Inside, it smelled like cigars, leather, and old money.
Marcel sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his cane lying beside him, in a sharp midnight blue suit. His eyes burned the same way they always had, like he could see the sins still wet on my hands.
Laurent, my lame ass cousin, sat in the corner, slim-cut suit, smug face. Smirking like a little bitch but knowing better than to look me directly in the eye.
The meeting wasn’t about contracts or shipments. I knew before a word left his mouth.
Marcel spoke in French, low and deliberate. “Tu as grandi en un homme impressionnant, Ares. You built the label. You made Forbes. You are a Black man carrying the Delacroix name through a racist world. I commend it all.”
His gaze sharpened. “But even kings have flaws. And flaws that remain uncorrected destroy empires.”
I leaned back, Calm. Unbothered. “What flaw are we talking about?”
His lips tightened. “The women.”
I almost laughed. “It’s in my blood, Grand père. You said it yourself once. French men always had mistresses.”
“Pas toi,” he snapped, cane striking the floor. “Not like this. You are too sloppy. Too visible. A king doesn’t have mistresses. A king has a wife. And if he is strong, he doesn’t need mistresses at all.”
My smirk didn’t falter. “That sounds like a sermon, not strategy. Where is this coming from anyway?”
“It is strategy, and don’t worry about where this is coming from. Just know, they are tainting your name online from what I have been hearing. They have no ties to anything; they don’t bring value or strength to this family.”
I smirked. “So this is about the internet? You nor I don’t even be on there. The internet isn’t real anyway.”
His eyes cut colder. “Cut the shit and listen without talking back to me. I never cheated your grandmother, Ares. That weakness came from your father’s side. And it cursed you. If you want to keep our name, you will break that curse.”
The room went silent. Even Laurent stopped smirking for a second.
Marcel leaned forward. “You will have a wife who serves you and the Delacroix name. A woman from the Laveau family. They want to work a deal with us, worth billions of generational wealth, and it can only work through an arranged marriage. I will arrange the meeting for you and your future wife.”
“What?! I told you years ago I’m not into arranged marriage.” I frowned.
“I don’t care what you are into. I will arrange everything, since you don’t know how to handle matters like a man in power. Make the world believe you are untouchable. Or I take the Delacroix name back. I erase you from my will. And I give everything to Laurent, including a wife that will serve him purpose.”
Laurent smirked again, slow and poisonous.
“Va te faire foutre, Laurent.”Fuck Laurent.
Laurent finally glared at me, but still didn’t challenge me.
Nobody in the room missed it. Our beef wasn’t a secret either. Laurent thought he could compete with me because I was a Black boy from Compton, but I had been proving him wrong for years.
Marcel slammed his cane down again. “Test me if you want, Ares. I will snatch it all. Eight months; a wedding happens.”
I stood, cool and deliberate, buttoning my suit jacket. “Thentest me.”
I turned and walked out, the silence behind me louder than gunfire.
Outside, my momma was waiting, wrapped in her black shawl. She grabbed my arm before I could step into the car.
“Listen to him, Ares,” she hissed. “The Delacroix name is worth more than money. You can’t spit on it because of your pride. You know your Nanno is sick and that eight months is when he will die. You know he isn’t the type to just say it, but he is dying, son. You get everything, don’t let Laurent take that from you.”
I kissed her cheek. “I hear you, Maman. But hearing and listening ain’t the same thing. I’m not marrying some random bitch.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be foolish. Remember how I taught you to play the game.”
I stepped into the Rolls-Royce, closing the door with a calm finality. The driver looked at me in the mirror, waiting.
