Page 168 of Riot

“What the fuck. I ain’t cried since the doctor slapped my ass. In fact, Mama used to tell the story that he had to hit me more than once to get me holler.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“It better be,” he replied.

“I’m so sorry about it all. But it’s over. We can put the pieces back together now.”

“This shit ain’t over. I gotta kill Mimi and that baby.”

“What?” I asked. I was shocked that he would say something like that. Would he really do that?

He got to his feet, pacing now, the floor groaning beneath his boots. “If I don’t handle it now, he’ll grow up and try to get revenge. Mimi ain’t gon stop. When I killed Malia, Mimi was only about 8 or 9 years old. She’s harbored this hatred for this long. Her son will too. If I kill him now… I stop the cycle.”

“No,” I said. “Not this time. We don’t take a child’s life to punish their parents. He can be redeemed.”

His lips parted to protest, but I cut him off.

“We can raise him. Together. And we can teach him differently.”

His brows knitted. “You don’t understand?—”

“I do,” I said, louder now. “But the violence has to end. And right now he’s an innocent baby. Please think about it.”

He stared at me like I was asking him to hold fire with bare hands.

Then he broke.

Again.

Not into tears this time but into silence. That dangerous kind of silence where thoughts war with instincts and you don’t know which one’s gonna win.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I got that in me.”

I stepped in close, took his hand, and laid it flat over my chest again. Let him feel the steady beat beneath my ribs.

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

He didn’t say yes.

He didn’t say no.

But he didn’t walk away.

And for Riot King, that was everything.

Because maybe, just maybe, the legacy didn’t have to end in blood.

Maybe this time, it could begin in love.

Chapter 57

RIOT

It’s been another sleepless night. My body was still, but my insides were a storm. Loud. Violent. The kind of grief that don’t let you close your eyes without seeing blood. My mother’s lifeless body slumped on my floor. Madeira cold and twisted in the foyer, still loyal in death. Rollo—my cousin, my right hand—vanished like smoke. Probably dead too. And Havoc? Gone in a flash of gunfire and betrayal.

But it wasn’t over.

Not until I cleaned the last bit of filth from this family’s name.

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