Page 87 of Riot

The empire my father built was born in blood. Drenched in it. Men like him didn’t build legacies. They built graves with gold trim. But Creed and I? We had a chance to change the ending. To evolve. We already started with King’s Vine, turned something dark into something beautiful. That’s where I wanted to stay. In the soil. In the bottles. In the slow, clean growth of real work. Real ownership.

Not revenge. Not bullets.

But that shift wasn’t just about Boaz. Or Creed. Or even Pops.

It was about her.

Allure.

There was something about her that made me want to be better. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was untouched by the bullshit I’d known all my life. Even after ten years in hell, she still had grace. Still had light. She hadn’t been broken. Not really. And if she could survive that and still walk like she had a crown on her head, then I had no excuse.

Her presence reminded me there was more to life than surviving.

There was building.

Loving.

Living.

But if I was gonna give myself to her—for real—I needed to be whole. Not just a thug with blood on his hands. I wanted to give her something real. A man with purpose. A man who chose softness without being weak. A man who could love her without dragging her back into darkness.

And I was working on it.

Every day, I felt myself getting clearer. Sharper. Slower to react, quicker to reflect. Creed was part of that. His mission to wipe out Pops’ old pedophile network gave me clarity. Gave me fire. I never thought I’d be the kind of man to save lives, hell, for most of mine, I was the nightmare people needed saving from,but watching him take that weight and turn it into something meaningful… it gave me permission to grow too.

And I was growing.

For me. For the business. For the future we were building.

But mostly?

For her.

Allure deserved the best of me. Not the weapon. Not the savage. Not the broken boy who got thrown into cages with wild animals for sport.

She deserved the man I was becoming.

And I’d be damned if I let anything, or anyone, pull me back to who I used to be.

After my shower, I threw on some black sweats and a plain tee, grabbed a bottle of white wine from the cabinet, and headed to the living room. Allure was curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, thumbing through one of the sketchbooks we’d picked up earlier. The soft lamp light washed over her skin, making her look even more golden than usual—like a painting come to life.

She looked up when I entered, and that small, slow smile she gave me did something to my chest I wasn’t prepared for. Made it feel tight in the best kind of way.

“Wine?” I asked, holding up the bottle.

“Yes, please.” She sat up straighter, tugging the hem of her oversized tee down over her thighs. It was one of mine. Seeing her in it made my brain short-circuit for a second.

I poured us two glasses and passed her one before sinking into the cushion beside her. The wine was deep and full-bodied, one of the newer vintages from King’s Vine, smooth with just enough bite to keep you present.

She took a slow sip and sighed. “This is really good.”

“I know a guy,” I smirked.

We sat in comfortable silence for a beat, the city moving beyond the windows but muffled by the insulation of this new chapter.

She set her glass on the coffee table and curled toward me, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how I want to start,” she said. “With designing, I mean.”

“Yeah?” I turned slightly to face her. “Talk to me.”

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