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Orlando scoffed. “And what is it that you do, Belle?”

“I work at a lounge on the Lower East Side.”

The way his face twisted, you would’ve thought I told him that I shook ass for a living.

“Doing what exactly?”

“I run the floor.”

“Sounds demanding.” His tone was laced with sarcasm.

I knew what this was. Orlando wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he thought I was beneath his son.

“I’m good at what I do,” I said.

“Mmhm. I bet.” He turned to Cardez, seemingly deciding that I wasn’t worth his time anymore. “Have you heard back from Priest?”

Cardez shook his head. “You’re being a dick right now.”

“Excuse me?” Orlando said.

“You’re being condescending and you know it. Belle’s been nothing but respectful since she sat down and you can’t do the same. You taught me better than that, Pop.”

“Well,” the woman with the bob said under her breath.

Tariq was looking up at the chandelier like he wanted God to take him right then and there. The older couple suddenly got real interested in their salads.

Orlando’s jaw tightened as he stared at Cardez. This wasn’t a pissing contest—it was a son reminding his father he was a grown ass man, and he wasn’t above checking him, even in public.

“My apologies, Belle,” Orlando said, turning to me.

The words were right, but the energy wasn’t.

I nodded.

“Where’d y’all meet?” he asked.

“Tariq’s day party,” I said.

Orlando glanced at his nephew. “So this is your doing?” He shook his head and picked up his glass. “Lord,” he muttered before taking a sip.

1 Play Last Night by Sebastian Mikael, Wale

17 CARDEZ MONTAGUE

Belle moved through the room like schmoozing was her second nature. She charmed my Aunt Gloria, who’d also taken a liking to Siani. The three of them were chatting it up like they were old friends. The only person she hadn’t cracked was my Pops, but I wasn’t expecting miracles.

A DJ set up after dinner, replacing the band. Siani and Belle were on the dance floor rapping the Dipset Anthem bar for bar like they weren’t in formal wear.

It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

Pops sat in the chair next to me and handed me a glass of bourbon. He followed my gaze to the dance floor.

“You not dancing with your lady?” he asked.

“She’s not my lady.”

“Not officially.” He chuckled softly. “But I know that look, son. If any nigga stepped to her tonight, you’d pull out that gun tucked in your waist.”