24. Nairobi Crawford
Four days later, Drea was finally awake enough to have a conversation.
Fontaine had been camped out in that stiff chair by her bed, sleeping in short stretches and snapping awake every time a nurse came in.
His beard had started to look unkempt, and dark circles had taken up residence under his eyes.
Today it was just us. His mother had gone home to shower and check on Gunnar, promising she’d be back in the evening.
Fontaine pushed the door open and paused for a second, like he had to brace himself before stepping fully inside. I followed close behind him.
Drea’s bed was raised so she was sitting up with pillows stacked behind her.
The swelling on her face had gone down a bit, but her left eye was still bruised and puffy.
Fresh dressings wrapped her left shoulder and ran down her arm, disappearing beneath her hospital gown.
The room was quiet except for the low hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of people in the hallway.
Her eyes slowly opened when we came in, like the medication in her system was dulling her movements.
She tried to smile, but immediately let out a small sound and winced.
“Hey, big head,” she rasped.
Fontaine was at her side in two steps. “Hey. You’re awake.”
Drea groaned as she adjusted, trying to angle herself toward him. Her gaze slowly drifted down her brother’s face, taking in his rough appearance.
“You look like shit,” she said.
“I’m fine,” he scoffed.
“Liar,” she muttered as she looked past him to me.
“Mm.” The corner of her mouth tried for a smirk, but didn’t quite make it. “I see y’all finally got your shit together.”
I bit back a smile and moved to one of the chairs. I didn’t want to take the moment away from Fontaine.
“Where’s Carmelo?” she asked softly. “I asked the nurse when she came in this morning, but she said there wasn’t a patient here by that name.”
My throat closed up. Cash and Jelani had been helping Slim’s grandmother with his arrangements. I kept my face neutral because this wasn’t my news to deliver.
Fontaine drew in a breath and sat in the chair at Drea’s bedside.
“He’s gone, D,” he said.
Drea stared at him. For a second I thought she didn’t hear him.
Then her face crumpled in slow motion.
A raw sound tore out of her throat—shock and pain and grief all in one—and Fontaine’s eyes flicked away from her face.
“No,” she whispered. “No, no?—”
“I’m sorry.” The apology sounded small next to what she’d lost.
Drea squeezed her eyes shut, her tears spilling out anyway. She tried to turn her head, but the movement made her inhale sharply.
“I was gonna tell him,” she said, voice low.
Fontaine’s gaze went back to her. “Tell him what?”
Her lashes fluttered as she tried to focus. “About the baby.”
Fontaine’s jaw ticked. “The doctor told us,” he said. I could hear him working to keep his voice level. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
Drea released a shaky breath and stared at the blanket in her lap.
“Because I didn’t feel like getting another lecture.”
“I wouldn’t?—”
“Yes, you would,” she snapped. “You never liked me and Carmelo together.”
“I didn’t like the incessant back and forth,” Fontaine corrected. “That’s different.”
“Whatever,” she huffed.
Fontaine exhaled. “Why didn’t you tell him?” he asked, his tone softer.
Drea swallowed hard. “Because when he told me he was leaving…” Her voice trembled. “I knew he wouldn’t go if he knew about this.”
Fontaine’s mouth pressed into a hard line.
“He didn’t tell me anything,” she continued, wiping at her face with a bandaged hand. “Just that it was bad and he had to disappear for a while.”
She turned her head and looked at Fontaine, eyes wet.
“So, I made the decision right there. I took his word that he was coming back. That we’d be together when whatever this was passed.” Her lip quivered. “Because he’d just find an excuse to stay if I told him.”
Drea sucked in another breath and tipped her head back against the pillows.
“But now he’s dead anyway.”
There was no question that Messiah had to die.
The problem was the execution. You don’t just fly into New York and take out one of the biggest arms dealers in the country like he’s some low-level runner slipping outside the corner store. That man had his hands in everything, and he’d lined the pockets of too many to ever be easy to reach.
We couldn’t afford to be sloppy.
Not after the baby shower. Not after Slim. Not after Drea. Not with Gunnar asking why his mother was all wrapped up and hurt.
So this had to be airtight. No holes, no loose ends. Which meant two things—looping in The Order and… the Gotham Reapers.
Fontaine’s jaw tightened the second I said CJ’s name.
“We already too mixed in with them niggas.”
I cut my eyes at him. Cash’s office went quiet, the Banks brothers’ eyes ping-ponging between us.
“You’re really doing this right now?” I asked.
He didn’t answer—just gave me that guarded look he got when his insecurity bubbled too close to the surface.
“Alright,” I said, pushing off the edge of the desk and turning fully toward him. “Let’s dead this once and for all, ‘cause I’m tired of you being in your feelings any time his name comes up.”
Fontaine’s eyes narrowed.
“CJ isn’t a threat,” I continued, holding his gaze. “We hooked up a couple times when I was in New York for jobs. That’s it. He’s a friend. Same way Cash and Jelani are friends. Stop holding a grudge over nothing.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Nothing,” he repeated, slowly.
“If we don’t pull CJ’s people in, we walk into the city blind,” I said. “Stop acting like they didn’t come through when we were up there two years ago.”
“She’s right,” Cash said, sparking a blunt.
Fontaine dragged a hand over his beard and leaned back in the chair like he was trying to decide whether he wanted to push an argument.
“And what?” he asked. “The Order is going to help us out of the kindness of their heart?”
I folded my arms across my chest. That was the real issue—working with The Order was like playing chess.
“No,” I said. “But they’ll do it.”
Jelani took the blunt Cash offered him. “How you figure?”
“Because Hana started this,” I said as I looked over at him. “They put this target on my back by playing some weird, fucked up game. If they want me to be compliant, useful—whatever word they prefer—then they’ll help me end the threat that touches my people.”
My people.
The words surprised me coming out of my mouth. Not because they weren’t true, but saying them made it real in a way I couldn’t take back.
Fontaine caught it too. Something in his expression softened, just a fraction.
Cash exhaled and sat forward. “So what we doing? Because I’m not having another ‘wait and see’ week while that nigga feel like he can pick who lives and who doesn’t.”
Jelani blew out a plume of smoke. “We build it out in phases. It might take a minute, but if we rush it and miss a step, we’re not just dealing with Messiah—we’re dealing with everybody that benefits from him.”
I nodded. “The Reapers give us access. The Order gives us more intel and resources. We use all of that to our advantage.”
Cash drummed his fingers against his desk. “Fontaine is one of the best hackers in the country, couldn’t he just find out the intel on Messiah?”
“There’s only so much I can dig up,” Fontaine said before I could. “I can figure out his shell companies, how he washes his money, but if he’s in with the Agency, then there’s stuff that I wouldn’t be able to find by simply hacking into his company’s servers. We need to know his weaknesses.”
“We need to make Messiah look like he’s bad for business for everybody he’s working with,” I said.
Jelani ashed the blunt. “We should give CJ a seat on the Council. It helps us expand our reach, gives him a stake to care about this whole thing with Messiah, and once he’s out the way, the Reapers can expand into his lane. It’s a win-win.”
Cash grinned. “Okay, little brother, you really running shit now, huh?”
“Man, fuck outta here,” Jelani said as he flipped him off.
“This is the second favor you’re asking me for,” Hana said, taking a slow sip of her cocktail.
The Emerald Lounge was busy tonight, but our booth sat far enough back to keep prying eyes and ears off us. Hana’s hair was in its curly natural state, and now I could see the resemblance between us more than I wanted to admit.
“Aren’t sisters supposed to help each other out?” I countered.
Hana laughed. “Yes. I suppose they are.”
“So will you help us or not?”
“I’ll help.” She let out a bored sigh and leaned back to study me. “But sister or not, you’re collecting debts quickly. Are you prepared to pay them?”
“Y’all basically strong-armed me into working for you,” I shot back. “Isn’t that enough?”
“No. It’s not,” she deadpanned. “Even if I was doing this off some family loyalty, The Order will still want something in return. Favors aren’t charity in this business, Nairobi. You know that.”
“So what exactly would ‘payment’ look like?”
Hana shrugged. “You’ll find out when the time’s right.”
I waved off her vagueness. “So. Messiah.”
“For Messiah, I can give you his security habits. Insider information on his supply routes.” She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “He’s greased so many hands that he thinks he’s untouchable. But he’s become more unstable over the past few years. He’s a liability.
I shudder at the memory of him executing his wife in front of us like she was nothing.
“Would these people be willing to help us?”
She cocked her head at me. “Not necessarily. But they’ll have no problem leaking information.”
I took a sip of my wine and started doing the math in my head—what we needed, what could be done now without setting off alarms, how long it would take to infiltrate Messiah’s circle without making him suspicious.
“Six months. Minimum,” Hana said as if she read my mind. “And that’s me being generous.”
“Fuck.”
“If you move too fast, he’ll know,” she said. “You don’t think he’s expecting retaliation? He killed your friend and the sister got caught up as collateral damage. He’s counting on you all to get emotional and sloppy.”
“Slow is smooth?—”
“And smooth is fast.” Hana finished the adage for me. “Sterling taught you well after all.”