Epilogue
The Bloodline Blurred
Two Years Later
Donny Rae
Malibu was supposed to be the finish line, the spot where we finally got to breathe.
For two years, the only "war" I had to handle was making sure DJ finished his mashed sweet potatoes and deciding which silk robe went best with the sunset.
I stood in the nursery, the soft glow of the salt lamp hitting my son's face.
He was eighteen months of pure magic: mahogany skin, my wild ginger curls, and a pair of eyes that already had that same heavy, focused stare as his daddy.
I adjusted the emerald lioness pendant on my neck, which I hadn't taken off since he put it there, feeling the cool weight of it. We were supposed to be "legit" now. The Masters name was on skyscrapers in Buckhead, not just whispered in the traps on the west side.
I walked out onto the terrace, the Pacific breeze messing with my hair. Dominic was standing by the infinity pool, shirtless and silent. He looked like a god carved out of midnight, the ink on his back shining against the sun. I slid my arms around his waist, feeling the heat coming off him.
"He finally crashed out," I whispered. "That stubborn little man tried to wait up for his daddy. He's really your twin, Dom."
Dominic turned, his big hands cupping my face, his thumbs grazing my cheekbones. "He's a Masters, baby. We don't like missing out on anything."
The gate then buzzed—a sharp, jagged sound that didn't belong in this quiet. Dominic's whole body turned to stone.
"Get in the house," he instructed, his voice dropping into that flat, gut-chilling tone. "Take DJ to the safe room. Lock that joint and don't open it for nobody but me."
"Dominic”
"Donny, go! Now!"
Dominic
I stood in the center of the driveway, the floodlights hitting my chest, my blacked-out .45 heavy in my hand. A beat-up, blacked-out muscle car roared up the drive, the engine sounding like a beast chewing on hot lead.
The car screeched to a halt, and a man stepped out. He looked around my age, just with a prison build, but he had that same energy I saw in the mirror every morning. He was rocking a rugged leather jacket, a scar slicing through his eyebrow, and eyes the same amber-gold as Big Dom's.
"Man, this palace is a trip," the stranger declared, his voice a rasping echo of mine. He looked around as if he were unimpressed. "A lil' too much 'white picket fence' for a nigga like you, ain't it, bro?"
I leveled the piece at his chest, my thumb clicking the safety off. "Give me one reason I shouldn't leave you leaking on this marble. Who the hell are you, and why are you calling me 'bro'?"
The man took a slow, fearless step forward, looking down the barrel as if it were a toy.
He reached into his pocket, and I almost pulled the trigger, but he just flicked a crumpled, yellowed photo onto the pavement.
It was my father back in the day in South Florida, arm-in-arm with a beautiful Black woman who looked like she ran the whole of Dade County.
"Name's Havoc," he spat, his voice dripping with a bitter, streetwise wit.
"Pops had a whole other life down in Sanctum City before he ever built that throne in the A. He left my mom’s with nothing but a name and a bag of debt.
I didn't come for the bread, Dom. I came because the family business is blowing up. "
I stared at the photo, my mind spinning. "Pops never said nothing about no brother."
"Pops kept a lot of secrets buried in the mud," Havoc responded, crossing his arms. "But look, we ain't got time for a family reunion.
The Vittis? You thought you killed the snake?
You just cut off the tail, homie. The head is down south in Sanctum, and they've grown into something way more foul.
They calling themselves the Syndicates now—some corny shit.
They been tracking your every move since you left Georgia.
When I put all the pieces together, I had to come holla at you. "
My blood went cold. "How'd they find us?"
"Man, you're a Masters. You don't stay hidden forever," Havoc answered. "They know about this house. They know about your ginger-haired queen. And they know about that heir you got upstairs."
A sound tore through the air that made my soul scream. It wasn't the gate; it was the sound of the nursery window shattering.
"DONNY!" I roared.
I didn't think. I was like a bolt of lightning as I sprinted into the house, kicking the nursery door off its hinges so hard the wood splintered.
The room was freezing. The window was a jagged hole. Donny was on the floor, groaning, clutching her head, and the crib… the crib was empty.
"DJ!" I screamed, the sound vibrating the glass walls of the whole estate.
I scooped Donny up, my hands shaking. She was gasping for air, pointing at a black envelope on the floor. I tore it open. Inside was a Polaroid of my son, a man's hand wearing that Vitti signet ring gripped around his small arm. On the back, one word was scrawled in blood-red ink: SANCTUM.
Havoc appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a dark, twisted smirk.
"Told you, Dom. They're fast, and they're foul.
They're taking him back to my neck of the woods," Havoc stated.
"Sanctum City is a different kind of jungle.
You can't go in there with a suit and a legal team.
You gotta go in there with a hollow-point mindset and somebody who knows the layout.
They're going to hold your son for ransom and revenge for all the hell you caused in Atlanta. "
I stood up, the light in my eyes dead, replaced by a cold, absolute darkness. I looked at this brother I'd just met.
"Pack your clips, Havoc," I growled, the gold chain around my neck feeling like a noose. "We're going to Florida. And when I find 'em, I ain't sending no messages. I'm gonna burn Sanctum City to the fucking ground until I get my son back."
Havoc's eyes flashed with a lethal spark. "I figured you'd say that. Welcome to the family, bro. Let's go get my nephew back."
Malibu was burning, the king was going back to the mud, and the streets of Sanctum City had no idea the storm was coming.
"Get my baby back, DOMINIC," Donny cried out, clutching her head, her voice raw with terror.
"I am, baby, I promise."