The Prada Plan 3

Book 3: Prada Plan

by Ashley Antoinette

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Leah’s crazy scheming has finally paid off. Now that YaYa is out of the picture, Leah has everything she’s ever wanted. She steps into YaYa’s shoes, and now she has money, family, and, most importantly, she has Indie. She’s the queen of his empire, and no one suspects a thing.

There’s only one problem. Disaya Morgan isn’t dead. Newly initiated into a powerful circle of women, YaYa is out for blood, and when she comes gunning for her spot, the streets will never be the same.

Ashley Antoinette is back and better than ever with the third installment of the Prada Plan series. A case of mistaken identity left readers reeling at the end of part two, but part three is a heart-pounding saga that will leave you breathless.

Release date: February 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 256

Sample

“I don’t understand why she hasn’t awoken yet. It’s been a month. Is she going to make it, Doctor?” Zya asked, watching as her medical staff catered to YaYa’s injuries. She stood with her hips cocked and one hand tucked in the silk pocket of her Zac Posen editor pants as she impatiently awaited an answer.

The doctor took his time in replying as he concentrated on taking YaYa’s vitals. The buzz of the many machines that she was connected to indicated that she was alive, but she had yet to open her eyes. “Doctor?” Zya pushed insistently. She crossed her eyes and gave him a stern look, demanding a response.

The elderly Indian man removed his stethoscope from his ears, hanging it from his neck, and then turned to his employer. He had been on call for Zya since she graduated to queen pin status. In her line of work she needed someone with his medical expertise on her team, and he had proven very useful to her—until now. Now it seemed that no matter how much he attended to YaYa, she just wasn’t getting better.

In a lot of ways, YaYa reminded Zya of herself. They each possessed a heart the size of a lion and a hustler’s spirit. Zya hoped that YaYa found the strength to pull through.

“I don’t know, Ms. Miller. Every burn has been attended to. My nurse has met all of her physical needs. We just have to wait and hope that she comes out of this coma. I have worked with some patients who never come out of them, and others who recover in no time. Just be patient,” the doctor said as he packed up his medical instruments and left the room.

Zya sighed as she stood over YaYa. “It will be such a shame if you don’t make it out of this. You don’t even know the greatness that lies in your future. All you have to do is wake up,” Zya whispered solemnly. YaYa’s eyes flinched slightly, and Zya squeezed her hand gently. “I know you hear me, YaYa. Get your strength up, ma, and come back to the land of the living.”

The sudden blare of the machine rang out in the room, startling Zya. She gasped in shock and stumbled backward. The numbers on the heart monitor dropped drastically, and alarms summoned the doctor back into the room.

“What happened?” he asked as he rushed to YaYa’s bedside and immediately began to attend to his patient.

Zya’s mouth fell open, yet no explanation came out as she shook her head frantically. “I . . . I don’t know. The machines just . . .” She paused and shrugged her shoulders in confusion as wrinkles creased her forehead in concern. “They just started going off. What’s going on?”

“I’m losing her!” the doctor called out. “Start chest compressions,” he ordered a nurse who entered the room in haste.

Zya was pushed aside as she watched the doctor try to bring a dead woman back to life. After what YaYa had been through, it would take nothing less than an act of God to stop her from walking through death’s door.

YaYa stood on the threshold between the living and the dead as she desperately fought the slow, inevitable fate that awaited her. The stench of burning flesh plagued her as her incinerated skin melted away. She could still feel the flames engulfing her. The orange-and-red fire struck her like lightning bolts and nipped at her soul like a rabid dog as the polluted smoke destroyed her lungs. She tried to resist, fought to breathe, but the more she struggled, the worse the pain became.

I’m dying, she thought. Please, God . . . help me. It was a name that she had called upon many times before, one that she wished she had praised more often throughout her life. If I had more faith in Him, maybe my life would not have turned out this way, she thought as tears slipped from her eyes.

Disaya Morgan was in a subconscious state, stuck between darkness and light, yet she felt the pain that she had endured pulsing through her all at once. It all culminated inside of her in this moment. Her life was flashing before her eyes, and all she saw was a string of painful memories: the fire, her child’s kidnapping, the loss of Indie, the death of her mother, the silver shackles on her father’s wrists, being raped as a child. It all came back to her at once, pouring over her, drowning her in sorrow. Everything turned black as her mind spun. Her heart beat so rapidly it felt as if she had stampeding horses inside of her chest.

“Please, God, help me. For once just save me,” she sobbed as she fell to her knees in desperation. She knew that she was dying. She felt life’s force leaving her, her energy and will to live abandoning her. It was as if she was being drained, like she had a slow leak and her soul was seeping out.

Her surroundings went completely dark as a voice filled her ears.

“The reason why your precious God never answers your prayers is because you’re not his child.”

YaYa recognized the voice before she ever looked up to see who was standing before her. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Mommy?” she called out as she raised her head. Her mother, Dynasty, stood before her.

“Hi, baby,” Dynasty replied as she knelt before YaYa and stared into her face.

YaYa hadn’t seen her face in years, but she remembered every feature as if it were yesterday. Dynasty was striking, and YaYa’s heart fluttered anxiously as she looked at the most beautiful woman she had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

“Mommy?” YaYa repeated, her lip trembling. “Am I dead?” YaYa asked as she began to sob.

Dynasty nodded her head as she knelt before her daughter, cupping YaYa’s face in her hands. “Yes, baby girl, you are dying,” she confirmed.

“Is this heaven?” YaYa asked.

“Do you feel pain?” Dynasty asked.

YaYa nodded her head and held on to her mother’s forearms while crying in extreme excruciation. “Yes . . . so much that I can’t take it. I feel it all. I remember it all,” she grieved.

“You’re in hell then, baby. This is it. Dark, lonely, but most of all it’s painful. Hell is not the fiery myth that man has made it out to be. It’s just pain . . . eternal pain,” Dynasty whispered solemnly, knowing all too well that her sins had led not only herself but also her child to this very place.

“Oh God!” YaYa cried. “My daughter . . . she needs me. I can’t die, Ma. I don’t want to go to hell. I don’t deserve to be here! I need more time . . . time to take care of her. Time to make things right.” YaYa was hysterical as she thought of never seeing Skylar’s face again. The mere notion of not being there to raise her child was suffocating. It felt as if the devil himself had plunged his hand inside her chest and torn out her heart.

“There are no do-overs, YaYa. Once you’re here, you’re here. Even if you’re sent back for a little while, you’ll eventually come back. Forgiveness and retribution are for God’s children. Once the devil touches you, you’re his offspring, and it’s hard to go good once you’ve already gone bad. It’s like a loaf of bread: once it stales, ain’t no saving it.

“You’re my daughter. If you’re anything like me, not even God can save you. We’re too hardheaded to live righteous. We want what we want, when we want it, and we’ll use what we got to get it,” Dynasty said as she smiled. YaYa could see her thinking back on years past to the good old days. Dynasty shook her head and said, “That damn Prada Plan.”

YaYa pulled away from Dynasty and looked up at her in confusion. “Why would you teach me that? You’re my mother! You’re supposed to teach me the right way, guide me the right way!” YaYa yelled.

Dynasty cocked her head to the side and put one hand on her hip. “No, no, baby girl, you got to be accountable for your own actions. I gave you the game, but you applied it your way. I said, ‘Use what you got.’ You’ve got a brain to think. Did you use that? You’ve got a conscience to decipher right and wrong. You use that? You chose to work the sweet spot between your legs to get by. You chose the easy route. You could have been anything. Your Prada Plan could have taken you to the moon and back. You chose—”

“To be like you,” YaYa cried. “I am my mother’s child, but I won’t end up like you.”

YaYa closed her eyes and held up her hands to the sky, crying hysterically while on her knees. “God, please forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I need you right now, Lord. I need you to wrap your arms around me and please take me back to my daughter. Take me back to Indie. God, spare me with your love. I know that I haven’t spoken to you like I should. I haven’t believed in you like I should, but I’m here now. I’m here, not to ask you why so many bad things have happened in my life, but to ask you for the chance to live so that I may learn the lessons that come with those bad times. Please, God, please! Save me, for I am your child. . . .”

“Charge to ten!” the doctor ordered as he waited to shock YaYa’s heart for the third time.

“Help her! Do everything that you can!” Zya demanded as she stood in the background, anxiously watching the heart monitor screen. YaYa had been flat-lined for more than two minutes, and Zya was losing hope.

“Clear!” the doctor called out as he placed the defibrillator on her chest and sent a charge to YaYa’s heart. Her body jerked off of the bed slightly, but her pulse didn’t change. The doctor pulled back and looked at Zya sympathetically.

“She’s gone, Ms. Miller. I’m sorry. She’s been under too long. There’s no bringing her back from this. You just have to let go,” the doctor said.

Zya shook her head and said, “Again. . . . Do it again.”

“Ms. Miller . . .” the doctor protested.

“Do it again! I pay you enough to make miracles happen! Do it again, damn it!” Zya yelled, losing her cool, something that was uncharacteristic for her.

The doctor shook his head, feeling like it was a lost cause, but he followed her orders.

“Charge to twenty!” he instructed. The nurse charged the machine and then the doctor called, “Clear.”

YaYa’s body jerked violently once more, lifting off of the bed slightly. Zya bit her bottom lip, and the room went silent as everyone stared at the heart monitor.

“Come on, come on,” Zya urged. She closed her eyes and dropped her head, but as soon as she was about to give up . . . Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . .

YaYa’s pulse showed up on the screen, faintly, but it was there. The doctor looked back at Zya in amazement, knowing that the odds of YaYa coming back to life were slim. “There’s that miracle you asked for,” the doctor remarked as he stabilized YaYa.

Zya sighed in relief, not sure yet why she was so invested in this young girl. “Will she be okay?”

The doctor nodded his head and replied, “We’ll monitor her closely to make sure that she doesn’t code again, but for now her heart is beating. That’s all we can ask for.”

Leah sat perfectly still as the sound of her heartbeat racing echoed in her ears. Her eyes darted from the nurse to the doctor to the medical aid. Back and forth, she looked at them, trying to read them. Is it bad? she thought, wondering how her skin would look and trying to gauge their reactions to prepare herself for what she was about to see.

In their faces she saw nothing. The medical team that surrounded her was strictly professional as they removed the bandages from her body. The severe burns had taken an entire month to begin to heal. Days of painful infections had plagued Leah, and excruciating skin grafts had been performed, all in an attempt to save her. The doctors were working around the clock to save as much of her skin as possible, but unbeknownst to them, Leah was welcoming the deformity. The more unrecognizable she was, the better her plans would unfold.

She cringed as the sting of the sterile hospital air hit her face when each bandage was removed. The dirty gauze was filled with pus, blood, and dead skin as they took it off piece by piece.

Leah could not stop her eyes from filling with tears. She could only imagine how gruesome she looked. Her looks had gotten her by when she had nothing, but she would easily exchange that for the chance to step into YaYa’s shoes. YaYa had love, an entire world full of people who worshipped the ground she walked on, and if this was the pain that Leah had to go through in order to have that too, then it was worth it.

“Okay, Ms. Morgan. I want to prepare you for what you are about to see. There is severe damage to your face. Healing the burns was only the first step. You have many more steps and face many more challenges on the road to recovery. You have to remember to be thankful to be alive right now. Don’t focus on how you look,” the doctor said, preparing her for the worst.

Leah nodded her head and reached for the mirror that one of the nurses held in her hands. Her hands shook as she brought it up to her face. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her reflection. Her face was completely destroyed. The fire had eaten through her skin like moths on old fabric. She felt like a monster.

“Get out!” Leah whispered.

“It will get better. I’ve already begun discussing your case with the best plastic surgeon in the city,” the doctor explained as he tried to ease her worries.

“Get out,” she repeated.

The staff didn’t move. They all stood there with their stoic expressions.

“Get out!” Leah screamed as she threw the mirror across the room, causing it to shatter into pieces. Finally the nurses hustled out of the room, fleeing from her outburst, but the doctor remained by her bedside.

“It has only been a month since the fire. You have to give it time to heal. You are physically and emotionally damaged, Disaya. We are only trying to help you.”

“I just need a moment to myself,” she replied as a tear fell from her eyes. She couldn’t even wipe it away because she was afraid to touch her own face.

“I’ll do my rounds and be back in half an hour. I know how you feel, Disaya. Please try to stay optimistic.”

Dr. Fannigan was her attending physician and had been with her every step of the way through her recovery. He stood tall, six feet two, with handsome all-American boy features and a slim yet athletic build. Surely in his prime he had been the captain of somebody’s Lacrosse team. With his Johns Hopkins medical degree and good looks, he was like a superstar amongst the many nurses and female doctors on staff. The slight gray that had begun to appear at his temples gave him a distinguished appearance. It was he who had saved her life. Had it not been for his experience and expertise, she would be lying in a shallow grave.

Leah knew that she should be grateful for all of his efforts, but his calm tone was irritating her. He couldn’t possibly know how she felt. He had never been ugly in his entire life. Not even an old childhood scar marred his perfect exterior. The empathy he displayed was fabricated and made her even more insecure.

Yes, she had asked for this, but the old adage of “be careful what you wish for” couldn’t be more true. Her skin was so badly seared that all that could be seen was pink flesh. The hair had been burned completely from one side of her head. Leah couldn’t help but think that this was God’s way of punishing her. She had felt the fires of hell, and He had scarred her for life. Was this His way of paying her back for all of her bad deeds?

The doctor exited the room, leaving her to process her predicament.

Fuck it, she thought as she climbed from the hospital bed. She walked to the attached bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t even recognizable, and her heart pounded furiously as she became overwhelmed with anger. Although her insides were spoiled and rotten, she had always been beautiful on the outside. Now her exterior matched the ugly intent of her heart.

The only thing recognizable about Leah was her eyes, but it was the thing she hated most. They were the only thing left that could keep Leah from playing the role.

Taking over YaYa’s identity wouldn’t be simple. She was lucky that she had gotten away with it thus far. YaYa’s beautiful, bright green eyes set her apart. Upon awakening in the hospital, Leah had been so heavily bandaged that her eyes were slightly hooded by the white gauze that protected her skin. Everyone was worried about her as she clung to her deathbed, and when she finally regained consciousness, they were too overjoyed with excitement to notice that she wasn’t who she claimed to be. Elaine and Slim could barely see her eyes, let alone distinguish their color. Her looks were completely destroyed, her voice raspy from the damage to her larynx and smoke inhalation. Everything was in her favor to become the new Disaya Morgan; the only thing in her way was the color of her own eyes.

Because of this, Leah refused to see anyone. The only people who came in and out of her room were doctors and nurses. She had banned Slim, Elaine, and even Indie from stepping foot inside. Indie didn’t even get a chance to see her once he got out of jail. By the time he arrived at the hospital, Leah had asked everyone to leave before anyone could put two and two together. Now she was panicking. She had been so delusional before the fire that she had overlooked a critical piece of the puzzle.

Leah had done too much plotting . . . so much scheming and lying to get to this point. She and YaYa had gone from fast friends to lovers to enemies within the blink of an eye. YaYa didn’t know that all along Leah was an unseen enemy from the past. They shared a father, a man who showed unbalanced favor toward YaYa, and Leah would always hate YaYa for his faults. The resentment that Leah harbored had pushed her over the edge. It had turned her into a woman obsessed.

After being trapped in the deadly fire, she saw an opportunity to take YaYa’s place and finally live the life that she had always admired from afar. Burnt beyond repair, she knew that she could pass as YaYa . . . if it weren’t for those damn green eyes. How she had forgotten such a detail was beyond her, but her lies were too deep to retract them now. As every day passed, her risk of the truth being discovered grew.

Luckily YaYa’s medical records hadn’t been faxed from New York, so the doctors had no clue that they were treating an imposter. It was just Leah’s luck that YaYa’s mother had been neglectful and other than her birth, no other doctor’s visits had been made. YaYa barely had a medical history. No vaccination records existed, no emergency hospital visits, no broken bones, nothing. It was as if YaYa had disappeared off the map until she gave birth to her daughter. Even still, the overcrowded state of New York was slow in forwarding the files to Texas. It was working in Leah’s favor, at least temporarily. Eventually those records would come, blood types would be compared, and faking would no longer be possible. Leah could feel the walls crumbling around her. As soon as those records arrived, her true identity would be discovered. She couldn’t let that happen under any circumstance.

A knock on the door took her attention away from the mirror, and she slowly walked back towar. . .