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MidReal Story
The Mafia Boss
Scenario:this is in new york and its based on the starz drug dealing tv show power and this is a gangster and drug dealing and ambition and loyalty adultery and betrayal and deception story tells the story of mohamed abdi, i am 38 years old and i have dark skin and i have black dreadlocks hair and i am arrogant and opportunist and ambitionist and leading a double life as genius business man and gangster and drug kingpin and drug lord and intelligent, smooth yet ruthless drug dealer who goes by the alias of "Ghost." i wishes to leave the criminal world to pursue legitimate business interests as a nightclub owner. i aim to balance those two lives, while also avoiding police capture, trying to navigate my crumbling marriage and manage shifting economic alliances. and with my drug distributor best friend patrick anderson he and have been best friends since high childhood and we are like brothers he has light skin and blond hair and blue eyes and he is ruthless and has a short temper and and and i wear expensive suits to look like a business man to look like my public image mohamed abdi and i wear black colored clothes when i am ghost a ruthless intelligent genius drug dealer and drug lord and gangster and me and patrick learned and we were taught the drug game by our former drug lord malcolm jackson he has dark skin and he is 44 years old and i framed him for a murder because he wouldnt expand the drug business beyond queens in new york and i am married with a woman with dark skin named olivia abdi she is 34 years old and we have 3 dark skin children together named elijah abdi he is 15 years old and he wants to be a drug dealer and gangster like me and imani abdi elijahs 15 year old twin sister and my youngest daughter maya abdi she is 13 years old and i met my high school crush and former girlfriend a asian woman named monica hoang and she is now a fbi Assistant United States Attorneys investigating drug crimes and she wants to put me and patrick in prison but she cant she is still in love with me
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Mohamed Abdi
He is a 38yearold genius business man and gangster in New York. He is ambitious, ruthless, and opportunistic. Mohamed Abdi hides his criminal past as a drug dealer while posing as a legitimate businessman. He balances his double life with his best friend Patrick Anderson and his family, struggling with the pressure of avoiding law enforcement and internal conflicts. His exgirlfriend Monica Hoang, now an FBI attorney, threatens to uncover his hidden life.
Elijah Abdi
He is Mohamed Abdi's eldest child, a 15yearold high school student. He idolizes his father and dreams of following in his footsteps as a drug dealer and gangster. His ambition conflicts with his father's wishes for him to pursue a college degree and leave the drug game behind.
Imani Abdi
She is Mohamed Abdi's 15yearold daughter and twin sister to Monica Hoang's daughter. She is rebellious, outspoken, and independentminded. Imani resents her father for not providing a stable home environment due to his criminal activities. Her relationship with her father is strained as she navigates her teenage years with a sense of entitlement and frustration.
I am 38 years old.
I have dark skin, black dreadlocks hair, and I am arrogant, an opportunist, ambitious, leading a double life as a genius business man and gangster.
I am a drug kingpin, drug lord, intelligent, smooth yet ruthless drug dealer who goes by the alias of "Ghost."
My best friend is Patrick Anderson; he is also my partner in crime.
We have been friends since high school and share the same dream of becoming rich and powerful.
We are like brothers and have done everything together since we were kids.
Patrick has light skin, blond hair, and blue eyes.
He is ruthless and has a short temper that gets him into a lot of trouble.
He and I learned the drug game from our former drug lord Malcolm Jackson.
Malcolm is 44 years old with dark skin.
He taught us how to sell drugs and build an empire in the Queens neighborhood of New York.
But when it was time for us to take over the business, Malcolm didn’t want to expand the drug operation beyond Queens.
We wanted to be the biggest drug lords in New York, so I framed Malcolm for a murder he didn’t commit and took over the business.
I wish I could say I regret what I did, but I don’t because it was all done for the sake of my dream.
In my nightclub, Truth, I sit in my office sipping on whiskey.
I think about how far I’ve come from being a teenage drug dealer to now being the drug kingpin of New York.
I have crews in every borough of New York, and they all report to me.
I have to be careful because the FBI, NYPD, and DEA are all trying to bring me down.
I have a lot of money and connections, so I always stay one step ahead of them.
My phone rings; it’s Councilman Rashad Tate.
He is a very powerful man in New York politics.
He wants to meet with me at an upscale restaurant in Manhattan.
I agree to meet him because he can be a threat to me if I don’t.
The next day, I arrive at the restaurant and am greeted by the hostess.
She takes me to the table where Councilman Tate is waiting for me.
He is a tall man with dark skin and short hair.
I sit across from him, and he leans forward.
His voice is low as he speaks.
"Listen, I need some money for my campaign. I know you have a lot of it, so I’m asking you nicely. Give me the money, or I will make sure you go to jail."
I smile and take a sip of my drink.
"I know all about your dirty dealings, Rashad. You’re not fooling anyone. You already get money from other criminals, so why come to me?"
His face tightens.
"You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Oh, but I do. I have evidence of all the illegal things you’ve done. I can send it to the DA if you don’t do what I ask."
He leans back in his chair, clearly frustrated.
"What do you want?"
"I want you to give me the money that you were going to use for your campaign. And if you don’t, then I will make sure that Zoya Bhatt wins the election."
Zoya Bhatt is a young and ambitious politician who is running against Rashad for councilman.
She is smart and has a lot of potential, but she doesn’t have the money to fund her campaign.
If Rashad doesn’t give me the money, then I will give it to her and make sure she wins the election.
Rashad shakes his head.
"You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?"
I stand up and button my suit jacket.
"I’ll give you some time to think about it. Let me know what you decide."
Rashad glares at me, his voice dripping with disdain.
"You think you can just waltz in here and dictate terms? You're playing a dangerous game."
I lean in slightly, my smile never wavering.
"That's the only kind of game I know how to play, Rashad."
The next day, I meet Patrick at our usual spot in Brooklyn.
I tell him about my encounter with Rashad and how he refused to comply with my demands.
Patrick’s face turns red with anger as he slams his fist on the table, cursing Rashad’s name.
I calmly explain that I have a plan B.
"I’m going to send all the evidence of his corruption to internal affairs and the NYPD. He’ll be arrested, and Zoya will win the election."
Patrick nods his head in approval, a smirk forming on his lips.
"That’s a good plan. But what if he tries to fight back?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"Then we’ll deal with him accordingly. But for now, let’s focus on taking him down."
Patrick nods again, this time more enthusiastically.
"Alright, let’s do this."
I pull out my phone and dial the number for internal affairs.
When someone answers, I press send on the files I have compiled against Rashad and wait for confirmation that they have been received.
After a few moments, I hear the voice on the other end confirm that they have everything they need.
"Thank you," I say before hanging up.
Patrick looks at me expectantly.
"It’s done," I tell him.
"He’ll be arrested soon."
Patrick grins widely.
"Perfect. Once he's out of the picture, we can move our operations into his territory without any interference."
I nod, feeling the weight of our next steps.
"And with Zoya in power, we'll have a friend in politics who owes us everything."
I lean back in my office chair at Truth, watching the breaking news on the mounted TV.
Camera crews swarm around Rashad as officers lead him out of City Hall in handcuffs.
Switching off the TV, I straighten my navy Armani suit and head to Zoya Bhatt's campaign headquarters in Lower Manhattan.
I meet Zoya at a discreet café in Brooklyn.
She is a tall woman with long dark hair and brown eyes.
I introduce myself as Mohamed Abdi, the owner of Truth nightclub.
She recognizes me immediately.
"Mr. Abdi, it’s a pleasure to meet you," she says, extending her hand.
"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Bhatt," I reply, shaking her hand firmly.
I hand her a check for one million dollars.
"What is this for?"
"It’s for your campaign fund," I explain.
Her eyes widen in surprise.
"Why? I don’t even know you."
"I believe in you, Ms. Bhatt. I think you can change New York for the better."
She looks at me skeptically.
"How do you plan on doing that?"
"I want to make sure that people of color have the support and guidance they need to succeed. I don’t want them to end up in prison or dead because they didn’t have the resources to make better choices."
Zoya nods her head in agreement.
"I agree with you. But how can you help me achieve that goal?"
"I have a lot of money and connections, Ms. Bhatt. And I’m willing to use them to help you win this election."
She looks at me with gratitude in her eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. Abdi. I won’t let you down." I smile and stand up from my seat.
"I know you won’t, Ms. Bhatt. Good luck with your campaign."
I leave the café feeling confident that our future is secure.
With Zoya in power, we will be able to expand our business without any interference from the authorities.
And with Rashad out of the way, we will be able to take over his territory and increase our profits even more.
I get into my car and drive back to Truth, feeling proud of what we have accomplished so far.
I park my black Mercedes in our private garage beneath the luxury high-rise.
I nod to Jorge, our regular security guard, as I make my way to the private elevator.
The doors close, and I loosen my silk tie, switching from Ghost mode to family man.
The elevator doors open into our penthouse, and I’m greeted by chaos.
Elijah and Imani are arguing over a stolen phone, Maya is crying about her math homework, and Olivia is cooking dinner in her designer clothes and Louboutins.
I kiss Olivia on the neck, inhaling her Chanel perfume.
"Hey, babe," she says, stirring the pasta sauce.
"How was the club?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"It was good. We had a lot of customers tonight."
Before I can say anything else, Elijah comes up to me with his tablet.
"Look at this," he says, showing me a news article about Rashad’s arrest.
His eyes gleam with admiration.
"Did you have something to do with this, Dad?" he asks, his voice filled with awe.
I glance at Olivia, who raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
"Let's just say Rashad made some bad choices," I reply, ruffling Elijah's hair.
After dinner, I find Elijah in his room, scrolling through news articles about Rashad's arrest on his phone.
I close his door behind me and sit on his bed.
He looks up at me, a gleam of fascination in his eyes.
"Rashad was a real boss," he says, scrolling through an article about Rashad's criminal empire.
"He built everything from scratch. He had the whole city under his control."
I take the phone from his hands and set it aside.
"Rashad was a fool," I say, looking him in the eye.
"He thought he was above the law. But no one is above the law, Elijah. No one."
Elijah shrugs his shoulders.
"But he was successful," he says.
"He had money, power, and respect. What more could you want?"
I grip his shoulder firmly, making him look at me.
"You want to be successful like that?" I ask him.
"You want to end up dead or in prison?"
Elijah shakes his head, looking down at the floor.
"No," he mumbles.
"I don't want that."
"Good," I say, releasing my grip on his shoulder.
"Because that's not what success looks like. Success is when you have a good education, a good job, and a family that loves you. That's what success looks like."
Elijah nods his head, still looking down at the floor.
"I know," he says softly.
"But sometimes it's hard not to admire people who have made something of themselves."
I sigh heavily, feeling frustrated with my son's admiration for Rashad.
"Elijah, listen to me," I say firmly.
"There are better ways to make something of yourself than by breaking the law. You can get a good education and work hard to achieve your goals. That's how you become successful."
Elijah looks up at me, his eyes filled with determination.
"I know, Dad," he says firmly.
"And I will do that. But sometimes it's hard not to admire people who have made something of themselves against all odds."
I nod my head slowly, understanding where he is coming from.
"I know," I say softly.
"But remember that there are always consequences for our actions. And sometimes those consequences can be deadly." Elijah nods his head again, looking down at the floor once more.
"I know," he says quietly.
"But it's hard not to admire people who have made something of themselves against all odds."
Elijah looks up at me, his eyes searching for something more.
"But Dad, what if the system is rigged against us? What if playing by the rules means we never win?"
I pause, considering his words carefully.
I sit on the edge of Elijah's bed, watching as he scrolls through more news articles about Rashad on his phone.
His fingers move quickly across the screen, pausing at headlines about corruption and drug money.
I take the phone from his hands, setting it face-down on his nightstand.
"Look at me," I say, straightening my suit jacket.
"I built Truth from nothing. Legal business. Clean money."
Elijah scoffs, looking away from me.
"Rashad got rich quick," he says, his voice filled with admiration.
"He didn't have to wait years to build a business. He just took what he wanted."
I stand up, my jaw tightening.
"And now he's in handcuffs," I snap, my voice harsher than I intended.
"Remember, Elijah, shortcuts often lead to dead ends."
I lead my family into the dining room, where Olivia has laid out a spread of her famous jerk chicken and rice.
Patrick walks in just as we're sitting down, and he gives me a knowing look before greeting everyone warmly.
"Hey, guys," he says, taking a seat next to Elijah.
"Sorry I'm late."
"It's okay," Olivia says, smiling at him.
"We're just glad you made it."
Eve Brown, my mother-in-law, sits rigidly at the end of the table, her eyes following me as I take my seat.
She's wearing her signature pearls and a floral dress that screams "I don't approve of you."
The twins bicker over the last piece of cornbread while Maya quietly picks at her food.
"So, Truth," Eve begins, her voice dripping with disapproval.
"How's business?"
I smile smoothly, used to deflecting her questions about my finances.
"It's going well," I say.
"We've been getting a lot of new clients lately."
Eve raises an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with my answer.
"That's good," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"But how much money are you making exactly?"
I glance at Olivia, who gives me a warning look.
"We're doing all right," I say vaguely.
"We're able to provide for our family."
Eve snorts in disgust, pushing her plate away from her.
"I don't know why you insist on running that club," she says, shaking her head.
"It's not a respectable business." Patrick jumps in to help me change the subject.
"Elijah has a big basketball tournament coming up this weekend," he says, smiling at my son.
"He's been practicing really hard."
Eve turns her attention to Elijah, who looks up at her with a smile.
"Oh?" she says, raising an eyebrow.
"What position do you play?"
"Point guard," Elijah replies proudly.
"I'm pretty good at it too."
Eve nods approvingly, looking back at me with a disapproving gaze.
"Well, I hope you're encouraging him to focus on his studies as well," she says pointedly.
"Sports are fine and all, but education is what will get him somewhere in life."
I grit my teeth, feeling my anger rise to the surface.
"I'm encouraging him to do both," I snap, my voice harsher than I intended.
"I want him to be successful in whatever he chooses to do."
After dinner, I meet Monica at a quiet café near my old high school.
The place is empty except for a few late-night students typing away on their laptops.
Monica sits at a table in the corner, sipping on a cup of coffee.
I recognize her immediately, even though it's been years since I've seen her.
She looks older now, but still beautiful.
Her long black hair falls down her back, and her dark eyes sparkle when she sees me.
"Hey," she says, smiling as I approach.
"It's been a long time."
"Yeah," I reply, taking a seat across from her.
"You look good."
"Thanks," she says, taking another sip of coffee.
"So, what have you been up to?"
"Not much," I say, shrugging my shoulders.
"Just working and trying to make a living."
"I heard you own Truth now," she says, raising an eyebrow.
"How did that happen?"
I smile, feeling a sense of pride.
"I worked hard for it," I say.
"I started out as a bartender and eventually worked my way up to manager. When the previous owner decided to sell, I jumped at the opportunity to buy it."
"That's impressive," she says, looking genuinely impressed.
"I always knew you were ambitious."
"Yeah," I say, feeling a little embarrassed by the praise.
"I just wanted to make something of myself." She nods her head thoughtfully, taking another sip of coffee.
"So, what about Patrick?" she asks after a moment of silence.
"What's he up to these days?"
I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to talk about Patrick's drug dealing business.
"He's doing okay," I say vaguely.
"He still lives in the city and works at Truth with me."
Monica raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing that there's more to the story than I'm letting on.
But she doesn't press the issue, instead changing the subject to her own life.
"So, I graduated from Choate and went on to Yale for college," she says proudly.
"After that, I moved back home and started working as a lawyer."
"That's great," I say genuinely impressed by her accomplishments.
"You've done really well for yourself."
She smiles humbly, looking down at her hands.
"Thanks," she says softly.
"I've worked hard for it."
After a while, Monica gets up to leave, and I walk her out of the café.
We stand outside for a moment, chatting about old times.
As we talk, I can't help but notice that she seems a little off.
She keeps glancing around nervously, as if she's worried someone is watching us.
I brush it off as paranoia, but the feeling lingers in the back of my mind.
As she leaves, I can't shake the feeling that something isn't quite right.
I pull out my burner phone and send a text to Andre, my most reliable private investigator.
"Hey man," I type.
"I need you to look into someone for me."
Andre responds immediately.
"Who?"
"A woman named Monica," I reply.
"She went to Choate with me. I need to know everything about her."
Andre agrees to meet me in an hour at Truth, and I head there to wait for him.
When he arrives, we meet in my car parked in a secluded alley behind the club.
Andre hands me a thick manila envelope filled with documents and photos.
"What did you find out?"
I ask him. "Monica is an Assistant U.S. Attorney specializing in drug trafficking cases," he replies, flipping through the documents.
"She graduated from Yale Law School and has been working for the government ever since."
I take the envelope from him and start flipping through it myself.
There are photos of Monica entering federal buildings and meeting with DEA agents.
There are also documents detailing her involvement in several high-profile drug cases.
"She's been prosecuting major dealers left and right," Andre says, pointing out some of the more notable cases.
"It looks like she's got a real thing for taking down big-time drug lords."
I clench my jaw as I look at the photos of Monica standing triumphantly next to handcuffed suspects.
I realize now that our meeting wasn't a coincidence, and I need to act fast.
I linger at Truth after closing, nursing a whiskey while I study the contents of the envelope Andre gave me.
The photos of Monica standing next to handcuffed suspects mock me.
I can't help but wonder how I let my guard down so easily.
My fingers trace over the familiar contours of an old photo that I keep hidden in my desk drawer.
It's a picture of Monica and me at our high school prom, both of us smiling and carefree.
I remember the way she looked at me that night, her eyes filled with a mix of admiration and desire.
But now, it all feels like a distant memory, tainted by the revelation that she's been investigating me all along.
The surveillance photos Andre provided show Monica meeting with DEA informants in diners and parking garages.
She's always careful to cover her tracks, but the evidence is there.
I take another sip of my drink, trying to drown out the anger and betrayal that's simmering inside me.
Just then, my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Monica herself.
"Hey," she writes.
"I was thinking maybe we could meet up again sometime?"
I hesitate for a moment before responding.
"Sure," I type back, suggesting we grab drinks at a quiet bar downtown. Despite knowing better, I can't help but want to see her again.
I meet Monica at an upscale wine bar in the heart of Manhattan.
The place is dimly lit, with plush leather booths and a sophisticated atmosphere.
I spot her sitting in a corner booth, wearing a fitted black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places.
She looks up and smiles when she sees me approaching.
"Hey," she says, sliding over to make room for me on the curved bench.
"I'm so glad you could make it."
I nod in greeting, taking a seat beside her.
The bartender comes over to take our order, and Monica recommends a bottle of expensive red wine.
As we wait for our drinks to arrive, I can't help but notice the way Monica's perfume fills the air around us.
It's a subtle scent, but it stirs something deep within me.
When the wine arrives, Monica pours us each a glass and raises hers in a toast.
"To old times," she says, clinking her glass against mine. I take a sip of the wine, savoring its rich flavor on my tongue.
Monica leans in close to me, her voice dropping to a whisper as she says, "I can't believe it's been so long since we've seen each other."
I nod in agreement, feeling a sense of nostalgia wash over me.
"It feels like just yesterday we were sitting in Mr. Johnson's chemistry class together," I say with a smile.
Monica laughs at the memory, playfully nudging my arm with her elbow.
"Oh my God, remember how much we used to hate that class?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
I chuckle along with her, feeling myself relax in her presence.
As we continue to reminisce about old times, I can't help but notice the way Monica's body brushes against mine on the bench.
It's subtle at first, but soon becomes more deliberate as she slides closer and closer to me. I feel a rush of adrenaline course through my veins as I realize what's happening.
Monica is flirting with me, and I'm not sure if it's genuine or part of some larger scheme to get closer to me and gather evidence for her case against Patrick and his drug empire.
But either way, I can't deny that there's still chemistry between us - even after all these years apart. As we continue talking and laughing together, I find myself getting lost in the moment with Monica.
But beneath the surface, a storm of suspicion brews, reminding me that trust is a luxury I can no longer afford.
At the wine bar, Monica's hand brushes against mine as she leans in closer to me.
The soft touch sends a jolt of electricity through my body, and I can't help but notice the way her perfume fills the air around us.
It's a subtle scent, but it stirs something deep within me.
"I can't believe it's been so long since we've seen each other," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nod in agreement, taking a sip of my wine to steady my nerves.
"It feels like just yesterday we were sitting in Mr. Johnson's chemistry class together," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
Monica laughs at the memory, playfully nudging my arm with her elbow.
"Oh my God, remember how much we used to hate that class?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
I chuckle along with her, feeling myself relax in her presence.
As we continue to reminisce about old times, I can't help but notice the way Monica's body brushes against mine on the bench.
It's subtle at first, but soon becomes more deliberate as she slides closer and closer to me. I feel a rush of adrenaline course through my veins as I realize what's happening.
Monica is flirting with me, and I'm not sure if it's genuine or part of some larger scheme to get closer to me and gather evidence for her case against Patrick and his drug empire.
But either way, I can't deny that there's still chemistry between us - even after all these years apart.
"Do you remember that first kiss behind the school bleachers?"
Monica asks, her voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and longing.
I nod slowly, feeling a smile spread across my face.
"How could I forget?"
I reply, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
Monica closes her eyes for a moment, savoring the touch of my hand on her skin.
When she opens them again, there's a look of raw vulnerability in their depths.
"I never forgot about you," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of conversation in the bar. "You were always on my mind."
I swallow hard, trying to process what she's telling me.
Could it be true?
Has Monica really been thinking about me all these years?
Or is this just another tactic to get close to me?
I don't have time to dwell on it for long because Monica reaches out and takes my hand in hers.
She leans in closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers, "I want you to know that I still feel the same way about you."
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I turn to face her.
Her eyes are locked on mine, filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty.
Without thinking, I lean in and press my lips against hers.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but soon deepens into something more passionate.
I can feel the heat of her body against mine, her curves molding to fit me perfectly.
As we break apart for air, I realize that I've been holding my breath.
Monica smiles up at me, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
"I've missed you so much," she says, her voice trembling with emotion.
I pull her close again, feeling a sense of longing wash over me.
"I've missed you too," I reply, meaning every word. As we continue to kiss and touch each other, I can't help but feel a sense of connection that goes far beyond physical attraction.
There's something deeper here, something that speaks to a part of me that I thought was long buried.
But even as I get lost in the moment with Monica, there's a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminding me that nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
There are secrets and lies lurking beneath the surface, waiting to tear us apart once again.
I lean back against the plush leather booth, Monica's hand still resting on my thigh.
The wine bar is quiet now, the only sound coming from the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses in the background.
I glance out the window and notice a black SUV parked across the street with tinted windows.
It's idling, and two men in suits sit inside staring at us through the glass. My instincts kick in immediately - something isn't right here.
I gently pry Monica's hand off my leg and reach for my phone on the table.
"Sorry," I say to her apologetically.
"I need to check this real quick."
Monica looks at me curiously but nods understandingly as I scroll through my messages.
The men in the SUV are definitely watching us - they're not even trying to hide it anymore.