I understood what he was saying without him having to spell it out. But he was going to anyway. He always did.
“So, basically,” I said, my voice hollow, “any kids I have—my own children—you’re gonna look at them like they ain’t shit. Like they’re not good enough. Like they’re just… less.”
Winston didn’t hesitate.
“Basically.”
One word.
That’s all it took.
The realization crashed through me—not new but confirmed. Solidified. Made permanent in a way I couldn’t argue with or negotiate around. My father had just told me, without any pretense or softening, that he would never see my children as worthy. That they would always be second. That I would always be second.
That I had always been second.
The anger came fast and hot, burning through the shock. But underneath it was something worse—a bone-deep devastation that made it hard to breathe.
I stood up.
“Go to hell,” I said quietly.
Winston didn’t react. Didn’t try to stop me. Just sat there with his bourbon, watching me with the same cold calculation he’d used to dismantle my entire future.
I turned and walked out of the study.
My hands were shaking as I grabbed my keys from the foyer table. I didn’t look back. Didn’t say goodbye to my mother or acknowledge the staff who watched me leave with barely concealed curiosity.
I just walked out into the New Orleans heat and got in my car.
And drove.
I sat in my car for twenty minutes before I called him.
Not because I was planning what to say—I’d already done that. I was planning how to say it. How to sound casual. How to sound like I wasn’t fishing for information that wasn’t mine to have.
The thing about Amai was that he could hear a lie in your breathing. He could clock deception in the space between words. So, I had to be careful. Had to sound like I actually gave a fuck about his day instead of whether he was home.
I dialed.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Yo,” he said. His voice was different—lighter, the way it got when he was at the jewelry shop. The version of Amai that the world got to see. Not the version that stabbed hands to tables and spilled blood without thinking twice.
“Aye, what’s good?” I kept my tone easy. Brotherly. “You busy?”
“At the shop. Why?”
“Nah, just checking on you. Haven’t heard from you in a minute.”
Silence. The kind that meant he was already suspicious.
“Kaisen.”
“What?”
“What do you want?”
I forced a laugh. “Man, I can’t just call my brother?”
