Prodigy Moretti
That Saturday was my grandmother’s eightieth birthday party.
It looked more like a wedding reception than a birthday party, though.
It was in the ballroom of a private country club outside the city.
The room was filled with white roses, gold table settings, and enough crystal to make every surface sparkle.
A string quartet played elegant renditions of old-school R&B songs near the entrance.
Servers moved through the room with champagne, and a five-tier cake sat beneath a wall of flowers displaying the number eighty in lights.
My cousins and I had created the Street Kings organization to get money that we never had.
Our parents had ensured we were comfortable, but we never had the residual income to flex.
But once my mother married my stepfather, my mother and grandparents’ financial status changed for the better.
My grandfather had earned his money through trucking contracts and investments, but Marcus had helped him reach another level after marrying my mother.
He connected him with better contracts, introduced him to people with money and influence, and helped turn several struggling ventures into profitable businesses.
Between my grandfather’s success and Marcus’s construction companies and property holdings, and the Street Kings’ success, my mother wanted for nothing.
Marcus stood near the head table with one hand resting at the bottom of my mother’s back as they greeted relatives. My mother looked beautiful in a fitted emerald gown, laughing as Marcus whispered something near her ear.
Marcus caught me watching and lifted his chin.
I returned the gesture.
I respected the hell out of Marcus for helping raise me.
He attended games, handled problems, and gave advice whether I requested it or not.
I loved and respected him, but still, he wasn’t Renzo.
No amount of money, time, or effort could erase my need to know what the hell happened to my real father.
Knox stood beside me near the bar, watching one of my younger cousins attempt to flirt with a server twice his age.
“That boy has confidence,” he said.
“That boy is a clown.”
Knox shrugged. “Sometimes laughter gets the panties off just as fast as money does.”
I glanced toward Knox, and he got serious. “How you been holding up with the Arielle shit?”
I took a sip of my drink and lied, “I’m good.”
He tilted his head, looking at me. “You’re not good.”
“I will be. I just need to get over her.”
“If it’s so hard for you to get over her, why didn’t you do what you had to do to keep her?”
I shrugged. “Dumb, I guess. I didn’t even realize I wanted her to stay, until she was gone.”
“You ever think you’re focusing on Renzo because you can’t fix what happened with Arielle?”
“Hell no. I’ve been trying to find him since before Arielle dipped.”
“Yea, but you’ve been overly focused since she left. Kinda obsessed.”
I looked at him with a raised brow. “You a therapist now?
Wise approached before Knox could respond, and the anger on his face saved me from a conversation I didn’t want to finish.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
Wise took the drink from my hand and swallowed half of it. “I noticed I hadn’t heard from Tasha in a minute, so I pulled up on her. She told me Rain warned her that I was seeing other women and emotionally unavailable.”
“How do they even know each other?”
“They went to college together. I met Tasha when I was at some party with Bishop and Milan.”
“Was Rain lying?” I asked, fucking with him.
“That isn’t the point.”
“That means no,” Knox laughed.
Wise looked ready to throw my glass at him.
“I never promised Tasha exclusivity,” Wise continued. “We were having fun. Rain had no business involving herself in my dick’s business.”
“Why was Rain talking to her about you anyway?” I asked.
“Because that bitch hates me. They ended up at the same charity event. Apparently, Tasha mentioned me, and Rain decided to provide a full character assessment.”
Knox chuckled, telling us, “I’ll be back. I need a refill.”
He walked toward the opposite side of the bar, where he began flirting with one of the bartenders.
Vega joined us a moment later, dressed in a Gucci tee, denim shorts, and Gucci sneakers, despite the formal dress code. He had arrived with Wise but spent most of the party staring at the live view of Sonnet like a fucking creep.
“You done being a stalker?” I jabbed.
“Fuck you, nigga,” he bit. “She almost escaped today.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“She convinced me to bring her a laptop. She broke part of it off and used the metal to get through the lock. Luckily, I caught her.”
I laughed. “She tricked you into giving her a tool to escape. I like her more every time you talk about her.”
Wise lowered his voice while saying, “You can’t keep her locked in that house forever.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” I pressed with a raised brow. “We need to start figuring out how to kill Roman before he finds out this nigga has fallen in love with his eyewitness.”
Wise agreed, nodding. “There’s no reason for us to start hitting trap houses since he’s already at war with the Bellamys.
Roman can lose every soldier and every dollar he has, but if he survives, Sonnet still isn’t safe.
She can prove he murdered Donovan and started this entire war with a lie.
He’s never going to stop looking for her as long as he is alive. ”
“We can’t kill a man we can’t locate,” Wise reminded us.
Vega replied, “Roman still thinks I’m searching for Sonnet. I can use the updates to get close to him.”
Wise studied Vega. “Then we need to be ready when you make that call. Roman won’t meet alone, and wherever he chooses will be controlled by his people.”
“We need to meet with the Cartiers,” I said. “Our agreement with them depends on us staying out of their way. Killing Roman is the opposite of that.”
Wise picked up his glass. “I’ll call Icon tomorrow.”
My grandmother’s favorite song began playing, and my mother waved impatiently for me to join the family near the dance floor.
Grinning, I headed toward my mother, telling Wise and Vega, “I’ll be back.”
Ma met me before I reached the dance floor and took my hand like I was still a little boy she had to guide through a crowd.
She smiled as she pulled me toward the center of the floor, and I placed one hand at her waist. Ma rested hers on my shoulder while we moved to the old-school song the quartet had turned into something smooth and elegant.
“You look handsome,” she said.
“You’ve told me that three times.”
“I’m your mother. I’m allowed.”
I laughed and turned her beneath my arm. She came back smiling. Ma had always known how to bring out a softer version of me, even when I worked hard to keep that part buried.
“Ma, the PI said that he found evidence of my father possibly living under another name when he left Chicago.”
As soon as “the PI” left my mouth, my mother’s previous joy vanished. Her shoulders sank, tired of this same old song I had been singing for years.
“Prodigy,” she called in a warning tone.
“Ma, I have to find him.”
“I just don’t want you to be let down when you do. I lived through how hurt you were when he left. I don’t want to see you hurt all over again because of him.”
“I really don’t think he just left, Ma.”
She looked at me with so much sympathy for my naivety. “Okay, baby… Okay.”
My grandmother caught my mother’s eyes as she watched us from nearby with her hands clasped over her chest.
“You better dance with the birthday girl next,” Ma warned.
“I already planned to.”
I kissed Ma’s cheek and walked over to my grandmother.
“May I have this dance, beautiful?”
Her entire face brightened. “I thought you would never ask.”
I took her hand carefully and led her onto the floor. She moved slower than Ma, so I adjusted to her pace, keeping one hand secure around hers and the other at her back.
“Eighty looks good on you,” I told her.
“Boy, I know.”
I laughed.
“When are you going to find yourself a good woman?” my grandmother asked.
I looked away for a moment, feeling the shame. “I think I did.”
Her hand tightened around mine. “What happened?”
“I lost her.”
The admission felt heavier out loud.
My grandmother studied my face with sympathy. “If she truly loved you, she’ll come back.”
“I hope so.”
Arielle’s absence had forced me to look at everything I had avoided while she was still within reach. I had spent years telling myself I wasn’t ready for commitment, but losing her made me question whether I had only been afraid of wanting something real.
Now, I wanted her back badly enough to believe I might finally be ready for it.
At that moment, Ma stepped closer, and I reached for her hand without releasing my grandmother. The three of us danced together beneath the chandeliers while relatives smiled, clapped, and lifted their phones to record us.
For all the darkness attached to my name, these women still knew the version of me that loved without conditions. Around them, I wasn’t one of the Street Kings or a man people feared. I was simply my mother’s son and my grandmother’s baby.