“What you mean?”
“I mean,” she said, turning her head to face me, “I’m not tied to Don anymore. My father’s… out of my life. There’s no more politics or rules. So what happens now, Nyce?”
I glanced at her before switching lanes. “Now? You figure out who you are without all that bullshit. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven and you?”
“Thirty-four. You still have time to really think about whatyouwant in this life. What you like to do?”
“Well… I went to school for architecture.”
“Dead ass?” I glanced her way, a little surprised but not really. I knew she was different and smart.
“Yeah. But… my father barely respected it. Just dished out the money for it.”
“Do that shit.”
“That easy?”
“Did I say easy?” I said, brow raised. She gave a short laugh. “Nothing in life is ever easy, Princess. Remember that. But… it pays to know people. I can help you with that shit.”
She folded her arms. “Really? How?”
“I’m working on something.”
“So… that’s what happens with you now?”
“What you mean?”
“Back to business.”
I kept my eyes on the road, nodding my head. “Same shit. Different day.”
“You mean street things?”
“I mean everything I touch,” I said, voice steady. “Some of it clean. Some of it ain't.” She nodded slowly, lips pressed together. “But what I do doesn't matter right now,” I added. “What matters is that you’re breathing. You’re safe. And I ain’t letting nobody fuck that up.” I could feel her watching me as we pulled off the expressway and turned into a quiet residential area.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“You’ll see,” I said again. I pulled into a private lot beside a stone building that looked more like a luxury hotel than what it really was.Havencrest Hills Assisted Living Center.The best facility money could buy.
Princess looked at the sign, then at me. “We’re visiting somebody?”
I turned the engine off and unlocked the doors. “Come on.”
She followed without another word. Inside, the front desk staff looked up and straightened fast. I nodded once, and the woman behind the desk smiled widely and reached for the phone. “He’s here,” she whispered into the receiver.
Princess raised a brow. “Wow. Do people always act like this when you walk into places?” she muttered.
I smirked as we headed to the elevator. “Respect isn’t optional with me.”
An older Black woman in scrubs stood near the nurse station and smiled the second she saw me. “Mr. Richards,” he greeted. “She’s already awake, sipping her hot cocoa. Enjoy your visit.”
Princess looked at me as we walked. “You come here often?”
“Every couple weeks,” I said. “And when I can’t, I’ll send someone to check on her and drop some money.”
She was quiet after that. I stopped at the door, knocked once, then pushed it open. My grandmother was a feisty, short, brown-skinned woman with gray coils poking from under her bonnet. She was sitting up in bed already with a throw blanketacross her lap and a thick Bible open beside her on a wheeled tray table.
