Chapter 17 Prime
PRIME
“Don’t open the door for nobody.”
Yusef looked up from the couch where he was already settling in with his PlayStation controller. “I know.”
“I’m serious, lil man. Not maintenance. Not nobody. You need something, you call me.”
“Prime.” He gave me that look—the one that said he was twelve, not two, and I was being extra. “I got it. Building has a doorman. Cameras everywhere. Key fob to even get on the elevator. Nobody’s getting up here.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d chosen this building specifically because it was a fortress. But after everything that had happened—Zoo sniffing around, Meech about to be released, Rashid making moves I couldn’t predict—I wasn’t taking any chances.
Zainab came out of the bedroom and my brain short-circuited for a second.
She was wearing this deep emerald dress that hugged every curve like it was painted on.
Slit up the thigh. Low cut in the back. Gold jewelry at her neck and ears.
Hair swept up, showing off that neck I was definitely gonna have my mouth on later tonight.
Her deep dark skin against that jewel toned dress was magnificent.
“Damn,” I said. Couldn’t help it.
She smiled, doing a little spin. “You like?”
“I’m reconsidering whether we need to go to this party at all.”
“Boy, stop.” But she was blushing, which was cute as hell. “We’re going. My cinnamon rolls are there and I need to make sure everything looks right.”
“Your staff handled the setup. You’re going as a guest tonight, not the help.”
That had been important to me. When we’d discussed her catering the gala, I made sure she understood—she wasn’t gonna be back there in an apron, sweating over displays while everybody else enjoyed themselves.
I’d fronted the money for her to hire a team.
Professional servers. Setup crew. The whole nine.
Tonight, Zainab was walking in on my arm, not through the service entrance.
“I know.” She walked over and adjusted my bow tie, even though it didn’t need adjusting. “Thank you. For making that happen.”
“Anything for you, Goddess.”
Yusef made a gagging noise from the couch. “Y’all are disgusting.”
“Mind your business,” Zainab said, but she was smiling. She went over and kissed the top of his head. “We’ll be back in a few hours. There’s food in the fridge and snacks in the pantry. Don’t stay up too late.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And don’t—”
“Open the door for nobody. I KNOW.” He was already focused on his game, dismissing us.
I took one last look around the penthouse. Everything locked. Security system armed. Cameras active on my phone so I could check in whenever I wanted.
He’d be fine. He had to be fine.
“Let’s go,” Zainab said, taking my hand. “Before you find another reason to hover.”
The Grand Monarch Hotel was lit up like a Christmas tree when we pulled up.
Valets in crisp uniforms. Red carpet leading to the entrance.
Photographers snapping pictures of DC’s elite as they floated through the doors in their tuxedos and gowns.
This was the kind of event where deals got made over champagne, where a handshake was worth more than a contract, where the real business happened in the spaces between the speeches and the toasts.
And tonight, Banks Reserve was the star of the show.
The ballroom was massive—crystal chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, tables draped in white linen with centerpieces that probably cost more than most people’s rent.
A jazz quartet played in the corner, smooth and unobtrusive.
Waiters circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
And right there, front and center on the dessert table, were Zainab’s cinnamon rolls.
“They look perfect,” she breathed, squeezing my hand.
“Course they do. You made them.”
The display was elegant—tiered platters, each roll glazed and golden, the Sweet Zin logo tastefully displayed on small cards. Professional. Polished. A far cry from the farmers market tables where she’d started.
She’d come a long way. And this was just the beginning.
“Prime!”
I turned to see Quest approaching with Justice flanking him.
My brothers cleaned up well—Quest in a classic black tux that screamed CEO, Justice in navy blue with a gold pocket square that matched his watch.
Behind them, I could see Tionne and KiKi making their way over, both stunning in complementary dresses that somehow didn’t clash despite being completely different styles.
“About time you showed up,” Quest said, pulling me into a quick hug before turning to Zainab. “And this must be the famous Zainab. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope.” Zainab’s smile was warm but I could feel the slight tension in her hand. Meeting the family was a big deal.
“Very good things.” Justice stepped forward, charming as always. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. Prime’s been keeping you hidden.”
“For good reason,” I said. “Y’all would scare her off.”
“Us? Never.” Quest grinned, then gestured to the women joining us. “Zahara, this is Camille and Lyric.”
The introductions flowed easy. Camille was all grace and warmth, immediately complimenting Zainab’s dress. Lyric was more reserved but genuinely friendly, asking about Sweet Zin and how the catering business was going. Within minutes, the three of them were chatting like old friends.
“She fits,” Justice said quietly, watching the women talk.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “She does.”
More family filtered over. Cannon appeared first.
”Prime.” He pulled me into a hug. “Good to see you, brother.”
“You too, Cannon. Business good?”
“Can’t complain. Hotels are booked solid through the new year. The our BnB side is exploding.” He glanced at Zainab, who was still deep in conversation with the other women. “She’s beautiful. You finally found somebody who can tolerate your ass?”
“Something like that. Where’s Queen?” I asked.
“I’m right here!” She appeared giving me a hug.
“It’s good to see you again.”
“You too, sis. We gotta all get dinner while you’re in town.”
“Hell yea. We got a lot of catching up to do” Cannon replied.
Behind Cannon came Riot and Creed King—his half-brothers from his mother’s side, which made them no blood relation to me but family all the same. Cannon was the bridge between two empires, the Banks and the Kings, and having him in our circle had opened doors none of us expected.
Riot ran a winery upstate New York that had been gaining national attention. Creed, Riot and Cannon owned a security and logistics firm. Both of them were sharp, ambitious, and building generational wealth the same way we were.
“Wsup.” I shook hands with both of them. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Riot said. “Not when we’re about to make history with this casino deal.”
Serenity appeared then, looking better than she had in weeks. The dark circles were gone. Her dress was stunning—deep burgundy that complemented her skin. And when she hugged me, it felt real. Not the distant, performative affection she’d been giving us since the whole Julius situation.
“You look good, sis,” I said.
“I feel good.” She smiled, and it actually reached her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so… absent. I needed time to figure some things out.”
“And did you?”
“I’m getting there.” She glanced at Zainab, who Camille was now pulling toward the dessert table to show off her cinnamon rolls. “She seems sweet, Prime. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Ren.”
She squeezed my arm and went to join the other women, leaving me with my brothers and the Kings.
The business conversation happened naturally, the way it always did when you put ambitious men in a room together.
Riot’s winery would be one of the main wine suppliers for the casino—a deal worth millions over the next decade.
Creed’s security firm would handle all the surveillance systems, from the gaming floor to the hotel suites.
Cannon’s hotel empire would partner with us on the resort side, and in exchange, every one of his properties—hotels, Airbnbs, vacation rentals—would be stocked exclusively with Banks Reserve spirits.
It was a web of mutual benefit. Black excellence multiplied.
“To building empires,” Quest said, raising his glass.
“To building empires,” we echoed.
We laughed, and for a moment, everything felt right. No threats. No drama. Just family and business and the promise of a future we were building with our own hands.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about Zainab. About whether she was comfortable. Whether Vivica had cornered her somewhere to deliver one of her condescending speeches about “appropriate matches” for the Banks men.
“I’ma go check on my girl,” I said, setting down my glass.
Quest smirked. “Whipped.”
Riot, Creed and Cannon all laughed as if they could relate. I wasn’t whipped though. Just needed to make sure she was good.
Shit. Maybe I am.
I made my way through the crowd, scanning for that emerald dress. The ballroom was packed now—politicians, business leaders, celebrities, all the people who mattered in DC and a few who only thought they did.
I spotted Vivica first. She was standing with her assistant and lover, India.
They were doing a good job playing off the truth of their relationship.
But that shit wasn’t any of my business.
I just needed her to stay out of my way.
Last I heard she was divorcing her husband and he was none the wiser of her secrets.
Then I saw Farah.
She was angling toward me, that desperate smile on her face, already raising her hand to wave me down. Her cream-colored dress was probably chosen specifically to stand out, to catch my eye, to remind me she existed.
I looked right through her and kept moving..
In my peripheral vision, I saw her face fall. Saw the flash of anger and hurt that she quickly tried to mask.
Good. Maybe she’d finally get the message.