Chapter 29 Don Friday | 1200pm
Don
A dozen damn cameras flashed before me outside of city hall.
It was as if the entire city of Havencrest had shown up to the press conference, like I was on trial instead of delivering a public address.
Media vans clogged the streets, and assistants damn near pissed themselves, running around like we weren’t about to stage a political funeral. My funeral.
I adjusted my cufflinks with shaking hands.
I had pounds of makeup on, and it took a prayer and a miracle for me to get out of bed this morning.
On the outside, I still looked the part, though.
I looked every bit the powerful city councilman I’d been flexing to be.
That’s what they expected. That’s who I’d trained myself to be.
But make no mistake… I was pissed the hell off.
I wasn’t stepping down because I wanted to.
I was doing this because I had no fucking choice.
Nyce had officially boxed me in from all angles.
My reputation? Shot. My secrets? Leveraged.
And if I didn’t play along, my head would be the next thing on the chopping block.
I cleared my throat, stepped into the lights, and forced a smile as the press fell silent. “Good afternoon,” I said, voice steady, rehearsed. “Today marks a turning point for our great city.”
I scanned the crowd, but I didn’t look for that muthafucka. I didn’t dare. I knew Nyce was out there, looking like a villain from a crime noir film: businesslike, cool, calm, and collected. Just waiting.
“I am proud to announce an unprecedented investment in Havencrest’s future. Uh… Project New Horizons will revitalize our inner city neighborhoods, attract private partners, and restore trust in the systems we rely on.”
My voice cracked for a split second, and I swallowed.
“And with that… I must also announce… that I’m stepping down from the city council and dropping out of the race for reelection, effective immediately.”
The crowd gasped as cameras clicked wildly. I watched the shock ripple through the press pool like they hadn’t seen the bruises under my makeup or heard the whispers in the hallway. I’d survived scandals before. This, however, was a reckoning.
“At this time, I plan to take some time for myself and revisit other plans to assist in the communities of Havencrest. I wish the other candidates the best of luck in this race. I know the city will continue to grow in capable hands.”
My stomach turned at the words. I stepped back from the podium, ready to vanish. But of course, Nyce moved in like he was part of the production and this whole thing had been his goddamn show. He extended his hand, and I hesitated just for a second, but long enough for the cameras to catch it.
“Thank you for your service to the city,” he said loud enough for the press.
Then he reached inside his blazer pocket and revealed the contact I was supposed to sign.
He leaned in, his voice dropping low, all venom and velvet.
“You took your ass whupping like a man. Good for you. Now, sign this fucking paper and smile like your life depends on it.”
My jaw locked. The muscles in my face twitched, but I held the smile as I signed, and thunderous claps erupted from the crowd.
I had learned a long time ago how to smile through humiliation.
Politics demanded it. The cameras exploded with flashes, and Nyce didn’t let go right away.
He stood beside me, shoulders back, chest out, posing like this was planned.
Like we were partners, not enemies forced into a staged truce.
A reporter’s voice cut through the noise. “Mr. Lancaster!” she called out. “Can you clarify your relationship with this gentleman? The public is eager to understand the nature of this partnership.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Nyce spoke before I could get a word out. “We’re collaborators,” he said smoothly, turning slightly so the cameras could catch his profile. “I’m the owner of Richards Development Group.”
That name hit the press like a spark. A few heads snapped up and paused mid-scribble. Nyce kept going, voice steady, confident.
“My company will be leading the construction on the new gated community project on the Northside.” He glanced at me briefly, just long enough to remind me he was in control, then looked back at the cameras.
“We’ll also be launching community outreach programs for inner-city youth,” he continued.
“Trade apprenticeships. Paid internships. Real opportunities.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I felt sweat gather at the base of my spine. Another reporter nodded eagerly. “So this partnership began during your run for reelection?”
I forced a breath through my nose and nodded. “Yes,” I said, voice even. “Mr. Richards approached the city with a vision that aligned with our long-term goals for revitalization.”
Nyce smiled slightly, like he was amused by how carefully I chose my words. “This city’s been neglected,” he added. “And I don’t do neglect. I’m here for results.”
Another camera flash went off directly in my face.
I blinked hard, keeping my posture upright.
Inside, my stomach churned. I could feel the shift.
The crowd wasn’t looking at me anymore. They were looking at him and listening to him.
As the cameras continued to click and the questions kept flying, I stood there beside him, smiling like a man at his own retirement party.
After a few moments, the press conference concluded, and I quickly turned on my heels to follow Nyce. His well-dressed goons tried to guide me another way, but I waved them off. “You just couldn’t let me bow out in peace, huh?” I snapped. “Had to put on a fucking show.”
Nyce smiled, slowly. “This isn’t a show, Don. This is closure. For everybody.”
I scoffed. “You think this makes you noble? You’re a criminal. A thug with a Rolex and a security firm front. I spent years holding this city together while you fuck it up piece by piece from the shadows. “You don’t know shit about what it takes to keep real power intact.”
“I know enough to say I run your bitch ass now,” he shot back, low and lethal.
“Don’t get comfortable.” I stepped in closer, voice tight. “You bleed like the rest of us. I still got allies. People who want your head.”
“Then send ‘em,” he said with a shrug, like the idea didn’t faze him at all. “But make sure they don’t miss this time, muthafucka.” Then he turned his back to me, walking away and dismissing me.
???
Friday | 5:22pm
Hours later, I ignored my campaign manager’s calls.
I sat in silence in my condo with a strong drink in my hand.
My suit was wrinkled; sweat beaded at my hairline.
My tie hung loose, collar yanked open, desperate for air.
Nyce had just fucked me and the worst part: the city loved him for it.
My jaw ticked. Every channel played the footage of me walking off that podium, stepping down like a good little puppet.
Across from me, Zeke slouched in a leather chair like a half-dead animal.
He looked fucking terrible. Bags under his eyes, sweatsuit all wrinkled and hanging off him like he’d lost twenty pounds since I’d seen him last. His hands were trembling as he tried to sip his drink, the glass clinking against his teeth.
“You’re a fucking mess,” I muttered, watching him like he was a bug I couldn’t decide whether to squash or not.
Zeke gave a humorless laugh, barely a sound. “You would be too if you lost everything,” he croaked. “My church, my house, the cars… my girls.”
“Say what?”
“Princess will probably never speak to me again, and Evelyn served me divorce papers in the pew where I built my entire fucking legacy.” He paused, eyes red and glossy. “They don’t give a fuck about what happens to me.”
I picked up my whiskey and took a sip, letting it burn down my throat slowly. “Yeah, well, I guess he fucked us both in the end,” I said flatly, staring him dead in the eyes. “Princess now belongs to him. He’s got her now.”
Zeke flinched like I’d smacked him in the face with a Bible.
He slammed his glass down, chest heaving.
“That fucking bastard,” he growled, his voice shaking.
“He thinks he can take everything from us? Humiliate us like this?” He looked at me now with something desperate in his eyes.
“We can’t let him win,” he said, his voice full of fury and shame.
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the amber in my glass, calculating. “No,” I said. “We can’t.”
Zeke leaned forward, frantic. “Then what the fuck do we do? Huh? You’re supposed to be the one with the plan. The connections.”
I scoffed. “And we see where that got us. Tate is dead, and the ones on his team who survived the shootout are under investigation.”
“Because you moved when I advised against it.”
“Fuck all of that, Zeke! This is now! Think!”
Nyce had more money now. More power. He had people in his pocket and enough muscle to make the feds pause before moving in. But he had one thing that made him weak. And it wasn’t money. It was Princess. Nyce had feelings for that girl. Real ones. The kind that made a man sloppy. Emotional.
“We don’t go after him,” I said finally. “Not directly.”
Zeke blinked. “Then how…?”
“We take what matters. What he doesn’t realize is his fucking soft spot.” Zeke’s brows pulled together. I leaned in. “Princess.”
His face paled. He opened his mouth, then shut it.
He looked away, jaw tightening, fingers tapping against his glass.
I watched the guilt war with the bitterness on his face.
He was still a father underneath all that disgrace.
Still a man who’d once tucked her in at night.
But now he was also a man who attempted to sell her out for his benefit.
He’d already crossed the line. He just didn’t want to admit it.
“You said you wanted revenge, right?” I pressed. “You wanna hurt him?” Zeke nodded slowly. “Then this is the only way,” I said. “We hurt him where it counts, and we don’t give him time to see it coming.”
He stayed quiet for a long moment. His fingers clenched around the glass so tight I thought it might shatter. Then finally, he muttered, “I don’t want her dead.”
I laughed dryly. “I’m not looking to kill your damn daughter. I need to remind that thug that he doesn’t own the world.” Zeke looked up, shame heavy in his expression. “You in or not?” I asked, leaning forward with a deadly calm.
He swallowed hard. “I’m in,” he said.
And just like that, I had my play. Because when you can’t beat a man with bullets… you break his heart instead.