Standing in the street.
Covered in Fanta.
Looking at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
And I knew—deep in the part of me I didn’t let anyone see—that this was already messy.
It had been messy from the moment she walked into my office and asked me if I wanted a child or just an heir.
It had been messy from the moment I chose her.
And it was only going to get messier.
But tomorrow, I’d pretend it wasn’t.
Tomorrow, I’d be the man my mother wanted me to be.
Tonight, I’d let myself think about Truth.
Just for tonight.
The next evening came faster than I wanted.
Priest called at noon with an update on the docks—Rahsaan’s people had finally backed off. No static. No pushback. They’d gotten the message.
Good.
I had enough to deal with without territorial bullshit bleeding into my week.
Vicki called twenty minutes later, still fussing about the robbery attempt at the jewelry shop.
“You could’ve been killed, Amai,” she said, her voice sharp with worry. “Two men with guns, and you didn’t even call the police!”
“Vicki.”
“Don’tVickime. I’ve worked for you for six years, and you never told me?—”
“Because it’s handled,” I said, cutting her off. “It’s done. Move on.”
Silence.
Then, “You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
She hung up.
I set the phone down and stared at my closet.
Dinner at my parents’ house.
I should’ve canceled.
Should’ve told Mama I had business to handle, territory to secure, anything that would get me out of sitting at that table pretending everything was fine.
But I didn’t.
Because Odette Landry didn’t ask for much.
