Ezekiel “Zeke” Montgomery
Saturday | 4:35pm
My home wasusually polished like a damn museum, and now it was wrecked. White roses ripped from their arches, gold chairs scattered like a bar fight had broken out, champagne dripping off thousand-dollar linens.
This was supposed to be my daughter’s wedding. It was more than a celebration. It was a flawless political union that would cement my family's step into another tier of power. Now it looked like a crime scene, and all our careful plans felt shattered.
I stood in the middle of it, fists clenched at my sides, jaw tight, eyes locked on the space where Princess had been standing earlier. One minute she was there, looking like the obedient littlebride I told her to be, and the next she was gone. Just… snatched in front of everyone.
Don paced as if he were about to lose his mind. Shoes scuffed the stone. Sweat poured down his face. He looked less like Havencrest’s city councilman and more like a child whose toy was stolen. “This is a fucking disaster!” he snapped, spinning toward me. “Who thefuckwould do this?! And who the hell was in charge of security, Zeke?”
I took a slow, deep breath. My brand was control, power, poise, and presence. I wasn’t about to lose it now. “Go inside, Evie,” I said to my wife, not looking at her.
She stood to the side, every inch of her composed except for her face, which trembled, threatening to shatter. “Someone kidnapped my baby,” she whispered, grief catching in her throat. “Zeke…”
“Isaidgo inside.” She hesitated, then turned and walked away, gritting her teeth. Her heels clicked all the way up the steps. I didn’t turn to watch. I didn’t have time to coddle anybody. I looked back at Don, who was still breathing hard. “This was planned,” I said flatly.
“No shit,” he snapped. “My wedding got blown up in front of the press, donors, and half the damn city. Headlines are already flying!”
I didn’t give a fuck about headlines. I cared about the message. This wasn’t about public embarrassment, cameras, or chaos. This was about leverage and collateral. Only one man in this city had the nerve and resources to pull it off. Nyles “Nyce” Richards.
He was the type of ruthless nigga people whispered about in private. People crossed the street to avoid him in public. He was quietly dangerous, lethal, running half the city without a badge or a ballot. No social media. His reputation spoke for him. And I owed this muthafucka.
I had gone to him back when I needed money hidden from the state or the church. It was something personal and desperate I couldn’t let Evelyn or Princess find out about. I needed the cash to fix things fast, but then shit started to unravel.
One loan became two, and one promise became five. There were missed deadlines and more lies. I’d backed myself into a deep corner, and Nyce wasn’t the kind of man you dodged. I knew it was stupid, dangerous, but I did it anyway. And now he’d come to collect.
I stood rooted, blood pounding in my ears, fury and shame tangling inside me. Don’s gaze stabbed into me, too sharp to ignore. “You know something,” he said. I kept silent, tongue thick with dread. “Zeke,” he stepped in, voice cutting, “tell me who took my bride.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “She’s with a dangerous man, Don.”
“Who?”
I didn’t want to say it out loud, but I did. “Nyce.”
He blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. “Nyce?Are you serious?Thatmuthafucka? The same one you said was handledmonthsago?”
I didn’t respond. I turned and walked back into the house. I needed a drink before I said something that would make this worse. Don followed me into my office, still running his mouth. I went to the decanter, poured a glass of Hennessy, downed it, then poured another. I handed him one, too.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, pacing with the glass in hand. “Wait… you still owe him money, don’t you?” I didn’t confirm or deny it. I just took another drink. Don’s laugh came out dry and bitter. “You let me walk into this blind. Nyce breathing down your neck, and you still thought a grand ol’ wedding atyour homewas a good idea?”
“He would have pulled this off anywhere.”
“Un-fucking-believable!”
“Control yourself,” I said.
He stepped closer. “My fiancé just got snatched at our wedding, Zeke. In front of city officials. In front of the media. You’re telling me to stay calm? This is a fucking election year!”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it?” He laughed in disbelief. “I’m making a phone call.”
“No, you’re not.”
“The hell I’m not.”
I stepped in close. “Think. If he hears a whisper about police, she’s dead. You know that. He won’t play games.” Don stopped cold. He knew I wasn’t bluffing. “If Nyce feels pressure,if he thinks we’re trying to cross him, he’ll send her back in a box,” I said. “We do thismyway. Quietly.”
