“I got more business to handle first,” I said, pocketing the device. “I gotta slide to Kentucky and then Michigan to check out this dispensary.”
But even as I said it, I knew the real business I needed to handle wasn't in any of those locations. It was back in Coupeville, in a penthouse where Coco had made herself an office that I knew was dope while I was out here playing war games with niggas who had half a brain cell.
“And you making me go to the crib? Alicyn can fucking wait a few more days. She knows what the fuck is up.”
“Whatever, nigga. Ain’t my wife to worry about.”
I left Taiwan to deal with his own shit. I’d decided I didn’t want that for me—neglecting my woman for the streets, making her second to business that other niggas could handle. The minute I started to neglect my wife, fake or not, bullshit would follow. I’d seen it too many times, watched good men lose goodwomen because they thought the game was more important than what they had at home.
I’d be home soon to get my shit right. And when I got there, I was going to stop running from whatever this thing was between us. The wedding ceremony I was planning wasn’t just about romance—it was about making a statement. She wasn’t just my wife on paper anymore. She was my partner, my choice, my priority. And anyone who had a problem with that could take it up with me directly.
The next day…
I pulled up to my uncle’s estate in Kentucky and spotted my pops’ car in the driveway. Taiwan had taken his ass home to his new wife after twenty missed calls. It was just me and Saint, my driver, and I told him to stay with the car before I got out.
The housekeeper opened the door before I knocked. “Morning, Mr. Grimson. They’re in the study.”
I nodded and walked past her. I’d been inside this house a hundred times, holidays, sit-downs, but today was different, and everybody in the house was going to feel that before I left. I wasn’t here to talk. I was here to establish something. Call it a conversation if that made it easier to swallow. I didn’t care what a nigga called it.
I could already hear them in the back sitting room, my father’s voice smooth, Tommy’s carrying that bourbon-and-smoke weight that used to register as authority when I was young. But now that shit had my Spidey senses tingling. I didn’t trust this fool as far as I could throw him.
I stood in the doorway for a second before either of them noticed me, just watching. Tommy leaned back in his chair like a man with nothing on his conscience, glass in hand, telling my father something that had him nodding slowly. Just seeing him irritated me.
The nodding stopped when Pops saw me.
“Son.” He straightened.
“Pops.”
Tommy turned, and that big smile came out.The man had been running it on people his whole life. He pushed up from the chair like he was about to embrace me, but I stopped him. I wasn’t here for any of that.
“Lesley. Come on in. Sit down, drink with your uncle.”
I walked in and stayed standing. And refused the drink he was already pouring. I didn’t drink at nine in the morning. I looked at him until the smile started doing extra work to hold itself in place.
This nigga a snake, I thought.
“St. Louis is handled,” I said. “Raylin’s gone, his wife and a few of his men too. Bones is next.” I paused and looked at Tommy. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Tommy set the glass down and spread his hands open. “Look, the Belle View meeting got heated. You know how family gets. Everybody says things.”
“Everybody didn’t say anything,” I told him. “You did.”
“Nephew, I was looking out for you. That’s all that was.” I looked at him in disbelief, nigga was acting like I had read theroom wrong. I couldn’t stand when a muthafucka pissed down my back and tried to tell me it was raining.
“You’re new to the seat. You brought in a woman none of us know, under circumstances that put us all at risk. Somebody had to say it.”
“Tommy nigga it’s more than a seat. Put some respect on my position. I ain’t sat since I was a jit. I run shit, not you. So speaking on anything I do will always be a problem. I need that to be clear.”
He opened his mouth, and I watched as irritation flashed across his face— before the reasonable expression came back. “I said what needed to be said. A woman who walks into that basement is a liability until she proves otherwise. That’s not disrespect, that’s thirty years of knowing how this works.”
Thirty years. There it was.
“You ever ask yourself why you’ve always been the next nigga’s lackey? And you’ve been running your mouth, it seems. Loose ass lips.”
The room went still. My father didn’t move, didn’t speak, but I felt him paying close attention.
Tommy’s jaw tightened. Just barely. “That’s not what this is about.”
