The door opened, and his assistant stepped inside with a smile.
“Mr. Knight, you have a visitor.” She said.
Crown frowned, glancing back over at his phone. He had no missed calls or texts from Kerri letting him know she was stopping by. It wasn’t like anyone else came to see him at workbesides her, and his schedule was clear at the moment, allowing him to work without interruptions.
As if Shanise could read his mind, she added,
“It’s a gentleman. He says his name is Frazier, and he’s looking to have a mechanic shop built soon. He got a referral from one of his good friends and has heard great things about you. I can tell him he must schedule an appointment, but I thought I should let you know first in case you could fit him in.”
“Yeah, you know what?” Crown glanced down at his watch. “Good call, Sha. I got enough time to speak with him before my meeting. Tell him to come on back.”
“Okay, will do.” She nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her.
Five seconds later, the door reopened, and in walked a tall, slim man. Crown looked up, his professional smile fading as Nico, the president of the Ravens, strolled in with confidence. His face showed no concern that he had just received the same phone call from the Council about the upcoming meeting. He was dressed in a crisp white button-up and jeans that mirrored Crown’s own vibe, ensuring he wouldn’t raise any red flags with security upon entering the building. His ice-blue eyes took in everything. The furniture, the Dell Precision Workstation, blueprints scattered across the desk… and Crown himself. A wicked grin spread across his face as he approached the desk.
“Imagine my surprise when I hear Crown’s got a new lady named Nivéa who owns a t-shirt shop.”
Crown’s jaw tightened at the mention of Nivéa, but he kept himself composed.
“I decide to find her business page, thinking, hell, maybe I need to pull up on her and have some shirts made. But then I get an even bigger surprise. Right there in the likes of her last few photos is Blackwell Architecture. And I’m thinking to myself…damn, isn’t that Crown’s grandmother’s maiden name?The same woman who once dated my papa? So, I click on the page. No photo of who the owner is, but there’s a link that leads me to a bio on the website. Turns out my feeling was right. Shit is crazy.” He winked, his southern accent slipping through.
Nico was a mix of Caucasian and African American, and that blend often blurred perceptions. At first glance, you might think he was just a white guy because of his skin complexion and eye color, but once he spoke, paired with the texture of his hair when grown out, it became clear he was of mixed race.
In one swift motion, Crown’s hand dipped beneath the desk. The gun came up clean and precise, aimed dead center at Nico’s head because even when a nigga caught him off guard…they’d never catch him slippin’.
“Get the fuck out of my shit while you still can, muthafucka.” He warned calmly, standing to his feet.
Nico shook his head. “Nah, you wouldn’t want to do that. Not with your assistant right outside that door. I see your cleaning crew here, too. Wouldn’t want them seeing the real you, right? Or maybe this is the real you. Maybe you been living a lie, pretending to be somethin’ you ain’t.”
Crown held back, though everything in him urged him to pull the trigger. He’d already calculated the witnesses he’d have to deal with, and unfortunately, Nico was right. Too many bodies would be needed to cover it up. The janitorial crew coming up missing while scheduled to clean his building would bring cops swarming in his shit for questioning. And his assistant? No way. Crown wouldn’t do that to Shanise even if it were just her present alone. She was a good woman, married with twin toddlers. Not to mention, he had a security team that could be questioned as well if something went down.
Nico stepped closer, the faint scar near his jaw visible, the one Crown had given him back in high school. The calm in his eyes was certainty, making the moment taunting, as if he wassaying,‘I see you… the real you.’He leaned in until the cold metal of Crown’s gun rested against his forehead as his voice dropped.
“Pull it. Let’s see if you that nigga you claim to be.”
Crown stared at him, unbothered. He knew exactly who he was. A nigga couldn’t get under his skin. Couldn’t move him. He moved when he wanted to, and when it was time to. Pressure didn’t shake him. It polished him. He’d been tested countless times. Blood, betrayal, bullets, and none of it made him flinch. Confidence wasn’t something he performed. It was stitched into him, embedded in his DNA. Earned. Proven.
Men like Nico talked to feel powerful.
Crown didn’t have to talk; it showed in his actions.
Both sides had lost members in this war. But every time Crown struck, he didn’t just take bodies, he took pieces of their foundation. Bit by bit. And if Nico had any real foresight, he would’ve seen the pattern and moved accordingly.
When Nico realized that didn’t shake him, he eased back and tried again.
“You know, my grandfather saved every penny to build that fuckin’ clubhouse. You took something from me I held dear, and make no mistake, I’mma make you feel it. Guess Mo wasn’t enough.”
Crown smirked; his gun still aimed at the center of Nico’s forehead.
“Fuck yo’ grandfather, and fuck you too, bitch ass nigga. Whatever you decide to do, you better make sho you do it right and don’t miss, ‘cause I promise you, I won’t.”
Chapter Nine
Crown leaned against the balcony rail, the bass thumping through the clubhouse’s concrete walls. A Future track blasted in the background as the Knights moved around the lot, engines revving and bikes lining up for a race. Normally, the vibe helped him unwind after a long day, but with everything weighing on his mind, he couldn’t relax.
“Why didn’t you tell me, bro? What the fuck? I thought we told each other everything, nigga.” Smoky said, staring at Crown’s side profile.
Crown had just told him and Danger what went down at his firm. While Danger already knew about the business, Smoky hadn’t, and he was struggling to understand why Crown had kept his architecture firm a secret. They’d been tight for years. Smoky knew Crown had a knack for drawing, sketching shit when his hand wasn’t wrapped around a gun or gripping a throttle. But he never imagined that passion ran this deep and that he would channel it into something real.
