After the assassination of his Boss and father figure, Jelani Jones finds the perfect way to disappear from his double life as Anthony Ribisi… a violent mob enforcer. Tell no one, get on the road, and drive over one thousand miles away. Peace and quiet is all he wants.
Until word reaches him that ferocious new players are in town, looking to kill him and will use any method to accomplish their task. Which includes using the only woman Jelani ever loved as a pawn in their dangerous game.
And now… Jelani is faced with two questions, does he go home to protect the woman he loves? And does he bring the murderous persona of the Black Ribisi back with him?
In Broken Brotherhood, Rasheem Rooke delivers a page-turning continuation to the Black Ribisi saga that takes its readers on a wild ride.
After the assassination of his Boss and father figure, Jelani Jones finds the perfect way to disappear from his double life as Anthony Ribisi… a violent mob enforcer. Tell no one, get on the road, and drive over one thousand miles away. Peace and quiet is all he wants.
Until word reaches him that ferocious new players are in town, looking to kill him and will use any method to accomplish their task. Which includes using the only woman Jelani ever loved as a pawn in their dangerous game.
And now… Jelani is faced with two questions, does he go home to protect the woman he loves? And does he bring the murderous persona of the Black Ribisi back with him?
In Broken Brotherhood, Rasheem Rooke delivers a page-turning continuation to the Black Ribisi saga that takes its readers on a wild ride.
The small, farm-style home in Waldorf, Maryland was littered with empty beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays, and discarded potato chip bags. Five men were seated in the back room at a round table. Four were poker players and the last was a card dealer.
The sound of betting chips clanking together at the middle of the table was the only music filling the room. Each player had contributed two gray chips, an initial bet of ten thousand dollars each. That meant the prize started at forty thousand dollars.
Each of the players received a pair of cards. Three of the four players felt good enough about their cards, so they each contributed four additional gray chips to the pot, adding twenty thousand dollars apiece. The total winning prize grew to one hundred thousand dollars.
The fourth man looked at his cards and groaned when it was his turn to make a bet. Instead of surrendering more chips, he slid his cards back to the dealer. "I'm not messing with y'all," he said. "I'm out."
This particular gambling house only used five-thousand-dollar gray chips. The other Ribisi houses assigned different chip denominations. One house used one-hundred-dollar chips for the cheapskates. Another used one-thousand-dollar chips for those who didn't mind a little more risk. But for those who wanted more of a roller coaster ride, they came here to Waldorf.
One hundred thousand dollars now sat at the center of the table. The money, supporting the chip value that had been collected at the beginning of the night, was ready to be paid out to the winners at the end.
The dealer's name was Clay. He was a transplant from the west coast who made his way east after exhausting all his options in the Vegas casinos. Apparently, they don't look too kindly on dealers lying about misdemeanor convictions.
Clay laid out three cards, face up, on the table. His hand movements were swift and steady. Even though they sat in a small, unassuming house in southern Maryland, Clay dressed the part of a big-time dealer. He was decked out in a white dress shirt, black tie, and black vest.
The exposed cards were a king, jack, and a ten of diamonds. Clay's eyes widened because of the improbable potential that was before him. Someone could have a royal flush.
A royal flush is a poker hand that consists of the top five cards within a suit. With a king, jack, and ten of diamonds showing as community cards on the table that anyone could use, all a player needed in their hand was an ace and a queen of diamonds. Those five cards together, ten through ace, and all the same suit, would be unbeatable.
As a professional poker dealer, Clay knew the odds of that happening were almost impossible. The chances were one in thirty-one thousand. Impossible.
Of the three players left in the game, one of them immediately threw his cards back to Clay in an amateur move. "I fold."
Two players were left.
They eyed each other from across the table and then looked back at their cards.
Clay motioned to the man on his left. "You gonna bet, check, or fold?"
Before the man could answer the question, two shotgun blasts tore the hinges off the front door. It was kicked down by what could only be described as a giant. He had a grisly mustache and an untamed beard. His head would've been bald were it not for the strip of spiked hair down the center.
Everyone at the table dove for cover behind furniture. Clay flipped the table over, sending gray chips flying throughout the room.
By the sound of the boots running in the house, Clay thought they were being invaded by a small army.
Men screamed and begged for their lives as a prelude to multiple gunshots. Clay listened to it like a soundtrack. He trembled as he was pinned between the flipped table and a wall.
He could only watch as the mohawked Goliath snatched the table propped in front of him and tossed it like a pillow being thrown from a bed. Goliath grabbed Clay by the neck and lifted him out of his hiding place. He dangled him in the air.
Goliath then yelled in his grisly voice, "Priest!"
The men were frozen until Priest walked in. He was nearly as large as Goliath. His uniform was identical to the giant's—dirty denim jeans and a white t-shirt.
Over their shirts, they wore black leather motorcycle biker vests with different patches and insignias on them. A rectangular white patch with black letters was sewn into Priest's right breast. It read, "PRESIDENT." Goliath had one on his too. His read, "ENFORCER."
Clay made out Priest's name on the opposite breast. There was a Christian cross embroidered underneath it. As if the night's event hadn't done it already, the image Clay saw stitched into the bottom left-hand corner of the vest sent a chill down his spine. It was a diamond. And at the center of the diamond was the symbol "1%er."
Having grown up in California, Clay saw several motorcycle clubs during his youth and knew exactly what the symbol meant. It represented the small percentage of motorcycle clubs that consider themselves outlaws. They engaged in anything from drugs and violence to other forms of organized crime.
Clay didn’t know what was more terrifying. The often-violent actions of one-percenters or the fact that they proudly promoted their allegiance to a life of violent crime.
Priest walked over to Clay just as Goliath let him go. Clay dropped to the floor like a bag of sand. Priest squatted to get closer to Clay, who was still on the floor.
"What do you want?" Clay cried out.
"Steak. And a set of double D tits in my face."
Priest’s men laughed.
"But what I want doesn't matter. There's something I need." Priest scowled as he talked.
"The money! Take it!" Clay said, pointing to a duffle bag a few feet away. It was full of cash that was collected at the start of the night.
Priest looked at the bag and then back to Clay. He shook his head. "The money's nice, but that's not why I'm here. I'm looking for someone. Where is Anthony Ribisi?"
Clay had a dumbfounded look on his face. "What?" he said. "I haven't seen Anthony in over a year. I don't know where he is."
"What a shame. I keep hearing that."
Goliath pulled out his gun and stepped closer to Clay.
Clay lost it and cried uncontrollably. "Please!"
Priest held a hand up toward Goliath. "Not this time." Then he looked back at Clay. "From what I understand, this is a Ribisi gambling house, yes?"
Clay ferociously nodded his head.
"Then someone should be able to find Anthony. Tell whoever is running this joint that we're going to tear every gambling house down, brick by brick until we find him. Until we find Anthony.
"Tell them that the Broken Brotherhood is coming."
Jelani Jones/Anthony Ribisi has run to New Orleans. But the past is chasing him. He left Jena pregnant a thousand miles away. He's building a new life with Coco. He rescued her when she was a hostage who was almost killed. She wants to relocate from DC. He's settled in New Orleans working a low-key restaurant job. His coworker Gabe asks for a favor. He asks for help with an after-hours mission. At first, Anthony's hesitant because that was part of his old life. It seems simple; help Gabe escort a wealthy man to his destination.
Friends from the past are looking for him. They want to pull him back into the criminal underworld. The Broken Brotherhood is looking for him.
In true mafia tradition, Broken Brotherhood doesn't take it easy. There's always danger lurking. Rasheem Rooke takes the story about a murderous mob where it should be. The buildup didn't take long once Anthony agreed to help Gabe. Anthony is trying to say goodbye to the old him the pull was too strong. My first impression was Anthony did want peace. But he knows he's a monster.
The dialogue is believable for shady people. The Broken Brotherhood came off as scary dudes. But so are the Ribisi crime family and it makes for heated interactions
I didn't read the first book but it didn't stop me from being entertained. I didn't feel I was in the dark about anything. I could never predict what would happen. The way the author wrote about dangerous situations kept my attention. I understood who each character was and their motivations. Amongst all the violence were layers of grief and loyalty.
I was surprised there was a Black mafia figure in an Italian crime family. Readers who like action and drama will enjoy this book. You'll definitely get a taste of the mob world.