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Victor thought he was undermining me by calling my pops. But even Orlando Montague deferred to me and had for the better part of two years, ever since he approached the High Table and told them he was ready to fall back and let me take the lead. He still had the final say on most things, but everything ran through me first.

“I’ll deal with Victor,” I said.

He took another sip of his drink. “Also heard you fucked one of the young boys up.”

“Deonte’s lucky I didn’t kill his ass.”

“You drove to Yonkers to put hands on a twenty-two year old when you could’ve had Marco or Priest handle it.”

“It was a message.”

“To who?” Pops laughed. “Deonte don’t matter. All people know is that the head of the family did some shit that was three levels below him.” He shook his head. “That’s not how your grandfather moved. That’s not how I moved.”

“You put hands on plenty of niggas back in the day.”

“I’m trying to save you from making an unnecessary mistake.”

“I appreciate the concern. But I’ve been running this shit for five years. I know what I’m doing.” I didn’t bother hiding the edge in my voice.

He sighed. “Nobody said you didn’t, son. But you can’t let your temper get the best of you.”

I bit my tongue because if I opened my mouth right now, something was gonna come out that I couldn’t take back. My father loved me. I believed that the way I believed in most things I couldn’t prove—on faith. But love and presence are two different things, and Pops had always been better at one. After my mother died, he put all efforts into the family. Grief consumed whatever part of him that knew how to be soft, and the business was all he had left that didn’t remind him of her. Except me.

“One more thing,” he said, setting his glass down. “I spoke to Luther last week.”

“Pop—” I already knew where this was going.

“He’s done waiting. He said he’s bringing it up at the winter Conclave. You’ve got until then to be married or engaged with a date on the calendar. If it’s not done by then, they’ll start discussing whether the Montague seat needs somebody else in it.”

“We’re a founding family.”

“And? It’s in the bylaws, Cardez.” He shrugged and folded his arms. “Castro’s been grumbling about why a thirty-nine year old man running an operation this size hasn’t settled down. Haynes agrees with him. Luther’s holding them off, but he can only do that for so long.

I ran my tongue along my teeth. “So I got, what—four months?”

“About that. I built you an empire, son. Don’t lose it over your pride.”

“We done?” I asked.

“Stay for dinner. Rosie made those mashed potatoes you like,” he said.

Rosie came out on cue with two plates and kissed my cheek. “You need to come visit more.”

We ate on the porch without saying much. The food was excellent—the short ribs melted in my mouth, with mashed potatoes so smooth and buttery they made me wanna smack somebody.

I helped Rosie clear up after. She gestured to a bag on the kitchen island. “I packed you some food for the week.”

“I know how to cook, Rosie.”

“Don’t sass me when I know you miss my cooking.”

“You’re right. Thank you.” I chuckled and kissed her forehead. Pops had come inside and was in the living room watching TV.

“I’ll holla at you, Pop,” I said.

He gave me a nod from his chair but didn’t get up.

I called Belle on the drive back because I didn’t feel like ruminating on my father’s bullshit for forty minutes.