“Thank you,” I managed. “I’m excited too.”
We went over a few more details—pricing, delivery logistics, dietary restrictions—and by the time I hung up, my hands were shaking.
“What was that?” Brandi asked.
“I got a catering job. For the mayor’s gala.”
“Are you serious?!” Brandi jumped up, grabbing my hands. “Zahara, that’s huge!”
“I know. I know.” I was smiling so hard my face hurt. “This could change everything. If this goes well, if people like my desserts, I could book more events. I could finally rent real kitchen space. I could?—”
I could give Yusef the life he deserved.
“Girl, I am so proud of you!” Brandi pulled me into a hug.
I hugged her back, but my mind was already racing. The mayor’s gala. Which meant Mayor Vivica Banks would be there. Prime’s mother. The woman he clearly despised.
This could be amazing for my business. Or it could be a disaster.
I said goodbye to Brandi and practically ran back to my apartment.
“Yusef!” I called out as soon as I opened the door.
The piano music stopped. “Yeah?”
“Come here! I have good news!”
He emerged from his room, looking tired but curious. “What’s up?”
“I got a huge catering job. For the mayor’s gala. Ten dozen cinnamon rolls.”
His eyes widened. “For real?”
“For real.” I pulled him into a hug. “This is it, baby. This is our big break.”
He hugged me back, and for the first time in days, I felt him relax slightly in my arms.
“I’m proud of you, Mom,” he said quietly.
My chest tightened. “Thank you, baby.”
We stood there in our tiny kitchen, holding each other, both of us pretending we weren’t thinking about all the things that could still go wrong.
But for right now, in this moment, I let myself be happy.
I let myself hope.
22
PRIME
Fuck Vivica’s timeline. She said 1 PM like I was supposed to sit around waiting on her schedule, but I had better shit to do than play her puppet. The longer I waited, the more time she had to sharpen her claws and practice whatever manipulative performance she had planned.
So I rolled up at eleven, two hours early, because Prime Banks didn’t dance to nobody’s rhythm but his own.
Her Georgetown brownstone was everything you’d expect from a mayor trying to cosplay as old money—pristine lawn that probably cost more to maintain than most people’s mortgages, historic brick that screamed “I’ve arrived,” and enough political power radiating from the place to make your teeth ache. I’d been here maybe twice since she bought it with blood money and broken promises. Stepping into Vivica’s domain always felt like walking into a trap.
I used the key she’d forced on all us boys years ago. “For emergencies,” she’d said, like any of us would actually come running if she called. This was the first time I’d ever used the damn thing.
