“Someone took him,” he said quietly. “Someone got past the doorman, past the cameras, past everything?—”
“WHO?” I was screaming now, hysteria clawing at my throat. “WHO TOOK MY BABY?”
But Prime didn’t answer.
He was staring at his phone, at whatever the security footage was showing him, and his expression…
His expression told me everything I needed to know.
He knew exactly who took Yusef.
And whoever it was, they were already dead.
19
VIVICA
The sting on my face radiated into embarrassment throughout my entire body. Every cell burned with shame as the crowd looked on. How dare that black bitch hit me like that in front of everyone. Who in the hell did she think she was?
Did she not know who I was? This was my city! I ran this town and when a bitch gets out of line, I sent them packing. Miss nappyhead had met an enemy in me.
India was at my side in seconds, her hand on my elbow, guiding me through the stunned crowd with the practiced ease of someone who’d been managing my public image for years.
“Let’s get you to the bathroom now,” she murmured.
I let her lead me, my heels clicking against the marble floor, my chin held high even as my cheek throbbed with the ghost of that woman’s palm. I could feel the eyes on me. The whispers starting. The phones that had captured every second of my humiliation.
By morning, this would be everywhere.
The bathroom was mercifully empty. India closed the door behind us and immediately pulled me into her arms.
“Baby, are you okay? Let me see?—”
She tilted my face toward the light, examining the red mark that was probably already blooming into something uglier. Her fingers were gentle. Her eyes were soft with concern. And when she leaned in to kiss me, I pulled back.
“That’s not what I need right now.”
India blinked, hurt flickering across her features before she masked it. “Okay. What do you need?”
“I need to think.” I turned to the mirror, examining the damage. The slap had been hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to bruise. Small mercies. “That woman just assaulted the mayor of Washington DC in front of three hundred witnesses. I need to figure out how to handle this.”
“Press charges.” India’s reflection appeared behind mine. “It’s assault. Clear as day. Half the room recorded it. She’ll be arrested before sunrise.”
“No.”
“No?” India frowned. “Vivica, she HIT you. In PUBLIC. You can’t just let that?—”
“I said no.” I met her eyes in the mirror. “Someone like that? Someone bold enough to slap me in front of everyone? She’s got secrets. Deep ones. You don’t move that reckless unless you’ve already got nothing to lose… or you’re too stupid to know what you’re risking. I could see it in her eyes.” I smiled, and it felt cold even to me. “I want to know which one it is. And then I want to destroy her. Her reputation. Her little business. That relationship with my son. Everything she loves. I want to burn it all to the ground and make her watch.”
India was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. “That’s more your style.”
It was. It always had been.
People thoughtI was born into this life. The designer clothes. The political power. The mansion in Georgetown and the summer house in the Hamptons. They looked at Vivica Banks and saw old money. Establishment. Royalty.
They had no idea.
I grew up in a Section 8 apartment in Southeast. Same neighborhood that little ghetto girl probably crawled out of. My mother worked two jobs and still couldn’t keep the lights on. My father was a question mark—could’ve been any of the men who floated through her bedroom when rent was due.
