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I looked at Yomi. “What about you?”

“I’ve been running through whoever would’ve known the schedule at Tremont, the only name coming up is Deonte, but no one’s seen him since you dealt with him last month.”

That got my attention. Would Deonte be stupid enough to help niggas who trying to screw me over?

“Santos said something else,” Marco said, pushing his plate to the side. “A name came up in some chatter his people picked up. Solomon Graves.”

The name didn’t ring a bell for me, but my father’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

I filed his reaction away. “What do we know about him?”

Marco shrugged. “Nothing really. Some old head that got locked up for a nasty bid and got out recently.”

“I’ll look into it,” Priest said.

I nodded. “In the meantime, new codes on everything and rotate the schedules at all the spots. I want eyes on our shit ‘round the clock until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Y’all need to be smart,” Pops said. “Whoever did this was patient, calculated. It’s likely they’re playing a long game.”

Jerome came in the back and cleared the table, topping off my father’s glass of Hennessy.

I waited until the door closed behind him before I looked at my pops.

“You wanna tell me why the name Solomon Graves tripped you up?”

“Me and Solomon go back, way before you were born. He was my first consigliere.” He paused, running his thumb along the rim of his glass. “He took a charge for the family and came home to a lot less than he was promised.”

“What did you promise him?”

“Just let me know what Priest finds out.”

“Pop.”

“Cardez.”

I sighed. “Yeah, aight. I got you.”

“Good.” He rolled his neck. “Now. Have you thought about what we talked about?”

I groaned. “This marriage shit again?”

“The deadline hasn’t changed because you’re busy, Cardez.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. We’d been having some version of this conversation every few weeks since he told me about the Conclave. He’d bring it up, I’d push back, he’d give some lecture about legacy, and I’d leave pissed off. The fact that he was bringing it up right after Solomon’s name told me he was thinking about the future of the family on more than one front.

“I’m not about to marry some random woman just because a group of old niggas say I have to.”

“Nobody said it had to be random.” He took another sip. “Victor Castellano’s youngest daughter, Natalia—she just passed the bar, pretty girl. She understands what comes with this life.”

I balled up my face. “First of all, she’s what? Twenty-five? That’s too fucking young and I’m not marrying no white woman. Secondly, after Victor tried to screw me over with the missing shipment? I’m done with his ass. I’m not trying to be tied to him in marriage. Fuck that.”

“Victor’s made some mistakes recently, but a union between us puts an end to the tension and gives both families something to protect.”

I held his gaze. “No. I’m not about to be a political pawn.”

“I’m trying to make sure what your grandfather and I built doesn’t crumble because you’re too stubborn to see the bigger picture.” His brows knitted together. “But fine. If not Victor’s daughter⁠—”

“It’s not because it’s his daughter, Pop. I’m done with Victor. Period.”