“I need you to do something for me,” I said, gripping his hand tighter. “Kasim. When he comes back. I need you to make sure he doesn’t touch Quest.”
Rashid studied me. “You want me to protect him.”
“He’s YOUR son, Rashid. Your blood.”
“Fine but Prime is done.”
I hesitated. “Prime… Prime made his choices.”
“He touched my daughter.”
“I know.” The words tasted like ash. “But Quest and Justice—they never did anything. Justice never hurt nobody. And Quest…” I swallowed hard. “Quest is yours. Please, Rashid. Please protect him.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he squeezed my hand with more strength than I thought he had left.
“I’ll make sure Kasim knows. Quest and Justice are not to be touched.” His grip loosened, exhaustion winning. “That’s all I can do, Viv. I’m dying. I can’t control what happens after I’m gone.”
“Thank you.” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” His voice was fading now. “Just… tell him. Someday. When the time is right. Tell my son who his real father was.”
I sat there holding his hand, tears streaming down my face, the weight of four decades of lies finally spoken out loud.
Quest was Rashid’s son.
My eldest. My pride. The one who’d built the Banks empire into what it was today.
He had no idea that the blood in his veins wasn’t Alexander’s.
No idea that his real father was dying in this bed.
No idea that everything he thought he knew about himself was a lie.
And now Rashid knew too. Would die knowing he had a son he’d never really known. A son who’d called another man “father.” A son who’d built an empire thinking he was continuing Alexander’s legacy when really, he’d been continuing Rashid’s.
The cruelest part? They were so alike. The strategy. The control. The way Quest commanded a room without raising his voice.
I’d seen Rashid in him every day of his life.
And I’d never said a word.
17
ZAINAB
It felt like my heart was trying to break out of my chest.
My nerves were so rattled as I sat in the courtroom next to Camille. I was dressed in a burgundy knee-length dress with a white collared shirt underneath. In my ears were a pair of ruby studs. Camille said the color softened me, but also made me look like a humble woman.
I just felt so good not being in that orange shit I was forced to wear behind bars. As we sat and waited for the judge to appear in court, my throat tightened and my baby kicked. Or punched. Maybe both.
Behind us sat Prime, Yusef, and Quest—who had flown in for moral support. I’d glanced back at them when I first walked in. Prime’s jaw was tight, his ocean eyes locked on me like he could will a good outcome into existence. Yusef sat next to him, looking older than thirteen in his button-down shirt, trying so hard to be brave. And Quest—steady, calm Quest—gave me a small nod that saidwe got you.
But did they? Did anyone really have me right now?
Please, God. Please let me go home. I’ll do anything. Be anything. Just let me go home to my family.
The bailiff’s voice cut through the quiet. “All rise. The Honorable Judge Patricia Whitmore presiding.”
