Chapter 37 Prime
PRIME
Vivica’s office at City Hall was exactly what you’d expect from a woman who cared more about appearances than substance.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the National Mall. Mahogany desk that probably cost more than most people’s cars. Photos on the wall of her shaking hands with every politician who mattered. And in the center of it all, the Mayor herself, sitting behind that desk like a queen on her throne.
I dropped the manila envelope in front of her.
“It’s all there,” I said. “Photos of Dante at the Ritz-Carlton with his mistress. Her name is Christina Moore. Works with him at Vive Liquors. They’ve been seeing each other for at least six months based on the financial trail.”
Vivica opened the envelope, sliding the photos out with manicured fingers. Her expression didn’t change as she flipped through them. Dante kissing another woman. Dante with his hand on her waist. Dante getting into a car that wasn’t his.
“And the financials?”
“My guy is still working on that. But he’s found shell companies, offshore accounts, money moving through the Caymans. Dante’s been hiding assets. Millions, probably.”
She set the photos down and looked at me. Actually looked at me, with something in her eyes that might’ve been pride if it came from anyone else.
“You did a good job, Prentice.” She stood, walking around the desk toward me. “I’m so proud I could kiss you.”
“Don’t.”
She stopped, that political smile faltering for just a second. Then it was back, smooth as ever.
“You’ve always been so cold to me,” she said. “I understand why. But I’d like to repair our relationship. We’re family, after all. And now that you’re back in DC permanently—”
“Hell no.”
The words came out flat. Final.
“We’re done, Vivica. I did what you asked. Now you hold up your end. Push the casino permits through and leave Rashid alone.”
“Prentice—”
“I’m not finished.” I stepped closer, letting her see the ice in my eyes. “You don’t get to play mother now. Not after what you did. You testified against me when I was thirteen years old. You pushed for them to try me as an adult. You wanted me gone, and you got your wish.”
“I was trying to protect you—”
“Bullshit.” My voice dropped lower. Dangerous. “You were trying to protect yourself. Your image. Your political future. I was an embarrassment, so you threw me away.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t apologize. Just stood there with that same calculated expression she’d worn my entire life.
“I did what I thought was best,” she said quietly. “You may not believe that, but it’s true.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe. We’re done. The permits. Rashid. Handle it.”
I turned toward the door.
“Until next time, Prentice.”
I didn’t respond. Just walked out and let the door close behind me.
My phone buzzed before I even made it to the elevator.
Zahara.
“Zahara? What’s up?”
“I need you to come over.” Her voice was steady, but something was wrong. I could hear it underneath. “Right now.”
“What’s wrong? You sound—”
“I can’t say on the phone. Just come. Please.”
The line went dead.
I was already moving, pushing through the hallway toward the stairs because the elevator would take too long. Something was wrong. Something bad. I could feel it in my gut.
“Prime!”
I turned at the sound of Serenity’s voice. She was coming down the hall toward Vivica’s office, dressed in something expensive, heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Ren.” I stopped, reaching for her arm. “Hey, you okay?”
She pulled away from me, her eyes cold. “Don’t.”
“Serenity, come on. You still mad about Julius?”
“You cut off my husband’s finger, Prime. Without telling me. Without asking me. So yeah, I’m still mad.”
“He was cheating on you with your best friend—”
“That was MY choice to make. MY marriage. MY decision.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You took that from me.”
I could smell it on her now. Liquor. Strong. And it was only five in the afternoon.
“Ren, have you been drinking?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“It’s five o’clock and you smell like a bar. What’s going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” She stepped around me, heading for Vivica’s office. “I have a meeting with our mother.”
“Serenity—”
“Goodbye, Prime.”
She disappeared through the door without looking back.
I stood there for a second, torn. My baby sister was spiraling. Drinking in the middle of the day. Meeting with Vivica, which never led to anything good. I should stay. Should make sure she was okay.
But Zahara’s voice echoed in my head. The fear underneath the calm. The urgency she was trying to hide.
I couldn’t be in two places at once.
I chose Zahara.
Sprinted down the stairs and out to my car, breaking every speed limit between City Hall and her apartment.
The police tape was the first thing I saw.
Yellow. Bright. Stretched across the back side of the building like a warning.
My heart stopped.
I parked crooked, didn’t even lock the car, just ran for her building. Pushed past the small crowd still gathered, ignored the officer who tried to stop me, took the stairs two at a time until I was banging on her door.
“Zahara! Open up!”
The door swung open and she pulled me inside, closing it quickly behind me.
“What happened?” I grabbed her arms, checking her over. “Are you okay? Is Yusef—”
“We’re fine. Physically.” Her voice was shaking now that we were alone. The mask she’d been wearing cracking. “But Prime… something happened. Something bad.”
She led me to Yusef’s room.
He was sitting on the bed, knees pulled to his chest, staring at nothing. His eyes were red and swollen. He’d been crying. Still was, tears sliding down his face without sound.
On the bed next to him was a trash bag. I could see the outline of something heavy inside. Something metal.
A gun.
And next to that, scraps of fabric. Cut up clothes.
I looked at Zahara. Then back at Yusef. Then at the yellow tape visible through the window.
“Tell me,” I said quietly.
Zahara told me. About Yusef leaving early that morning.
About the shooting behind the building. About Nigel—the boy I’d thought was his friend—being the one who’d been tormenting him all along.
About Yusef coming home with her gun. About convincing him to put it down when he’d pressed it to his own head.
By the time she finished, my hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From rage.
Nigel. That little nigga had been beating on Yusef this whole time. Stealing from him. Threatening to have his mother killed. Making his life hell while pretending to be his friend.
And I’d let him into Zahara’s space. Let him help at the gala. Treated him like he was a good kid.
I’d missed it. All of it.
I crossed the room and sat down next to Yusef on the bed. He flinched when I got close, like he expected me to hit him. To yell. To tell him what a fuck-up he was.
Instead, I pulled him into a hug.
He broke immediately. Sobbing against my chest. His whole body shaking with the weight of what he’d done.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I just wanted him to stop—”
“I know.” I held him tighter. “I know, lil man. I know.”
We stayed like that for a long moment. Me holding him. Him falling apart. Zahara watching from the doorway with tears streaming down her face.
Finally, I pulled back. Held his face in my hands and made him look at me.
“Listen to me,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. “What happened today… it’s gonna be okay. But I need you to do exactly what I say. Can you do that?”
He nodded weakly.
“You need a story. And you need to stick to it no matter what. You came home from school at the regular time. You were in here practicing piano the whole afternoon. You didn’t go outside.
You didn’t see anything. You didn’t hear anything until the sirens started. That’s the truth now. You understand?”
“But what if they ask—”
“That’s the only answer you give. You were home. Practicing. That’s it.”
“I’m scared, Prime.” His voice cracked. “What if they find out? What if they know it was me?”
“If there were witnesses, you’d already be in handcuffs. The fact that police haven’t come knocking means nobody saw you. Nobody knows.” I squeezed his shoulders. “But we gotta be smart. We gotta make sure there’s nothing that ties you to this.”
I looked at the trash bag. The gun. The cut-up clothes.
“I’m gonna get rid of these,” I said. “Somewhere they’ll never be found. And then this is over. You hear me? It’s over.”
“How do you know?” Yusef’s eyes searched mine, desperate. Confused. “How do you know what to do?”
I was quiet for a moment. Then I told him the truth.
“Because I did something like this once. When I was about your age.” I swallowed hard. “There was a boy who was making my life hell. Bullying me every day. And one day I snapped. Beat him with a padlock until he stopped moving.”
Yusef’s eyes went wide.
“I went to prison for it,” I continued. “Spent eight years locked up because I didn’t have anyone to help me. Didn’t have anyone to tell me what to do, how to handle it. My own mother testified against me.”
“That’s…” Yusef couldn’t finish the sentence.
“That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m helping you.” I gripped his shoulders harder. “You’re not gonna suffer the fate I did. You’re not gonna lose your life over this. But you gotta trust me. You gotta do exactly what I say. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“I trust you, Prime.”
“Good.” I stood, grabbing the trash bag. “I’m gonna handle this. Get rid of everything. Then I’ll be back tonight.”
I looked at Zahara. She was still crying, but there was something else in her eyes now. Gratitude. Trust. Love.
“Keep him calm,” I said. “Keep him inside. If police come to the door asking questions, you let them in, you cooperate, and you stick to the story. He was home. Practicing piano. That’s all.”
“Okay.”
I moved toward the door, then stopped. Turned back to look at Yusef one more time.
Guilt hit me like a fist to the chest.
I’d been teaching him to fight. Taking him to Pharaoh’s gym. Trying to make him stronger so he could defend himself against whoever was hurting him.
But I hadn’t done it fast enough.
If I’d trained him harder. If I’d figured out who was behind the bullying sooner. If I’d been paying attention instead of dealing with Vivica’s bullshit and Larry’s body and everything else…
Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
Maybe Nigel would still be alive.
Maybe Yusef wouldn’t be sitting there with blood on his hands and trauma in his eyes that would never fully go away.
I’d failed him.
Just like everyone had failed me.
“I’ll be back,” I said quietly. “I promise.”
Then I left, trash bag in hand, to cover up another murder.
Because that’s what I did.
That’s who I was.
And apparently, that’s who I’d always be.