me. I had enough enemies hating on me and didn’t need the heat from law enforcement anytime soon.
It was a cool clear night and I felt this inward calm, knowing Soul was home and I had to go see my dude and show him a good time. We came up together since we were knee high. From playing in dirt and sand, slap-boxing
each other in the streets, stealing snacks out the bodegas, fighting, running trains on bitches, we both got in the game together on the strength of my older brother, Rahmel. Soul was the one nigga that knew me best and the one nigga I would die for. We stood tall and held on to the attitude that we either gonna ride or die for each other. There was a promise that if one fell, then the next man would stand tall and hold the block down. I did that.
Soul was coming home to an empire that I had built over the years, and unfortunate for him, he caught a gun and drug charge and did that bid alone. I owed the nigga my life. The D. A. wanted to offer him a plea for exchange that
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