Page 175

“I mean it.” Regina squeezed both her hands. “I’ve survived worse than a scary night, little girl. Go.”

Belle looked at me. “Jody. Siani.”

“Right here.” Jody appeared behind us with Marco’s arm around her shoulders. “We’re good, Belle.”

“Siani’s with Tariq,” Marco added. They went out the service entrance. He’s taking her to Dr. Monroe to get checked out.”

Belle’s shoulders dropped as some of the panic drained out of her.

“Belle.” Lorelei’s voice cut through, gentle but firm. She glanced toward the front of the building. “Trust me, I’ve got this. Go now.”

I took Belle’s hand. “Come on.”

We moved fast through the back of the building, past the food and cake that we wouldn’t get to eat. Priest was at the back door, waving us through.

“Yomi has the truck,” he said.

Yomi had the Escalade idling in the dark alley behind the building. We hopped in, and he pulled off before the door was fully closed, merging into traffic as the police cars were pulling up to the building.

When we were sure we weren’t being followed and on the expressway, Belle busted out laughing.

I stared at her. This had to be shock, because wasn’t shit funny right now.

Tears streamed down her face. “Our wedding really got shot the fuck up,” she snorted. “And your dad really shot a nigga in the head.”

Yomi glanced back at her in the rearview mirror.

“She good?” He asked me like Belle wasn’t sitting right there.

“No. I’m not good.” Belle wiped her eyes. “I feel like I got hazed at my own wedding. Is this what comes with being a crime boss’ wife?”

“Uhh… welcome to the family?” I said.

“Lorelei said the same shit to me when I first met her.” She shook her head. “You owe me a do over.”

I pulled her in closer, careful of my arm. “You know I got you, Princess.”

“After the baby though.”

“Okay.”

I looked ahead as Yomi drove.

There was still the issue with Maxwell Haynes. That man had been playing us the whole time. He wasn’t about to get away with it.

I walked up the steps of my father’s brownstone. The papers I was carrying suddenly felt like lead in my hands.

I’d spent the last few days calling in favors. I hit up the coroner and gave a lab tech five bands to get me the results in forty-eight hours. They were delivered by courier. I sat in my home office staring at the envelope on my desk for thirty minutes before opening it.

Lorelei had spent the same amount of time on the phone. Every news outlet in the city wanted a piece of the story about the shot-up wedding that Montague Holdings had a stake in. There were five dead, including an ex-con that just came home after serving twenty years upstate. She spun it into a story about a botched robbery, and with several of NYC’s wealthiest Black families in that room, it was plausible enough to stick. She hadn’t slept in three days. I made sure to bless her with a hefty bonus that made up for it.

I let myself in with my key and found Pops in the living room.

“You gotta stop popping up without calling,” he said.

I didn’t say anything and handed him the envelope. I sat on the edge of the couch as he looked it over. He picked up his reading glasses and read over the first page, then the second. He sighed, took his glasses off, and set the papers down on the coffee table.

“I asked you straight up if there was any chance that Solomon was my father. You looked me dead in my face and lied to me. You told me you checked for yourself and there was no room for doubt that I was your biological son,” I said.