Marseille moved like Compton at night. Less polished than Monaco and Paris.More honest.The Delacroix Steakhouse sat on the corner. It was mine now.
Marcel gave it to me.
Renovations were halfway done. Marble floors torn up, gold fixtures being replaced, the bar stripped down to the bones. My team had been in here all week, turning it into something that matched my name.
I stepped through the back entrance, Tommy a step behind me. The workers cleared out once they saw me. Respect. Fear. Same thing in rooms like this.
The private lounge in the back was still intact.
Low lighting.
Dark wood.
Leather chairs.
Untouched.
That’s where I wanted to meet him.
Laurent was already sitting when I walked in.
Of course he was.
Leg crossed, drink in hand.
I didn’t greet him.
Just walked past him, took my time looking around the room like he wasn’t even worth my attention.
I finally sat across from him and poured myself a drink before I spoke.
“Place gonna look different in a few weeks,” I said, glancing around. “Real different.”
Laurent smirked slightly. “You always liked shiny things.”
I took a sip.
“I like ownership.”
That wiped the smirk down a little.
I leaned back in my chair, eyes finally settling on him.
“You know, once Marcel dies…”
I let that sit.
“Your access to his money cuts off.”
Laurent frowned just enough for me to catch it.
I continued like I was just talking business.
“You gon’ have to come to me for money.”
I added, calm as ever:
“Maybe I can get you a cook job in here. You know you were always good at it. But you wanted to be a street nigga like me.”
