Page 143 of Riot

My mother’s face crumpled. “I was trying to protect you.”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “From the truth? Or from hating him? Or from hatingyou?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to say the man you loved—the man you cried over—put you in that hell.”

“Say it now,” I demanded. “Say it out loud.”

She looked at me, trembling. “He sold you. To cover a debt.”

I nodded slowly. The floor tilted beneath me.

“Thank you,” I said, voice cold.

And then I turned and walked out.

My aunt called after me, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want their grief or their guilt. I didn’t want to hear any more lies. I wanted truth.

I needed to get out of that house before I tore it apart.

I stepped into the sunlit street, the morning sharp against my skin, and just stood there for a second, breathing in the air like it could cleanse me.

He sold me.

All this time I carried my father in a sacred place. My origin story. My blood.

But he was just a coward with a gambling problem and a price tag on his daughter’s life. And my family was complicit.

And Riot?

Riot ended that man.

I should’ve hated him for it.

But now?

I felt clean. Lighter.

Because maybe I hadn’t lost a father.

Maybe I’d been freed from a lie.

And for that... I owed Riot everything.

Even an apology.

Chapter 49

RIOT

The air was thick.

Late spring in Queens always hit like a wet towel to the face—sticky, slow, hard to breathe in. The humidity clung to my skin like a warning, heavy and sour like the city knew something ugly was about to happen.

I didn’t break a sweat.

Not when I stepped out the van.

Not when the crew fanned out behind me.

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