20. AMAI #3
I felt the familiar cold settle over me—the same cold that had kept me alive this long, that had built my empire, that had made men fear my name. “Then I’ll remind him why that’s a bad idea.”
“And the woman?” Priest asked, his eyes locked on mine. “What about her?”
“She’s not up for discussion.”
The silence stretched between us. Priest studied me with the kind of attention that missed nothing, the kind of scrutiny that came from years of reading people for survival. Then he said it, quiet but certain. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”
I went still.
Not the kind of still that came from surprise.
The kind that came from a predator recognizing a threat and deciding whether to strike or retreat.
My hand tightened around the glass. My breathing didn’t change.
But something in my face must have given me away because Priest nodded slowly, like I’d just confirmed what he already knew.
“I’m not stupid, Amai.” He set his glass down and leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.
“You don’t send chefs and doctors to random women.
You don’t sit in the Seventh Ward eating dinner at somebody’s mama’s house unless it matters.
You don’t break your own patterns, don’t change your routine, don’t make yourself visible in neighborhoods you’ve got no business being in—not unless something’s changed. Not unless someone matters.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Because he was right and we both knew it. I wasn’t surprised that Priest knew what I was up to. It’s what I paid him for.
“It matters,” I said finally, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
Priest nodded again, slower this time, like he was processing the weight of what I’d just admitted.
“Then you need to protect her. Because if Rahsaan finds out you’ve got a pregnant woman in the Seventh Ward, he’s not going to see a personal matter.
He’s going to see leverage. He’s going to see the one thing that can make you move without thinking. And he’s going to use it.”
The cold in my chest turned to ice. The thought of Rahsaan—of anyone—getting close to Truth, using her, hurting her to get to me, made something violent and primal rise in my throat.
I forced it down, forced myself to stay calm, to think like the strategist I’d trained myself to be instead of the man I was becoming around her.
“He won’t,” I said, my voice flat and absolute.
“You can’t guarantee that.” Priest’s tone wasn’t challenging.
It was pragmatic. The voice of a man who’d seen too many plans fall apart, too many people underestimate their enemies, too many bodies dropped because someone thought they were untouchable.
“You’re one man, Amai. You can’t be everywhere.
You can’t watch her twenty-four hours a day.
And the more time you spend in the Seventh Ward, the more visible you make yourself, the easier it is for Rahsaan to figure out what you’re protecting. ”
“Watch me.”
The words came out cold. Final. The kind of tone that ended conversations and made men reconsider their next move. But Priest didn’t flinch. He just looked at me with something that might have been concern or might have been resignation—I couldn’t tell which.
“I’m not saying this to piss you off,” Priest said quietly.
“I’m saying this because I’ve been with you since the beginning.
I’ve watched you build this empire from nothing.
I’ve seen you make decisions that other men wouldn’t have the stomach for.
And I’ve never—not once—seen you compromise your position for anyone.
But this woman? She’s already changing you.
And if I can see it, Rahsaan can see it. And that makes her a target.”
I stood, the movement sharp and sudden, and walked to the window.
The city sprawled out below me—my city, the territory I’d fought for, bled for, killed for.
Every block represented a decision, a sacrifice, a line I’d drawn and defended.
I’d built this empire on the principle that nothing and no one could be used against me.
That I was untouchable because I had nothing to lose.
But that wasn’t true anymore.
I had Truth. I had the baby growing inside her. I had something that mattered more than territory or power or the empire I’d spent years building. And Priest was right—that made me vulnerable in ways I’d never been before.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, my voice low, my eyes still on the city. “Walk away? Pretend she doesn’t exist? Let her go through this alone because it’s safer for my reputation?”
“No.” Priest’s voice was firm. “I want you to be smart about it. I want you to move her somewhere secure. Somewhere Rahsaan can’t find her.
I want you to stop making yourself visible in the Seventh Ward every other day.
And I want you to let me handle the Rahsaan situation before it becomes a crisis. ”
I turned to face him. “Handle it how?”
“The way we always handle threats.” Priest’s expression didn’t change. “Quietly. Permanently. Before he has a chance to move on her.”
The offer hung in the air between us. It was the logical move. The strategic move. The kind of decision I would have made without hesitation months ago. Eliminate the threat before it becomes a problem. Protect what was mine by destroying anyone who might take it.
But something in me resisted. Not because I had any moral objection to killing Rahsaan—I didn’t.
But because moving Truth, locking her down, taking away her autonomy to keep her safe felt like the kind of control that would break whatever fragile trust we’d built.
She’d signed a contract, not a prison sentence.
And the moment I started treating her like property instead of a person, I’d lose her in ways that had nothing to do with Rahsaan.
“Not yet,” I said finally.
Priest’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Not yet?”
“I need time to figure this out. To talk to her. To make sure she understands what’s at stake without scaring her into running.
” I moved back to my chair and sat down, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to me.
“Give me a week. Keep eyes on Rahsaan. Track his movements. But don’t move on him yet. ”
“A week,” Priest repeated, his tone skeptical. “And what happens in a week?”
“In a week, I’ll have a plan.” I met his eyes. “One that keeps her safe without making her feel like a prisoner. One that reminds Rahsaan why he should have stayed in his lane. And one that doesn’t compromise what I’m building with her.”
Priest studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “All right. One week. But Amai?” He stood up, his expression serious. “If Rahsaan makes a move before then, I’m not waiting for your permission. I’m putting him down. Because I’d rather deal with your anger than your grief.”
I didn’t argue. Because he was right. And because the thought of losing Truth—of something happening to her or the baby because I’d been too proud or too stubborn to act—was worse than any threat Rahsaan could pose.
“Understood,” I said.
Priest nodded once, then headed for the door. He paused in the doorway, his hand on the frame, and looked back at me. “She must be something special,” he said quietly. “For you to risk everything like this.”
I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The truth was written all over my face, in every decision I’d made since the moment Truth Renois walked into my office and asked the questions nobody else had the courage to ask.
Priest left without another word.
I sat alone in the dark, the city lights blurring through the window, my mind already working through scenarios and contingencies and the hundred different ways this could go wrong.
One week.
I had one week to figure out how to keep Truth safe without losing her in the process.
One week to prove that loving someone didn’t make you weak—it made you willing to burn the world down to protect them.
And if Rahsaan wanted to test that theory, I’d be more than happy to show him exactly what happened when you threatened what belonged to Amai Landry.
Alexis showed up at my house three days later without calling first.
I’d been avoiding her. Not answering texts, letting calls go to voicemail, making excuses when she did manage to reach me. I knew what was coming. Had known since the moment I’d sat on the phone with Truth at 2:00 AM and realized I’d already made my choice.
But knowing didn’t make it easier.
I opened the door and found her standing there in a cream-colored dress that was probably meant to distract me, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her expression somewhere between hurt and determined.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I stepped aside and let her in.
The house was quiet. Syx was upstairs—I’d heard him moving around earlier, probably playing video games or scrolling through his phone. I’d told him I needed the house to myself tonight, but clearly, he’d decided that didn’t apply to him.
Alexis walked into the living room and turned to face me, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I know.”
“For three weeks, Amai. Three weeks of barely responding to my texts, canceling plans, acting like I don’t exist.” Her voice was steady, but I could hear the hurt underneath. “So, either tell me what’s going on or tell me we’re done. But don’t keep stringing me along like this.”
I respected that. The directness. The refusal to play games or pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.
“You’re right,” I said. “I have been avoiding you. And that’s not fair to you.”
She waited, her eyes locked on mine.
I took a breath. “This isn’t working. Not because of anything you did—you’ve been nothing but good to me. But I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t be what you need me to be.”
“Because of her,” Alexis said quietly.
I went still. “What?”