Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
IMANIO “GATEZ”
I sat at the head of the long glass table, one leg casually crossed, hand flexing near my mouth as a marketing exec finished rambling about demographic pivots.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown Caller.
Then a second time.
I narrowed my eyes, clicked the side button, and let it go to voicemail… again.
“So, if we roll out the press kits next week, we can shift the perception of your recent acquisition as a philanthropic move rather than a power grab,” the exec was saying, too smug for someone who just said “philanthropic” like it was a garnish.
Buzz.
Unknown Caller.
I exhaled sharply through my nose, lifted a hand, and stood.
“Hold that thought.”
Without waiting for confirmation, I stepped out into the hallway and answered the call.
“Yeah?”
“Imanio, it’s Paris.”
“Paris?” I retorted in confusion.
“Yes, that Paris. Listen, I’m at the café on 8 th with your wife. She’s shaken up. Some employees accused her of stealing your credit card. It got ugly.”
“They what?!” I roared.
“She tried to explain who she was, but she was ticcing and panicking. I got here in time to shut it down, but… she’s embarrassed, Imanio. Real embarrassed. People had their phones out.”
My fist was clenched so tightly that I could feel the sharp crack of my bones, a painful reminder of my mounting anger.
My chest throbbed with an overwhelming rage that threatened to consume me.
I couldn’t shake Naji’s face from my mind—scared, ticcing, trying to explain herself to people who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
“I’m gonna burn that whole fuckin’ place to the ground,” I growled. “Bring her to my office,” I instructed, low and lethal. “I’m texting you the address. Let me know when y’all arrive.”
I ended the call, called Reese to cancel her scheduled pickup then turned back toward the boardroom, and yanked the door open.
“I need y’all to wrap this up! Now! We got fifteen minutes tops! I have an emergency!”
Nobody questioned me… not when I said it like that.
Fifteen minutes later, I paced in my office, anxiously awaiting Paris’s text. I moved back and forth, feeling increasingly frustrated. I had taken off my suit jacket and loosened my tie—anger was on a thousand and counting.
My mind raced with violent solutions and public statements—I didn’t care which came first.
My woman had been humiliated in broad daylight.
Was it her twitching? Was her voice too shaky? Did the color of her skin, too brown for some to accept, play a role in the shameful display? Or was it simply because her name wasn’t “Mrs. Kors” on a plaque or some polished press release?
I should’ve never let her gone back to work. I knew something like that would happen—I feared it from the jump. Or maybe… maybe I should’ve made it loud and undeniable to the world that she was my wife and that she was untouchable .
I sort of blamed myself.
My phone vibrated.
Paris: We’re here.
Me: Let security know who you are. They’re expecting y’all.
I cracked my neck, took one long breath, and headed for the elevator like I was walking into war.
The elevator dinged, and Paris stepped on the floor with Naji beside her. Naji looked like a leaf in a thunderstorm—shoulders tense, fingers clutched in the sleeves of her top, eyes darting everywhere but forward.
I didn’t say a word; I just stepped forward, pulled her gently into me, and kissed the top of her head.
“Come with me.”
I guided Naji into a private lounge off the main corridor.
Plush couch. Dim lighting. No noise.
“Wait here, baby. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded. “Okay… okay. Pop tart preacher. Sorry. I’m okay. I’m not okay.”
I gave her hand a squeeze—not too hard, not with the rage I was holding back—then let go, closed the door behind me, and turned to Paris.
“Thank you for bringing her and stepping in, in my absence,” I said. “And coming from me, I really mean it.”
Paris leaned against the wall, arms folded.
“Trust me—I know.” She chuckled. “But no problem. I wasn’t gonna let them treat her like that. The way you protected her the other night? I can tell you really care for her. That was enough for me. Even if they didn’t know she’s your wife, she’s still a person … a good one at that.”
I studied Paris for a moment.
“You’re talking different.”
She arched a brow. “Different how?”
“You weren’t like this when you came around us. You were always put together. Perfect posture. Your voice… it was soft. Real proper.”
She gave a short, quiet laugh. “That’s who they —my parents—trained me to be.”
I tilted my head. “So who are you, really?”
“Like I told Naji, a girl who never wanted a man like you.”
I reared my head back, almost offended.
She grinned. “No offense. You’re fine as hell, powerful, and… together. But I want a girl as my companion… always have.”
“A girl?” I repeated, brows twitching just slightly.
Well, damn. I didn’t expect that.
It wasn’t judgment; it was more of a surprise reaction. The revelation made me replay every moment, every smile, and realize none of it meant what I thought it did—but it made sense now. And somehow, I respected her more for saying it out loud.
“Yes. And as crazy as this may sound, I don’t want a polished one; I want her messy.
That’s what I meant when I said I never wanted a man like you.
I want somebody who doesn’t know which fork to use, who spills her drink and laughs instead of apologizing.
I want real. I’ve been fake so long, I’m suffocating in it. ”
I nodded slowly. “Damn. I definitely feel you on that. But shid…you like what you like. No judgment over here. So all this time, you were just… pretending?”
“Just like you,” she shot back playfully.
“Touché, as you females say.”
Then her tone softened. “But not pretending… surviving. I was keeping their hopes alive so they wouldn’t question why I never brought home a man at all. But now I’m ready to do me… the Paris way. And this? Helping Naji? That felt like me. That’s why I did it.”
“You good people, Paris.”
“So are you… and Naji,” she said, locking eyes with me. “Please don’t ever let her forget that.”
“I won’t. And Paris… I hope you find her.”
“I will,” she replied with a confident smile. “See you later.”
I nodded, turned, and walked back into the lounge.
When I stepped in, Naji was curled up in the corner of the couch, arms wrapped tight around her knees like she was trying to hold herself together.
“I tried to tell them,” she cried, her voice cracking. “I s-s-said your name, but they didn’t believe me! I was ticcing and I couldn’t get the words out right and—” Her voice snapped into a tic. “Kool-Aid cashier killers! I hate them, I hate them, I hate?—”
“Shhh, baby.” I crossed the room fast and dropped to my knees in front of her, cupping her face gently in my hands. “Look at me.”
She did… barely.
Naji’s hands trembled, her lips quivered, and her eyes were glassy and wild.
“They don’t matter; none of those muthafuckas do. Naji, you’re my wife. You don’t gotta prove that to strangers in some overpriced ass soap-and-steam café.”
“But I…” she choked. “I looked crazy… like some girl making stuff up for a free drink. The cashier, the manager, even some little boy… they all stared at me like I was a joke.”
My jaw clenched.
I was definitely paying that cashier and manager a visit later that night. The little boy? He’d get a pass; he probably didn’t know any better and was just being a kid—laughing at any and everything that appeared to be funny.
“I’ll handle them. I promise you.” My voice dropped again, dark and sharp. “You won’t ever be embarrassed like that again… not on my watch.”
I leaned in and kissed her forehead, holding it there a second longer than usual.
“You’re okay now. I got you. You hear me?”
She nodded slowly, her breath stuttering.
“Tic-tic. Boom. Safe again.”
That made me chuckle—just a little. I wrapped Naji tighter in my arms, letting her breathe me in.
I ain’t letting nobody disrespect what’s mine… not again. Tonight will be an example.
The streets were empty—quiet like the city was holding its breath.
I sat in the passenger’s seat, wearing all-black everything. My eyes were locked on the dimly lit windows of the café across the street—the same café where my wife had been humiliated like she didn’t belong beside me .
Chi sat in the passenger seat, chewing gum like it was disrespectful.
“Yo,” Chi said, stretching. “So I been thinking. Are we going in loud or quiet? I got a few ideas if you’re open to hearing them.
Option one,” he began without waiting for my response.
“We bust in with gas masks, spray up the whole spot with roach killer, then, while they’re choking, we set roaches loose. Death by infestation.”
I didn’t answer… just listen and continue watching the building.
“Okay. Option two,” Chi continued, “we pretend to be the health department. Make ’em eat every bar of soap they sell. Mint eucalyptus, and battery acid flavor. Watch they intestines peel.”
Still no response.
“Option three: Hang the owner up by the ceiling fan, cut the power, then turn it back on mid-spin. Let God decide which direction he fly.”
I smirked… just a little.
“Option four is personal fav—shove his face into the espresso machine. Ain’t nothing like third-degree latte scars.”
I finally spoke.
“What’s option five?”
Chi’s grin stretched wider. “Lock the door behind us. Slice ‘em open. Pull out their intestines, drag ‘em across the floor, and mop the blood up with their aprons. Make ‘em clean up their own mess before they die.”
I turned slowly toward him with a savage grin etched onto my face.
“That one.”
Chi’s laughter was pure chaos. “Knew it. Let’s get surgical.”
We stepped out of one of the loaner cars we used for missions like that—off the books, no plates, no questions. We crossed the street low and quiet, shadows moving in sync. No front entrance. We slipped around back, where the café’s rear door creaked open just enough.