Even though Nia had been real lighthearted about it when she called me earlier, I knew she was still pissed about what happened at the formal. And with Nash creeping into the picture, She was on pure fuck-you energy when it came to Jules. I took my seat next to Juste. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, looking just as aware of the weird ass energy in the room as I was. I turned my attention to Ms. Evie, who still hadn't said much of anything since we walked in. Something wasn't right.
"Ms. Evie," I called out, keeping my tone light, but curious. "You good tonight? You real quiet." Her sharp eyes snapped up to mine, and for a moment, she just stared at me, like she was debating something in her head. Then, she smirked, taking a slow sip of her wine before speaking. “Oh, I'm good, cherè," she said, voice smooth. "Just sittin' here thinkin'. Lot on my mind tonight." I glanced over at Juste, but he was already looking at his mama with the same skeptical expression I had. Pierre let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. Then her eyes flicked to Saint, who hadn't said shit either. He was sitting across from her, watching her like he was already waiting on the bullshit.
"You know what's really funny to me?" Evie continued, still smirking, but her tone had an edge now. "How family can sit at the same damn table and keep secrets. Like shit not gon' come to light eventually." I stiffened, my stomach tightening. Oh, lord. And judging by how Saint's jaw flexed he knew what the hell she was talking about. I leaned over toward Juste, lowering my voice. "The fuck is going on?" He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "We about to find out."
"Your brother called me today Saint, and he was oh so kind to let me know that the only reason Pierre came to live with us all them years ago is because he belong to you . I always knew , shit everybody knew you and Vera was fuckin Saint , but life , you gave that bitch life ?" She spoke pointing her fork across the table at him . Pierre had a look of confusion on his face as he sat back in his seat his arms crossed . Juste looked between his mama and daddy. The whole room went silent. Not just a regular, uncomfortable silence—this was thick, suffocating, the kind that made the air heavy as hell. My stomach twisted as I looked from Ms. Evie to Saint, then to Pierre—who sat back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes dark with confusion. He wasn't saying shit, but the tension rolling off him was loud as hell.
"Evie," Saint finally spoke, his voice low, carrying that calm-before-the-storm energy. "Put the damn fork down and quit playin'." But Ms. Evie wasn't playin'. She let out a sharp laugh, tapping the silverware against her plate before setting it down. Then she picked up her wine glass, took a slow sip like she was savoring the moment before she spoke again.
"Oh, I'm not playin' at all, baby," she said, her voice smooth but laced with venom. "I've sat at this table with your lyin' ass for decades. Raised that boy under my roof, called him my nephew, loved him like he was one of my own. All while you walked around here, chest all puffed up, actin' like you some stand-up ass nigga." She shook her head. "Whole time, you ain't never had the balls to claim your own damn child. “Pierre shifted, but his face was still unreadable. He wasn't the type to react quick. He sat back, watching, waiting. I glanced over at Juste, who was watching this shit unfold with a deep-ass frown. Jules and Noles weren't saying shit either. Nia, on the other hand, was looking at me wide-eyed like,Bitch, you hearing this?I sure as hell was. Saint exhaled slow, shaking his head before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Evie, not at this goddamn table. Not like this."
"Like what?" she shot back, fire in her eyes. "You wasn't worried about how shit was gon' come out when you was sneakin' around with your brother's wife." Pierre let out a short, humorless laugh before sitting forward, resting his arms on the table. His jaw flexed as he looked from Ms. Evie to Saint. "How long y'all known?" he finally asked, voice calm, but deadly. Nobody said a word. Then, finally, Saint exhaled, looking his son—his biological son—dead in the face. "I always knew." Pierre's expression didn't change, but his fingers twitched like he was holding back from throwing a chair across the damn room. "Dat right?" His tone was cold. Saint nodded once. "Yeah."
Pierre let out another short laugh, shaking his head. "And you just—what? Decided it was easier to let your wife raise me while you played dumb?" "I ain't play dumb," Saint said gruffly. "I protected you." Pierre's eyes narrowed. "From what? “Saint leaned forward, locking eyes with him. "From Abel." And just like that, the room went silent again. Ms. Evie smirked, shaking her head. "Oh, now you wanna act like you did the boy a favor."
Saint didn't look away from Pierre. "Your daddy? He wasn't never gon' protect you. He wasn't gon' raise you right. He wasn't gon' do shit but ruin you, same way he ruins everything he touches." The weight of the words settled heavy in the air. Pierre sat back again, his jaw locked. "That's funny," he muttered. "Cause last time I checked, ruinin' shit is a St. Jean family trait."
Juste let out a breath, rubbing his chin, before finally speaking up. "Aight," he said, his voice calm, too calm. "We not 'bout to do this at dinner." Ms. Evie chuckled. "Oh, we already doin' it." Juste's eyes cut to his mama, sharp and warning. "Ma."
She held his gaze for a second, then finally exhaled, grabbing her wine glass again. "Whatever. I already said what needed to be said." The whole table sat in heavy silence. Pierre was still as hell, his face blank, but I could feel the storm brewing inside him. The door of the house opened and we heard footsteps coming toward the dining room . "The fuck?" Juste stood from his seat pulling his gun from his hip .
A buff Mexican man stepped in the dining room with 2 other men at his side . He smiled flashing his gold tooth . "St. Jean, Me Amigos" He said . I watched Evie shift in her seat like shed seen a ghost. "Vega , you better have a good fuckin reason to be walkin in my house unannounced." Saint muttered. Juste ran his hand over his face putting his gun back on his hip . "You aint fuckin tell him Ma ? You still been on that bullshit ? " Juste turned to Evie . She didn't open her mouth . I knew she was shook because Evie St. Jean always had something to say . "What the fuck is goin on ?" Saint said now standing from his seat .
"Me Amigo your wife . She loves my casino . Your boys , Juste and Jules just dug her out recently , but she's back in , and im here to collect ." Vega said no fear in his voice . The air thickened. A deadly quiet settled over the room. Saint's whole demeanor shifted, his presence taking up the space in a way that made my skin prickle. Jules leaned back, gripping the edge of the table, his jaw locked tight. Juste? Still as a goddamn statue, but I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the same storm Vega was too damn bold to notice.
Evie? She wouldn't even look up. I watched her sip her wine like Vega ain't just step into her home with a death wish. Like he wasn't standing there, casually dropping bombs on the family dinner table. Noles let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "This nigga serious?" Vega grinned wider, flashing that gaudy ass gold tooth, like he was enjoying the moment. "Oh, I am very serious. Your mother has been my favorite client—high roller, big spender. The kind of woman who bets without limits." He clapped his hands together. "But unfortunately, mi amigo, there are limits."
Juste ran a slow hand down his face, like he was trying to hold onto his last thread of patience. "How much?" Vega smiled wider. "Two hundred sixty thousand." The table rattled under Saint's fists. "You out your fuckin' mind if you think I'm paying that shit." Vega ain't blink. He just sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "St. Jean, I'm a businessman. I don't take losses. Either you handle the debt, or I take a different payment." I frowned. The whole room felt like it was holding its breath. Nobody moved. Nobody blinked. I couldn't even sip my champagne, my glass frozen halfway to my lips. This was way beyond some gambling debt bullshit. Saint's hands were fisted at his sides, his entire body coiled tight like he was seconds from exploding. But it was Evie I watched the closest. She was too still. Too quiet. That ain't sit right. She was always the loudest, always the most in control. But now? Now she looked like she was ready to be swallowed whole. Saint's voice came out low. Too low. "Evie... tell me what the fuck dis is."
She gripped her wine glass like it was her lifeline, but she wouldn't look up. Wouldn't meet his eyes. Juste took a slow breath, running a hand down his face. "Pops, we gotta pay this man. We got too much other shit goin' on right now—we don't need a war with the cartel behind Mama's gambling habit. We can't handle that shit." His voice was steady, but I could see it. The way his shoulders were tense. The way his jaw flexed. Vega rocked back on his heels, unbothered, watching us like we were pieces on a chessboard he already knew he was winning. "Your son is a smart man, St. Jean. Knows how to weigh risk vs. reward." He exhaled dramatically. "I tell you what Juste reasonable , I am reasonable . I'll take a hundred thousand today, I be back for the rest in two week." Saints eyes were still on Evie . he quickly looked up at Juste.
"I'll take care of it ." He said turning to walk Vega out . He returned quickly not bothering to sit back down watching his parents. Evie finally picked up her wine glass again, swirling the liquid, eyes trained on it like the answer to this whole fucked-up situation was floating somewhere inside. "You mean to tell me," Saint's voice was low, dangerous, "you in here startin' bullshit and you got a gambling debt with the motherfuckin' cartel?" He leaned forward in his seat, elbows on the table, eyes dark and burning holes into her. Evie sighed, real slow, before she finally looked up at him. "Saint, I was gonna handle it." The whole table reacted at once. Jules laughed, but there wasn't shit funny. "You was gonna handle it, Ma? How? With what money?" Juste ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. "You can't handle no cartel, Mama." His voice was calm, but I could tell he was fighting to stay that way. "That ain't how this shit works. You know that."
"Do I look like a fuckin' fool to you?" Saint's voice snapped through the room like a whip, and Evie finally flinched. "Saint—"
"No, Evie. Shut the fuck up." My eyes widened. Nobody, and I mean nobody, ever told Evie St. Jean to shut the fuck up. Saint stood up slow, pushing back from the table. He braced both hands on the wood, breathing deep like he was reeling himself in before he said something worse. "You got the cartel walkin through my fuckin' door. You got my sons out here cleanin' up your fuckin' mess. You gon' sit here and act like this some regular degular shit?" Evie set her glass down with a clink. "I said I was gon' handle it." Her voice was cool, but I could hear the tremor beneath it.
Saint tilted his head, watching her. Measuring her. "You know what's crazy?" He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I always knew you had some shit goin on with you, Evie. But this?" He shook his head. "This some next-level, I-got-the-whole-cartel-on-my-neck type shit. And you was just gon' keep sittin' here like nothin' happened?"
"Saint, lower your voice," Evie muttered, her eyes flicking to the doorway. Saint let out a bitter ha, running a hand over his mouth. "Oh, so now you worried about who listenin'? You wasn't worried about that shit when you was out here placing hundred-thousand-dollar bets , huh?"
Evie sat up straighter. "I was trying to fix it, Saint."
Saint slammed his hand on the table, making everybody jump. "Fix what, Evie? Fix what?" His voice was raw now, laced with something I ain't never heard in it before. The whole room was dead silent. I looked at Juste. He was watching Saint real close, like he was waiting to see what was coming next. Pierre leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, face unreadable. Then, Evie did something wild. She scoffed. Like all of this was some petty argument. Like we weren't sitting in a mess she created.
"Jules, all this shit started with your bullshit," Noles muttered, shaking his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, blame the fuckin' cheater, huh? Well clearly I’m not the only one." Jules shot back, rubbing a hand down his face. Nia let out a loud, petty ass laugh as she sipped her wine. "I mean, if the shoe fits..."Before shit could spiral even further, Juste slammed his cup down on the table. His whole body was tense, shoulders tight like he was holding back the urge to snap. His voice came out low, clipped, damn near seething. "You know what? Enough. Enough of this bullshit." He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before cutting his gaze to me. "Come on, Chiana. We leaving." I blinked, caught off guard by how pissed he was. "Juste—"
"Nah, come on," he interrupted, already pulling me up by the wrist. The ride back home was dead silent. Juste's jaw flexed, and his grip on the steering wheel was tight as hell, his knuckles damn near white. He was furious And I needed him to talk to me. "Juste." I reached for his arm. "Talk to me ?" He didn't say shit, just kept his eyes locked on the road, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep his shit together. We hit a red light, and I turned fully toward him. "Juste, talk to me—"
His grip on the wheel tightened. "Not now, Chiana." That made me suck my teeth. "Not now? you been quiet since we left. What the fuck—"
"CHIANA!" He finally snapped, his head jerking in my direction, eyes damn near black with frustration. "I said not now!" And in that moment—everything slowed down. I saw the green light out the corner of my eye. Felt the car move forward. Then— BOOM!
The impact was so hard, so sudden, I didn't even have time to scream. A black truck came flying through the intersection, slamming into Juste's side at full speed. The world flipped. Once. Twice. Glass shattered. Metal crunched. My body felt weightless, then heavy as fuck. And then—darkness. A sharp, burning pain in my temple. A wet, warm trickle of blood down my face. I groaned, my whole body aching, my ears ringing like I was underwater. "Aw, fuck!" Juste's voice—distorted, desperate. "Chiana, baeeby, you okay? Say something!" I tried to move, but a sharp, searing pain tore through my shoulder, making me scream out.
Then—car doors slamming. Heavy footsteps. My heart started hammering, my body instinctively going into fight mode. Then—gunfire.
Pop-pop-pop!
