Friday | 5:22pm
Hours later, I ignored my campaign manager’s calls. I sat in silence in my condo with a strong drink in my hand. My suitwas wrinkled; sweat beaded at my hairline. My tie hung loose, collar yanked open, desperate for air. Nyce had just fucked me and the worst part: the city loved him for it. My jaw ticked. Every channel played the footage of me walking off that podium, stepping down like a good little puppet.
Across from me, Zeke slouched in a leather chair like a half-dead animal. He looked fucking terrible. Bags under his eyes, sweatsuit all wrinkled and hanging off him like he’d lost twenty pounds since I’d seen him last. His hands were trembling as he tried to sip his drink, the glass clinking against his teeth.
“You’re a fucking mess,” I muttered, watching him like he was a bug I couldn’t decide whether to squash or not.
Zeke gave a humorless laugh, barely a sound. “You would be too if you lost everything,” he croaked. “My church, my house, the cars… my girls.”
“Say what?”
“Princess will probably never speak to me again, and Evelyn served me divorce papers in the pew where I built my entire fucking legacy.” He paused, eyes red and glossy. “They don’t give a fuck about what happens to me.”
I picked up my whiskey and took a sip, letting it burn down my throat slowly. “Yeah, well, I guess he fucked us both in the end,” I said flatly, staring him dead in the eyes. “Princess now belongs to him.He’sgot her now.”
Zeke flinched like I’d smacked him in the face with a Bible. He slammed his glass down, chest heaving. “That fucking bastard,” he growled, his voice shaking. “He thinks he can takeeverything from us? Humiliate us like this?” He looked at me now with something desperate in his eyes. “We can’t let him win,” he said, his voice full of fury and shame.
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the amber in my glass, calculating. “No,” I said. “We can’t.”
Zeke leaned forward, frantic. “Then what the fuck do we do? Huh? You’re supposed to be the one with the plan. Theconnections.”
I scoffed. “And we see where that got us. Tate is dead, and the ones on his team who survived the shootout are under investigation.”
“Because you moved when I advised against it.”
“Fuck all of that, Zeke! This is now! Think!”
Nyce had more money now. More power. He had people in his pocket and enough muscle to make the feds pause before moving in. But he had one thing that made him weak. And it wasn’t money. It was Princess. Nyce had feelings for that girl. Real ones. The kind that made a man sloppy. Emotional.
“We don’t go after him,” I said finally. “Not directly.”
Zeke blinked. “Then how…?”
“We take what matters. What he doesn’t realize is his fucking soft spot.” Zeke’s brows pulled together. I leaned in. “Princess.”
His face paled. He opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked away, jaw tightening, fingers tapping against his glass. I watched the guilt war with the bitterness on his face. He was still a father underneath all that disgrace. Still a man who’d oncetucked her in at night. But now he was also a man who attempted to sell her out for his benefit. He’d already crossed the line. He just didn’t want to admit it.
“You said you wanted revenge, right?” I pressed. “You wanna hurt him?” Zeke nodded slowly. “Then this is the only way,” I said. “We hurt him where it counts, and we don’t give him time to see it coming.”
He stayed quiet for a long moment. His fingers clenched around the glass so tight I thought it might shatter. Then finally, he muttered, “I don’t want her dead.”
I laughed dryly. “I’m not looking to kill your damn daughter. I need to remind that thug that he doesn’t own the world.” Zeke looked up, shame heavy in his expression. “You in or not?” I asked, leaning forward with a deadly calm.
He swallowed hard. “I’m in,” he said.
And just like that, I had my play. Because when you can’t beat a man with bullets… you break his heart instead.
