I had Truth. I had the baby growing inside her. I had something that mattered more than territory or power or the empire I’d spent years building. And Priest was right—that made me vulnerable in ways I’d never been before.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, my voice low, my eyes still on the city. “Walk away? Pretend she doesn’t exist? Let her go through this alone because it’s safer for my reputation?”
“No.” Priest’s voice was firm. “I want you to be smart about it. I want you to move her somewhere secure. Somewhere Rahsaan can’t find her. I want you to stop making yourself visible in the Seventh Ward every other day. And I want you to let me handle the Rahsaan situation before it becomes a crisis.”
I turned to face him. “Handle it how?”
“The way we always handle threats.” Priest’s expression didn’t change. “Quietly. Permanently. Before he has a chance to move on her.”
The offer hung in the air between us. It was the logical move. The strategic move. The kind of decision I would have made without hesitation months ago. Eliminate the threat before it becomes a problem. Protect what was mine by destroying anyone who might take it.
But something in me resisted. Not because I had any moral objection to killing Rahsaan—I didn’t. But because moving Truth, locking her down, taking away her autonomy to keep her safe felt like the kind of control that would break whatever fragile trust we’d built. She’d signed a contract, not a prison sentence. And the moment I started treating her like property instead of a person, I’d lose her in ways that had nothing to do with Rahsaan.
“Not yet,” I said finally.
Priest’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Not yet?”
“I need time to figure this out. To talk to her. To make sure she understands what’s at stake without scaring her into running.” I moved back to my chair and sat down, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to me. “Give me a week. Keep eyes on Rahsaan. Track his movements. But don’t move on him yet.”
“A week,” Priest repeated, his tone skeptical. “And what happens in a week?”
“In a week, I’ll have a plan.” I met his eyes. “One that keeps her safe without making her feel like a prisoner. One that reminds Rahsaan why he should have stayed in his lane. And one that doesn’t compromise what I’m building with her.”
Priest studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “All right. One week. But Amai?” He stood up, his expression serious. “If Rahsaan makes a move before then, I’m not waiting for your permission. I’m putting him down. Because I’d rather deal with your anger than your grief.”
I didn’t argue. Because he was right. And because the thought of losing Truth—of something happening to her or the baby because I’d been too proud or too stubborn to act—was worse than any threat Rahsaan could pose.
“Understood,” I said.
Priest nodded once, then headed for the door. He paused in the doorway, his hand on the frame, and looked back at me. “She must be something special,” he said quietly. “For you to risk everything like this.”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The truth was written all over my face, in every decision I’d made since the moment Truth Renois walked into my office and asked the questions nobody else had the courage to ask.
Priest left without another word.
I sat alone in the dark, the city lights blurring through the window, my mind already working through scenarios andcontingencies and the hundred different ways this could go wrong.
One week.
I had one week to figure out how to keep Truth safe without losing her in the process.
One week to prove that loving someone didn’t make you weak—it made you willing to burn the world down to protect them.
And if Rahsaan wanted to test that theory, I’d be more than happy to show him exactly what happened when you threatened what belonged to Amai Landry.
Alexis showed up at my house three days later without calling first.
I’d been avoiding her. Not answering texts, letting calls go to voicemail, making excuses when she did manage to reach me. I knew what was coming. Had known since the moment I’d sat on the phone with Truth at 2:00 AM and realized I’d already made my choice.
But knowing didn’t make it easier.
I opened the door and found her standing there in a cream-colored dress that was probably meant to distract me, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her expression somewhere between hurt and determined.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I stepped aside and let her in.
The house was quiet. Syx was upstairs—I’d heard him moving around earlier, probably playing video games or scrolling through his phone. I’d told him I needed the house to myself tonight, but clearly, he’d decided that didn’t apply to him.
