Page 10

After I left the warehouse, I stopped by my office in Midtown.

Priest was the newest of my capos, maybe six years in. He used to run with a crew out of Newark before he fucked the boss’s niece and got excommunicated. Their loss. He kept our soldiers in line and stayed with his ear to the street.

Three years ago, he brought his cousin Lorelei to me. She’d gotten out of a situation with a nigga who should’ve been in the dirt way before she left him. Priest asked me to help get his cousin set up while she got back on her feet, and I needed an assistant anyway.

She exceeded my expectations and knew what Priest was into, so she didn’t question how we moved. I made sure she was paid well for her skills and loyalty. And everyone in my orbit knew that if anything ever touched her, they’d answer to me.

“I was able to move your ten o’clock meeting to eleven,” she said, following me into my office with a cup of coffee ready for me. “And your accountant called about the property tax thing on the Harlem building. I let him know you’d call back before close of business. Oh, and your lawyer wants to go over restructuring today. I pushed lunch back to make some room.”

“What would I do without you?” I asked, taking the coffee.

“Be more uptight than you already are,” she replied before heading back to her desk.

I made the calls and sat through the meeting with my lawyer. It was almost one when I finally came up for air. The legitimate side of my life took up more time than some would expect, but that’s what happened when you moved with intention. My family's dirty money needed somewhere clean to land, and I’d spent the better part of a decade working with my father making sure those things were airtight.

I showered and changed at the office before heading back uptown to Maison, the restaurant I co-owned on Lenox.

Jerome, my business partner and friend, was behind the bar when I walked in, wiping down the counter.

“Who shit in your coffee this morning?”

“Castellano.”

He shook his head as I sat at the bar. “When is he gonna tighten up and stop playing with you?”

“When I cut his ass off.”

He set a glass of bourbon in front of me. Chef Dannie came out from the back with two sous chefs behind her carrying the new specials they were working on—a lamb shank and a braised Bronzino. Both were delicious, as I expected.

“How was Riq’s party?” Jerome asked while I was checking my phone.

“It was straight. Good turnout, nice vibe. Got a nice little ROI on that shit, so no complaints from me. You coming to his birthday party next weekend?”

“Where at?”

“He wanna have it at Premiere, but I’m about to change it to Luxe.”

Belle’s pretty face immediately popped up in my head. I don’t know why, but I wanted to see what would happen on the off chance we crossed paths again.

“Bet.”

My phone rang with an unsaved number.

“Dez?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Fucking Deonte.

He came to me eight months ago. Walked up on me outside of Maison one day, talking about he’d do anything and he wasn’t scared of the work. I was impressed that he had the balls to approach me directly, so I put him on low level shit—sitting on houses, making runs, nothing that required him to be too in the mix.

Three months in, he started fucking up. Marco told me he was two hours late for a delivery because this nigga had stopped to see some girl on the way. A couple of weeks after that, he miscounted a drop, and I had to send Priest to clean it up.

Both times, he got roughed up, but I let it go because he was young and dumb.

“Why are you calling my phone, Deonte?”

“Marco said⁠—”

“What happened?”