Polo noticed his expression and laughed loudly. “That’ll put some hair on ya chest, nephew!” he said in between laughs.

Carter joined him in laughter as he watched his other son take the cup and take a moderate sip. Money’s face didn’t change its expression. He took the gulp like a man.

Money handed the cup back to his father and stood there with his chest out, as if he was trying to prove that he was a man. Mecca followed suit.

“Why were you two eavesdropping on Poppa?” Carter playfully hit both of his sons in the chest.

Money shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “I don’t know.”

Mecca looked around the table, seeing nothing but hustlers and killers. He then looked at his father, who sat at the forefront of them, and a smile spread across his face. “Poppa, I want to be just like you. I wanna be a gangster,” Mecca said as he stepped in front of his brother.

One of the hustlers at the table chuckled as he looked at Mecca. “Li’l man got hustle in him. That’s a gangster in the making right there,” the man said.

Carter shot a look at the man that said a thousand words. If looks could kill, the man would’ve been circled in chalk. “No, my son will never be that. Watch ya mouth, fam,” Carter stated firmly as he focused his attention back on Mecca. “Look, sons, you are better than this. This game chose us, we didn’t choose the game. You got the game twisted. I do this, so you don’t have to,” Carter said, as a somber feeling came over him. It hurt his heart to hear Mecca say that he wanted to be a gangster like him.

“Let me show you two something,” Carter said before he looked at his henchmen that sat at the long red oak table. “How many of you have lost someone close to you because of this drug game?

Slowly everyone at the table raised their hands, to help Carter prove a point.

“How many of you go to bed with a pistol under your pillow?” Carter asked. “And how many of you want to get out of the game?”