Page 139 of Riot

We were inches from each other now. Old tension rising. I loved Rollo, but sometimes he forgot who was running shit now. I was tired. Tired of being disrespected. Tired of losing.

Creed stepped between us before it could turn into something stupid. “Yo, chill,” he said, holding up both hands. “We all want the same thing. Take down Boaz. Clean up this mess. Ain’t no point in turning on each other.”

I exhaled through my nose, stepped back, ran a hand over my face.

Creed looked at me. “Listen, I’m sorry about the vineyard. You did a great job with that. Where are we now with it?”

I paced a few feet away, fingers tightening around the back of a chair. “Abra’s working on locking down a PR firm. Top-tier. Someone who can spin this winery mess into something clean. Get control of the narrative before we lose all business.”

Creed nodded. “That’s good.”

“It’s not enough,” I said, jaw clenching. “That shooting? That was surgical. Coordinated. And the motherfuckers who hit us…Boaz either paid them or made them. I know it.”

Creed crossed his arms. “We gon handle him.”

“I want Boaz gone,” I said flatly. “I want him gutted. I want to watch the light leave his eyes while he realizes a nigga like me came for him.”

Creed didn’t blink. Just nodded slowly.

“Aight. Let’s make it happen,” he replied.

“It was bad enough that he kidnapped my girl and held her all that time. But fuckin’ with my legacy is taking it too far.”

“You’re doing a good job,” he said.

I snorted. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “You’ve stepped up. This vineyard? The growth? The plans you had for expansion and brand deals? That shit is real. You’ve built something. And it’s not over just because a few cameras caught a few bodies. We’ve cleaned up worse.”

I wanted to believe him. I did.

But the truth was, I didn’t feel like the man I wanted to be. I didn’t feel like some polished boss about to grace the cover ofForbes. I felt like a damn storm in a luxurious suit. One who’d lost his woman. One who’d let blood stain the biggest business move of his life. One who was still tangled up in war and revenge, no matter how many wine labels he printed.

I looked down at my hands.

There was always blood on them. Even when I tried to go clean.

“How am I supposed to be taken seriously when I can’t outrun the darkness?” I asked, not even meaning to say it out loud.

Creed gave me a long look. “You don’t outrun it,” he said. “You own it.”

I turned to him.

“You turn that darkness into fuel. You make it work for you. You don’t let it swallow you whole. That’s what Dad never got. He let the dark make him a monster. But we? We survive it. We learn to walk with it and still stand in the light.”

I didn’t answer. Just stared past him at the window.

The city was alive out there. Moving. Buzzing. Oblivious.

And I was in here, planning another kill. Trying to save an empire and chase a ghost in the same breath.

Allure was gone.

The winery was bleeding.

My mother was dying.

And still I had to keep going.

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