Chapter 50
Emily
“Peace Never Lasts Long”
Saturday afternoons were my favorite. No business calls. No security meetings.
No men talking about money or power in the next room.
Just home.
We had been back for a couple of weeks now, but I had to admit, I missed France.
Zay stood over the stove like a chef, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon while the smell of roux filled the entire house.
Real Creole gumbo.
His grandmother’s recipe.
And he took that recipe seriously.
“You’re burning the roux,” I teased from the counter.
He didn’t even look at me. “I’ve been making this longer than you’ve been eating it.”
“That’s not true. We’re the same damn age, boy.”
He lifted the spoon and pointed it at me. “Woman, if you make me mess up this gumbo, we’re gonna have problems.”
I laughed.
Lil Zay ran through the kitchen, holding one of his toy cars and making engine noises as he crashed it into the cabinet legs.
The house felt warm.
Music played softly from the speaker on the counter.
Some old school R&B Zay liked to cook to.
He moved around the kitchen like he had the entire recipe memorized in his bones.
Shrimp.
Sausage.
Crab.
Okra.
He tossed ingredients into the pot like a man conducting an orchestra.
“You remember the order?” he asked me.
I leaned against the counter, sipping my drink. “Garlic, onions, celery… then sausage before the seafood.”
He nodded proudly. “See. You’re paying attention.”
We worked around each other easily.
Laughing.
Tasting the broth.
Arguing over whether it needed more spice.
I watched Zacian as he stirred the pot.
“You know something?” I said.
“What?”
“I wanna live in France.”
That got his attention.
He turned around slowly. “What?”
“I looked up the schools. The healthcare. Everything.” I shrugged. “I loved it there.”
He leaned back against the counter, watching me. “You serious?”
“I’m serious.” I took another sip of my drink. “I’ll do anything to get away from Mrs. Wells.”
His expression tightened slightly.
I added casually, “She’s been coming over here while you’re gone.”
His face changed. “What?”
I waved my hand like it wasn’t a big deal.
“I’ve been sending her away.”
“She’s been popping up here, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought you saw her on the cameras.”
Zay shook his head slowly. “Nah.” His tone dropped a little. “Don’t let her in.”
“I haven’t.”
“She carries bad energy.”
Something about the way he said that made a small chill run through me.
But he turned back to the stove like the conversation was finished.
A few minutes later, the gumbo was done.
We left it simmering so the flavors could settle.
The smell filled the whole house.
Lil Zay had finally worn himself out.
Zay stretched out on the couch with him curled against his chest.
Within ten minutes, they were both half asleep.
I smiled watching them.
For a man who could be so cold in business, Zay was a completely different person with his son.
The house had gone quiet, so I turned on the television.
But the doorbell rang.
I grabbed my phone and checked the surveillance app.
The camera showed a delivery driver walking away from the front door.
A small package sat on the porch.
“Just a delivery,” I said out loud, even though Zay wasn’t really listening.
I walked to the door and opened it.
The box wasn’t big.
Plain brown cardboard.
No return label.
I picked it up and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
The tape peeled easily.
When I opened the box…
Something inside shifted.
My stomach dropped.
Inside was a small doll.
Handmade.
Dark cloth wrapped tightly around its body.
Pins pushed through the fabric.
And tied around the neck was a small piece of bone and string.
“What is that?” Zay’s voice came from behind me.
I turned.
He was standing there now.
I held the doll up slightly.
“I don’t know.”
His face changed immediately.
“Who left it?” he asked again, this time sharper.
I shrugged.
He stepped closer. His eyes locked on the doll.
“You touched it.”
I frowned. “Okay, and?”
He took the doll carefully from my hands, as if it might explode.
For a long moment, he just stared at it.
I could see the anger building behind his eyes.
“What is that thing? Is it going to harm us?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away, but eventually said, “Bad work.”
But I could tell from the way his shoulders stiffened that he did.
And the way he looked toward the front door, then walked away…
Like he already knew exactly who had sent it.
I walked behind him, though, curiosity killing me. He walked into the backyard, took off the bone and clothes, and then tossed the doll on the ground. He grabbed a bottle of lightning fluid and a match, then torched the doll.
“I’ll be back later. Put the fire out when it burns fully and sweep it into the dirt.” He walked off, leaving me wondering, what the fuck just happened?