Chapter 5
Three days before Taiwan's wedding, Pops called a family meeting at the estate. Inner circle only. He called it logistics. We all knew what that meant.
I rolled through the Belle View gates at sunset, shadows stretching across the same grounds where Coco first stepped into my world, where she’d watched Cyrus take his last breath. Fitting that we were back here now, her name still heavy in the air.
Inside, the usual suspects were posted up in Pops' study. Uncle Tommy in his chair with a bourbon. Big Mike on the sofa. A few other faces — the men who helped build this empire and hadn't forgotten it.
“Lesley,” my father nodded as I entered. “We were just discussing the wedding arrangements.”
“Taiwan’s wedding?” I asked, settling into the chair across from Uncle Tommy. “Everything’s handled. Venue’s secure, guest list’s been vetted.”
“Not Taiwan’s wedding,” Uncle Tommy said, his gravelly voice cutting through the cigar smoke. “Yours.”
The room went quiet except for the soft clink of ice against glass. I felt the shift in energy, the way conversations could turn from casual to deadly serious in the span of a heartbeat. I knew by the end of this, someone would have me fucked up.
“What about the wedding I didn’t have?”
“Well,” Big Mike leaned forward, “we've been thinking about this whole situation. The witness, the marriage solution.” He paused, studying my face. “It was creative, but some of us have concerns about your judgment.”
The mood in the room turned icy. My jaw tightened. If they thought they could question my decisions, they were dead wrong.
“My judgment? Here we go with this stupid shit again. I think y'all old asses on some hating shit.”
Uncle Tommy set down his glass, meeting my stare. “Nephew, we wonder if pussy got you thinking sideways. You ain’t never chased skirts.”
Every man in the room tensed. The disrespect was so blatant, so deliberate, that even they knew Uncle Tommy had crossed a line. I was on my feet before anyone could blink, my hand inside my jacket.
“Say that shit again,” I said, voice deadly calm. “See what the fuck happens.”
Uncle Tommy raised his hands slowly. “Easy, Lesley. We family.”
“Family don’t disrespect family,” I said, hand still inside my jacket. “And family damn sure don’t question the head’s decisions unless they're ready to take his place. Is that what this is about? You wanna be me nigga?”
My father cleared his throat. “Nobody’s questioning your authority, son. They just want to make sure you’re seeing the full picture.”
I looked around the room, making eye contact with each man present. Let them see exactly who they were dealing with. Let them remember the only reason they were breathing was because I allowed it.
“The full picture,” I repeated, voice dripping ice. “Enlighten me.”
Big Mike pulled out his phone, swiping to a photo. “This is your wife yesterday. Having lunch with another man at that spot downtown.”
I looked at the photo and scoffed. It was Coco across from Rashad, both of them laughing over coffee. The same Rashad I’d already handled. The same nigga who wasn’t a problem.
“Y’all following my wife now?” The question came out soft, which made it more dangerous.
“We follow threats,” Uncle Tommy said. “And we don’t know what we don’t know about this situation.”
I straightened my suit. “Let me make something crystal fucking clear. My wife goes where she wants, when she wants, with whoever she wants. And if I catch any of y’all watching her, following her, or even breathing in her direction without my say-so, we gon’ have a problem.
What my pussy do ain’t got shit to do with y’all. ”
Silence. Long enough to get uncomfortable.
A month ago, I might’ve listened to their bullshit. Tried to see the logic. But not now. Not after watching her shine in that gold dress, hearing her talk about wanting to be chosen, not needed.
I stood. “Look, Colecion Alexandria Grimson better be alive and well as long as she carries my fucking last name. And that smile I’m falling for? It better be waiting at the door. I see a piece of hair out of place on her pretty little head, I’m sending a nigga to hell.”
Uncle Tommy shifted. “It ain’t about games—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I cut him off. “Don’t speak on her again.”
Big Mike cleared his throat. “What about St. Louis? Word is, some business out there needs your hand. Might take a week, maybe two.”
I laughed, no humor in it. “So that’s the angle. Y’all want me gone so you can test her.”
“Nah,” Pops said, calm. “The business is real. But you leaving her unprotected will tempt people—inside and outside the family.”
I adjusted my cufflinks. “Then let me make this plain. I’ll handle St. Louis. But Coco better be breathing, smiling, and safe when I get back. Anybody who so much as thinks about touching her disappears. And I don’t need to be in the same city to make that happen.”
“Lesley…” Pops started.
“Son, my ass,” I cut in, voice low. “You speaking to Grim right now. And Grim don’t like being disrespected. I gotta go before I fuck around and pop one of y'all asses.”
Pops lifted his glass. “Every man here respects you. That’s why we’re in this room. Our interests are your interests.”
“She’s my wife,” I said flatly. “We protect the family. Always.”
Pops nodded. “Understood.”
“Good.” I walked out, no more words, leaving them with their bourbon, their smoke, and the reminder that their new boss couldn’t be tested. Not by family. Not by anyone.
The study doors shut behind me, but the tension didn’t go anywhere. I drove aimlessly for a minute, trying to shake it, until my phone buzzed with a reminder, I didn’t even remember setting, Coco’s pedicure appointment.
Instead of going home, I pulled into the lot. Walked straight into the salon with a bouquet of white lilies in hand, her favorite, because she’d had them replaced weekly at the house. Heads turned, but I only had eyes for her.
She was in one of those big chairs, foot in the tub, scrolling her phone with that little half-smile she got when she was in her own world. The tech glanced up, about to ask me to wait, but Coco beat her to it.
“Lesley…” Her brows lifted. “What are you doing here?”
I set the flowers in her lap. “Checking on my wife.”
Her lips parted, surprise softening her whole face. “At the nail shop?”
“At the nail shop. At the grocery store. Wherever the fuck you at.” I crouched down in front of her, ignoring the stares. “You good, pretty baby?”
She glanced at the flowers, then back at me, that smile creeping in. “Yeah. Better now.”
“Good.” I caught her foot, kissed her knee, careful not to smudge the polish. “Finish up. I want to take you somewhere.”
She tilted her head, trying to read me, but didn’t press. Just held onto the lilies not wanting to set them down. When her nails and toes were done, I paid the bill before she could argue and offered her my hand. She took it, letting me guide her out of the salon and into the car.
“Where are we going?” she asked once we pulled off.
“The range.”
She blinked at me. “The gun range? Seriously? I just got my nails done.”
“Good. Then you’ll learn how to pull a trigger pretty, but this is happening.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy would be leaving you out here soft when everybody got eyes on you. I’m not doing that.”
Her gaze sharpened. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We trusting each other now, right? Then trust me on this, too. I want you to protect yourself if you need to.”
She smirked, cocking her head. “Who says I don’t already know how to do that?”
She had the lilies in her lap the whole drive, occasionally playing with them or smelling them. I was so damn dialed in.
“You really showed up to take me to a gun range with flowers?” Her nose crinkled, and I shook my head. “I thought we were going somewhere cute.”
“Balance,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “Soft in one hand, steel in the other. That's life with me.”
She looked out the window, but I caught the smile.
Legacy Arms sat off Route 9, a Grimson family operation my father built before I was old enough to hold a weapon. Hill ran it now who was ex-military, sharp, had been behind that counter for fifteen years.
“Grim, good to see you,” Hill nodded, already reaching for the key. “Lane four's ready.”
“Good looking.” I steered Coco through before she could read too much into the exchange.
The smell hit her immediately. She took it in without a word.
When we stepped into the lane, she watched everything: my stance, the way I checked the magazine, the steady rhythm of my breathing before I pulled the trigger.
I fired once. Clean hole, dead center.
“Show-off,” she muttered.
“Damn right.” I handed her the pistol, careful to angle it safely. “Your turn.”
She hesitated, chewing her lip, then squared her shoulders, ready to prove me wrong. I moved behind her, adjusting her grip, sliding my hand along hers. She stiffened at the closeness but didn’t move away.
“Relax your arms,” I said low, close enough for her to feel the words against her neck. “Lean in. Let the weight work for you.”
She inhaled, just for a second, before she pulled the trigger. The shot landed wide, but she didn’t back down. She reset, fired again, closer this time.
“Better,” I murmured, steadying her hips. “You learn quick.”
She glanced back at me, eyes shining under the fluorescent lights. For a moment, the noise of the range faded, and it was just us, her heartbeat close enough to feel, my hand covering hers. Too close.
She was the one who pulled away first, lowering the gun with a laugh that sounded more nervous than amused. “Guess I’m not completely hopeless.”
I took the pistol back and set it down. “Not even close.”
We stood there a beat too long, both of us in deeper than we planned for. She broke it with a soft smile.
“Whatever’s bothering you,” she said, reaching up to cup my cheek, “it’ll work out. It always does.”
Her touch lingered, light but grounding. And for the first time that day, the pressure I’d been carrying eased.
When we finished the last round, I walked her back to the counter and told Hill to box up the Sig.
“That one's yours,” I said. “Take it home. You don’t leave the house without this.”
She looked at me. “I have Malice.”
“Malice is a good shot. But what if something happens to Malice? That means something happ…”
“Lesley.” She shifted her weight, arms crossing. “I'm not a gun person.”
“You just put eight out of ten in the chest cavity of a paper target on your first time through. You're a gun person. You just didn't know it yet.”
She opened her mouth, and I raised an eyebrow. She closed it.
Hill set the case on the counter without a word. She looked at it, then at me, then picked it up.
“I want it on record that I’m protesting this.”
“Noted.”
She tucked the case under her arm and turned toward the exit, and I watched her move—that was the problem. I had spent the last hour with my hands on her, correcting her grip, adjusting her stance, her back against my chest, and my body hadn't forgotten a second of it.
I was fighting every filthy thought I had.
The way she’d pressed into me when I corrected her stance, I wanted to drag her right back against me, bend her over this lane, and show her what real aim looked like.
Her soft hands gripping steel made me imagine them gripping my dick instead, trembling, begging. I was tripping.
I clenched my jaw, leaned into her palm just enough to let her know I felt it. Because that's what she did to me, made me want to blur every line. Often.
“One day, Mr. Grimson,” she chuckled, eyes still daring me to cross it.
I exhaled slowly. “One day, Mrs. Grimson,” I echoed.
She slipped her hand into mine as we headed for the exit, casually flipping my whole world upside down.
“I need food since you infiltrated my plans,” she said once we hit the parking lot. “Korean? I want some kimchi.”
I smirked, unlocking the car. “Done. No kimchi, though.”
Her laugh followed us into the night, and for the first time that day, the edge I’d been carrying loosened.