Chapter 10
H assan was back in his element. The failed night of opening up to Sevyn a week ago was a mistake he wouldn’t be repeating. He had let his guard slip—just once—and it blew up in his face. Therapy, vulnerability, all that soft shit? He was done with it.
Still, Sevyn lingered in his mind like a stubborn shadow.
He knew she was dealing with something, could see it in the way her body tensed when she saw Braxton, in the silent weight behind her eyes every time she looked at him.
He didn’t know why it mattered, and that pissed him off even more.
He wasn’t supposed to care. But he did. And when she shut him down, it cut deeper than it should have.
So he did what he always did—locked the fuck in, focused on business, and buried any emotions under numbers and calculated moves.
A knock on the door broke through his thoughts. Without looking up, he exhaled, already irritated by the interruption.
“Boss, you got a visitor,” Bully, one of his top security guards, announced before stepping aside.
Seconds later, Braxton strolled in, dressed in a black suit, a briefcase in hand, looking every bit the corporate motherfucker he was. Hassan leaned back in his chair, amused. Of all the niggas Sevyn could’ve been with, how the hell did she end up with this clown?
He didn’t speak, just let his cold gaze settle on Braxton, watching him squirm under the weight of his silence. After a beat, he lifted his hand, flicking his fingers in a lazy motion, signaling Bully to leave.
Hassan just smirked, taking his time, letting the tension stretch.
"You got about two minutes to explain why the fuck you in my office.
" Braxton set the briefcase on his lap, adjusting his suit like he wasn’t sitting in front of one of the most dangerous men in the city.
"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Gaines," he started, his tone professional, smooth—too smooth.
Hassan remained silent, his lips twitching slightly at the formal shit.
He hated lawyers, hated the way they danced around words, tryin g to sound smart instead of just saying what the fuck they wanted.
He let the silence stretch, let Braxton fidget under his gaze, until the prosecutor cleared his throat and continued.
"I’m here because your name has been circling in an ongoing case involving Desmond Blackwood," Braxton stated, his eyes steady but not as confident as before. He was trying to read Hassan, but Hassan was a different breed—he gave nothing. "Now, I know men like you don’t like to be involved in legal matters, but considering your, uh... businesses, I figured you’d want to be ahead of anything that might come back to bite you. "
Hassan smirked, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the desk as he met Braxton’s gaze with a calmness that made men nervous. "Men like me?" he repeated, his voice smooth, deep, controlled.
Braxton swallowed, catching his slip-up. "I meant businessmen of your caliber."
Hassan took another slow pull from his blunt, exhaling the smoke in thick, deliberate clouds, watching as Braxton shifted in his seat. He wasn’t stupid—he could smell the fear radiating off him, masked beneath his forced bravado. That alone made Hassan smirk.
He let the silence stretch, making Braxton sweat, waiting for him to speak first. And when he finally did, his voice was laced with forced confidence.
“Desmond Blackwood. Ring a bell?” Braxton asked, gripping the briefcase on his lap like it was his lifeline.
Hassan didn’t answer. He simply blew another cloud of smoke in Braxton’s direction, his blue eyes dark with amusement. The more Braxton talked, the deeper he was digging his own grave.
Braxton cleared his throat, realizing he wasn’t going to get a response.
“He’s under federal investigation for laundering millions through offshore accounts—shell corporations, dummy businesses, the whole operation.
And you? You’ve done business with him before.
” His tone sharpened, but it still wavered slightly.
Hassan stayed unbothered, his face unreadable. Another long pause dragged between them before he finally spoke, his voice calm, cold, and cutting.
“What the fuck that got to do with me?” He inhaled deeply from the blunt again, exhaling smoke slow and steady, his gaze never leaving Braxton.
Braxton leaned forward slightly, trying to act like he had some leverage in this room, but Hassan saw right through the act. “Your name’s all over the paper trail. You moved money for him, laundered it through your businesses.”
That’s when Hassan’s expression changed. Just slightly. His gaze sharpened, darkened, and whatever illusion of control Braxton thoug ht he had instantly shattered.
The tension in the room thickened.
Braxton shifted uncomfortably, realizing that coming here alone, without backup, without a plan beyond intimidation, was a dangerous fucking mistake.
Hassan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, studying him like prey. Then, in a tone so low it sent a chill through the air, he spoke.
“Nigga, you better choose your next words real fucking carefully.” Braxton leaned forward, gripping the edges of the file in his hands like it was his last lifeline.
“Fake real estate deals. Casino payouts that don’t add up.
Desmond’s dirty money funneled through your empire.
And let’s not forget Roman Evans—I know you two are thick as thieves,” he pressed, his voice gaining an edge, trying to force Hassan’s hand.
Hassan didn’t even glance at the documents spread across his desk.
He didn’t need to. This was a fishing expedition, nothing more.
Braxton was desperate, reaching for leverage he didn’t have.
Hassan, on the other hand? He was as unshaken as ever, leaning back in his chair, his posture easy, relaxed.
“Casino payouts?” Hassan repeated, his voice smooth, calculated. “You do know how gambling works, right? People win. People lose. Money moves.” He took a slow drag from his blunt, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke as he studied Braxton through the haze.
Braxton’s jaw ticked, his patience wearing thin. “And do I fucking look like Roman Evans to you?” Hassan added, his voice dipping into something cold, lethal.
Silence stretched between them, thick and weighted. Hassan could see the tension rippling through Braxton’s body, the way his fingers clenched into tight fists against the table.
Hassan tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his icy blue eyes. “You done?” he asked, stubbing out the roach of his blunt in the crystal ashtray beside him.
Braxton’s nostrils flared, his frustration bubbling over. “You arrogant son of a—”
“Careful.”
The single word fell from Hassan’s lips, cold and sharp as a blade. Braxton’s mouth snapped shut. His jaw locked so tight it looked like it might break. His hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white.
Hassan? He just smirked.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Braxton bit out, struggling to hold onto the last shred of control he thought he had.
Hassan chuckled, low and slow, like he had all the time in the world.
“No, you are. Sitting here, hoping I’ll slip.
Thinking you’ve got somet hing real. But if you did?
” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conversational, almost mocking.
“We wouldn’t be talking. You’d be charging. ”
The silence between them was deafening. Braxton swallowed hard, the flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes. He had pieces— but not enough.
Hassan could see it. Could feel it.
And Braxton? He knew it too. His lip curled, bitterness creeping into his expression, but he didn’t say another word.
"You think you’re untouchable, huh? That’s why you’re out parading around with her?" Braxton's voice dripped with bitterness, his words laced with something territorial, something personal.
Hassan barely reacted, though his patience was wearing thin. He was already annoyed that Braxton was still sitting across from him, but now he was talking in circles. "Who?" he asked, his tone void of emotion.
Braxton leaned back, folding his arms, his expression twisting into something uglier than anger. "Don’t play stupid. Sevyn."
The name hit the air between them, heavy, charged. Hassan’s face remained unreadable, but something in him shifted. It was small— unnoticeable to Braxton—but it was there. That alone pissed him off more than anything.
Hassan exhaled sharply, shaking his head before a low chuckle escaped his lips. "So that’s what this is about? A woman?" He eyed Braxton like he was pathetic, like he was wasting his time. "You showing up at my spot, in the middle of the night, talking in riddles over a woman?"
Braxton’s jaw tightened. "She don’t need to be involved with someone like you." He said it like he had a say in the matter, like he was calling shots that had nothing to do with him. Like he still had a claim on her.
Hassan’s amusement faded, his stare turning sharp, lethal. "Unless you got real charges to hit me with, I got better shit to do."
Braxton inhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the desk like it might ground him, but Hassan could see it—he was stuck. He had nothing.
"This ain’t over," Braxton finally said, standing to regain some sense of control.
Hassan stood too, slow, unbothered. A man who knew he was untouchable. "For you? Probably not." His voice was calm, laced with finality. "Now get the fuck out of my office, counselor."
Braxton hesitated, glaring at him like he wanted to say more, like he wanted to threaten him with something real. But there was nothing to say. He gave one last hard look before following orders, exiting the office without another word .
The second the door shut, Hassan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn’t need this shit right now. The law already circling his business was one thing, but now Braxton had made it clear—he saw Sevyn as leverage. A weak spot.