10th Commandment | Revamped

Chapter 21

Blood flowed unchecked… Fantasia lay lifeless, blood seeping from her wounds. While news reporters raced to cover the tragic aftermath of a fallen queen, New York's alleged notorious gang, they couldn't be bothered to grasp the reality of a once-mighty lion's demise.

*Fantasia, famously dubbed New York City’s most notorious figure, met her end tonight at her own nightclub.*

Her crew stood firm, refusing to let paramedics near her body, insisting on a 30-minute ritual to honor their fallen leader. Amid their somber vigil, media personnel were busy capturing the chaos, and Carter was on the phone with Taraji.

Carter: What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Chairperson? You either know who did this or worse yet, you orchestrated it. You owe the police an explanation, especially after the chilling message you sent my wife right after she was shot. You better make it right because I won’t stop until you pay for this.

With that, she hung up, leaving Taraji to catch her breath, tears streaming down her face as she watched the news unfold on a tiny screen while on a flight to New York. “Please switch off your mobile devices, we are preparing for takeoff!” the captain’s voice broke through her despair.

Hours later, the media revealed that Fran Grant, Fantasia’s sister, had arranged for cremation and was organizing the funeral. She appealed to the press for compassion and understanding, requesting the privacy her family needed in this painful time.

Flashback 12 hours earlier:

In her office at the warehouse, Fantasia was set to meet a visitor.

“Big G, Troops is here and says it’s urgent,” Rusty announced as he knocked on her door.

“Let him in, but make sure he comes unarmed,” she commanded.

“Sure thing, boss,” Rusty replied and stepped out.

Before long, a short gangster entered with tattoos adorning his body and dreadlocks spilling down his back, his loose pants swaying with every step. “Muthafucking Triple 4!” he greeted, and they exchanged a secret handshake.

“Troops, what brings you here?” she asked, intrigued.

“You're going to want to sit down for this. An FBI agent has put a hit on you! He contacted my guys just an hour ago—tonight's the night!”

“Why inform me? What’s your angle? You want my empire, so what’s the catch?” Fantasia fired back.

“I'd pick you any day over the so-called good guys. Honestly, I just want you to be cautious,” Troops said as he turned to leave.

“Wait! Let’s talk this over. This could work out well for both of us. I’m willing to offer you a million if you play along,” she proposed.

“What’s the plan, Triple 4?”

“Here’s the deal: your crew creates a scene at the club—gunshots outside, everyone ducks for cover while I remain unaffected. Make sure to use a solid shooter! Aim for my chest or stomach—blood everywhere, then my gang will confirm I’m dead and whisk me away. I’ll vanish from New York and be declared dead, boarding a plane to The Bahamas with a fake ID and passport. I need to escape this life. Only you and my crew will know the truth. If this leaks, it’s on you. And my wife will just think I’m gone for good—my sister will handle the cremation.” She leaned in, eyes narrowed. “So, Troops, are you ready to pull the trigger?”

“Sure, but where’s the blood coming from?”

“I have Hollywood fake blood art worker ready and I’ll be armored up. My crew will back you up once you pull the trigger; they’ll finish the game too. Are we set?”