25.

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A month into being in New York, things were finally starting to settle.

Zuri and I had just gotten back from a full day of shopping—bags from designer stores, sneaker boutiques, and uniform shops stacked up in our arms. She had been beaming the whole time, talking about how she was finally going to be in a real school, a good school. A fresh start.

Now, as we stepped into the penthouse, she twirled around in the entryway, still hyped.

"I'm really living the good life now," she grinned, dropping her bags on the couch. "Like, I got a view, I got clothes, I got a real-ass bed—Ren, this some rich people shit."

I chuckled, setting my own bags down and stretching. "Took you long enough to realize. You ain't gotta live foul just 'cause that's what we came from."

She plopped down on the couch, scrolling through her phone, still smiling. "Can't believe you really pulled this off."

I smirked and pointed towards the hallway. "Go check on Nanny. Make sure she good."

She groaned but got up anyway. "Alright, alright."

I watched her disappear down the hall before heading to Nanny's room myself. Wasn't leaving my almost 80-year-old grandmother in nobody's hands. Not even Zuri's.

When I stepped inside, she was sitting in her recliner, watching one of her old crime shows, a cup of tea balanced on her lap. She glanced up when she saw me and raised an eyebrow.

I leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "Hey, old lady."

Her eyes narrowed instantly. "Excuse me?"

I bit back a laugh. "What? You are my favorite old lady."

She gasped like I had personally insulted her entire existence. "I am sixty-seven years old, young lady, not eighty."

I couldn't hold it in—I started laughing. "Nanny, that's still old!"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You don't know nothing about old. Sixty-seven is still young—" she gestured to herself, "—I'm still up, still moving, still handling business. You tryna put me in a rocking chair already?"

I smirked. "I mean, you do own a rocking chair—"

"And I own a gun," she cut me off, sipping her tea with a raised eyebrow.

I put my hands up in surrender, laughing. "Alright, alright. You got it."

She hummed in satisfaction, setting her cup down. "Mmhm. Thought so." Then she softened, looking me over like she was seeing past all the jokes. "How you been settling in?"

I sighed, stepping further into the room and sitting on the armrest of her recliner. "It's cool. Just been getting Zu together, making sure she got everything she need for school."

Nanny nodded approvingly. "You're doing right by that girl. Lord knows she deserves it."

I just nodded, running my fingers over the stitching on the chair. "Yeah."

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again, voice quieter. "And what about you, baby? You settling in?"

I hesitated, my mind drifting to her.

To Yanna.

I hadn't seen her. Hadn't talked to her. But I felt her, like an ache I couldn't shake.

I kept tabs, though. I knew she was still in the Hills, still with him. The engagement was still on.

But I knew that didn't mean shit.

Not when she was still wearing the ring I gave her.

I cleared my throat, shaking my head. "Yeah. I'm cool."

Nanny gave me that look, like she knew I was lying but wasn't gonna press me. She just sighed and patted my leg. "Alright, then. But you know you can talk to me, right?"

I nodded. "I know."

She squeezed my knee before picking up her tea again. "Good. Now, be a good grandbaby and go pour me some more tea."

I rolled my eyes but stood up, smirking. "Yes, ma'am."

Heading to the kitchen, I took my time making Nanny's tea just how she liked it—light on the sugar, a squeeze of lemon, no honey. She was picky about it, always had been. By the time I brought it back to her, she was already settled in with her show again.

"Here you go, Queen Nanny." I handed her the cup with a playful grin.

She hummed in satisfaction. "Mmm. At least you know how to treat me right."

I chuckled and turned to Zuri, who was stretched out on the couch in the living room, flipping through her phone. "Monkey, I'ma be back in a few hours."

She barely looked up. "Where you going?"

"Handle business."

She groaned dramatically, dropping her phone onto her chest. "You always handling business."

"Gotta keep food on the table," I shot back, grabbing my keys off the counter.

"We live in a penthouse," she deadpanned, making Nanny snicker from her recliner.

I smirked. "Exactly. Expensive food."

She rolled her eyes but didn't push it further. I kissed Nanny's cheek, ruffled Zuri's hair despite her protest, and headed out.

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My new Benz purred under my hands as I weaved through traffic, heading toward the drop spot. The car was fresh, smooth, and powerful, but my mind wasn't even on the ride. It was on the shipment.

This was my first major move since touching down in New York, and I wasn't about to fumble it.

When I pulled up to the warehouse lot, I immediately spotted Bari leaning against his black SUV, arms crossed, chewing on a toothpick. As soon as he saw me, he pushed off the car and dapped me up.

"What's good, mini Siren?" He grinned, using my uncle's nickname for me just to get under my skin.

I rolled my eyes. "Man, chill with that shit."

He laughed but got serious real quick when I laid out the situation. I told him what was coming in, what the weight looked like, and what was expected of us. He listened without interrupting, nodding along.

When I finished, he smacked his lips. "So you really 'bout to jump headfirst into this empire shit, huh?"

I met his gaze. "Was there ever any doubt?"

He tilted his head, then grinned. "Hell nah." He clapped me on the back. "You know I'm ten toes down for you, always."

That's why I trusted him.

The truck pulled up a few minutes later, and it was just the two of us loading it. Heavy ass crates stacked with heat—Glocks, ARs, shotguns, even some custom pieces. The weight of the operation settled over me, but I didn't hesitate. This was my lane, my inheritance.

Bari wiped his forehead, huffing as we secured another crate. "You really 'bout to shake the streets up with this one."

I smirked, lifting another box like it was nothing. "Damn right."

I wasn't just making a name for myself.

I was making a name for my OG.

We pulled up to the warehouse, the tires crunching against the gravel as my Benz rolled to a stop. I stepped out smooth, adjusting my jacket as I surveyed the scene. The men Uncle sent were already in position, waiting for my signal. They were older, seasoned in this life, but they knew better than to question me. My father's name still rang bells, and I was making damn sure they knew I wasn't nothing to play with either.

"Move," I ordered, my voice slicing through the air like a blade. Cold. Commanding. No hesitation.

The men jumped into action, hauling the heavy crates inside without a word. The sounds of metal scraping against wood and boots thudding against concrete echoed through the warehouse. I stood firm, arms crossed, watching every single movement. No wasted time, no sloppiness—I wasn't running no half-assed operation.

Bari leaned against a crate, watching with an approving nod. "You got 'em trained already," he mused.

I shot him a look. "Ain't no 'already.' They know who the fuck I am."

He smirked. "Damn right."

The last crate was placed down, and I stepped forward, running a hand over the top. "Check it," I ordered. One of the men pried it open, revealing stacks of neatly packed firearms, fresh and untouched. Just like I expected.

I turned to the crew, my gaze sharp, my voice booming off the high warehouse walls. "This shit right here? It's the first of many. We don't fumble, we don't fuck up, and we damn sure don't run sloppy. Y'all understand me?"

A chorus of yes, ma'ams and nods followed.

"Good." I nodded once. "Unload the rest and lock it down."

As they got back to work, Bari let out a low whistle. "You really your daddy's kid."

I just smirked. "Damn right."

I ran my fingers along the edges of the crate, my eyes scanning the stacks of product inside. My brow furrowed as I did a quick mental count. Something was off. I stepped back, my expression unreadable, and motioned for Bari to come closer.

"This was perfect last week," I said, my voice even, almost amused. "Now it's short."

Bari whistled low, shaking his head. "Somebody playing a real dangerous game."

I let out a slow chuckle, shaking my head. "Somebody wanna be made an example."

The warehouse went dead silent. The men froze, stiff as boards. They knew what that meant.

A beat passed before one of the guys cracked. He turned on his own in a heartbeat, jabbing a finger toward another dude—young, maybe mid-20s, too eager, too sloppy. "It was him. Swear to God. He took some and said he was gonna put it back before you noticed."

The accused dude's eyes went wide as hell. He stepped forward fast, hands raised in desperation. "Ren, please. I was gonna return it, I swear. I just—"

I tilted my head, watching him scramble for excuses, watching the sweat bead at his temple. The fear.

"I needed it—my mom—she's sick—hospital bills—"

I pulled my gun, smooth and effortless. Before he could get another word out, I fired.

The shot rang through the warehouse, bouncing off the concrete walls. The dude hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes still wide. His lips twitched like he wanted to say something, but he was already gone.

Silence stretched, heavy and thick. I exhaled, adjusting my stance, and turned to the snitch who gave him up so damn fast. He was still frozen in place, looking between me and the body like he was next.

I walked up to him slow, tucking my gun back in place. "Clean it up."

His breath hitched. "Wh—what?"

I leaned in, my tone low, deadly. "You heard me."

He nodded fast, scrambling to move, damn near tripping over himself to get to the mess.

Before he could get too far, I grabbed his shoulder, stopping him cold. He turned back, eyes wide, panic setting in.

"I don't like snitches," I said flatly.

His throat bobbed. He nodded.

I let him go. "Remember that."

Then I turned back to Bari, who just chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, you got that." he muttered, grinning.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out a thick stack of cash. Peeling off a few crisp bills, I handed them to Bari without a word. He took them, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—respect, maybe.

"Make sure his moms' fees are covered," I said, my voice calm. "She don't need to suffer 'cause her son was stupid."

Bari just nodded, slipping the money into his jacket. "Consider it done."

I didn't say anything else. Just turned on my heel and walked out of the warehouse, leaving the weight of what just happened behind me. The cool night air hit me as I stepped outside, and for a second, I just stood there, taking it in. The city smelled different out here—oil, metal, smoke. It wasn't home, but I was making it mine.

I slid into my Benz, the leather cool against my skin, and let out a slow breath. My hands were steady on the wheel as I pulled off, the weight of the gun in my holster a familiar comfort. The streets blurred past as I drove, but my mind wasn't on business anymore. It was on home.

On them.

Zuri. Nanny.

And Yanna.

I sighed, shaking the thought off before it could drag me under. I needed to focus. Needed to keep everything in check.

I made a quick turn, pulling into the parking lot of a grocery store. The lights buzzed overhead, and the automatic doors slid open as I walked inside. The smell of fresh bread and citrus hit me first, a sharp contrast to the world I just left behind.

I grabbed a cart and moved through the aisles, picking up the basics first—milk, eggs, bread. Then I started grabbing the good shit. Zuri liked fresh fruit, so I stocked up on that. Nanny swore by her herbal teas, so I tossed a few in the cart for her too.

Then, I found myself in the seasoning aisle, fingers tracing over different bottles. My mind drifted again, this time to something softer.

Yanna used to love cooking. She always said food was a love language.

I shook my head, pushing the cart forward.

This wasn't about her.

I was cooking for my family, the one I had right here.

By the time I reached checkout, my cart was filled with everything I needed to make a real meal. Not just some thrown-together bullshit, but something warm. Something that felt like home.

I paid in cash—always cash—and carried the bags out to the car. The night was quieter now, the air cool against my skin as I loaded everything in the backseat.

Then, I slid into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel.

This life was mine now.

I moved through the kitchen with ease, my hands working on autopilot as I put together a quick meal for Nanny and Zuri. Something warm, something filling—something that would remind them they were safe now. They weren't starving in some rundown house filled with strangers and drugs. They weren't scraping by while our mother threw away every last cent on her vices.

Not anymore.

I set their plates down on the table and called Zuri over. She bounced in with a grin, grabbing her fork before even sitting down. "You didn't have to cook, Ren. I could've made something."

I just smirked, ruffling her hair as I passed. "I wanted to."

Nanny eyed me from her seat, that knowing look in her eyes. She could see it. The way my mind was somewhere else, the way my movements were a little too sharp, too quick. She sipped her tea but didn't push. She never did.

"Make sure y'all eat," I muttered, grabbing a bottle of water before heading toward my room.

I locked the door behind me, exhaling slow as I set the water on my nightstand. My chest felt tight, my mind restless, like there was too much in me that I couldn't let out.

I reached for my iPad, already knowing where I was about to go.

The interview.

That fucking interview.

I pulled it up again, the screen lighting up with Yanna's face—beautiful as ever, even with the sadness behind her eyes. Even with Wyatt sitting next to her, playing the role of the perfect fiancé.

My jaw tightened as I watched.

She was playing with the ring I gave her. My ring. Twisting it between her fingers, her eyes glassy, her lips pressed together like she was holding back everything she really wanted to say.

And then, that motherfucker snatched it right off her hand.

I clenched my fists, feeling my pulse throb in my temple.

That bastard.

She ran after it, scrambling to pick it up before the cameras cut back on. Sat there, playing her part like nothing happened.

Like she wasn't hurting.

I breathed in deep, forcing myself to stay still, to stay calm. But I wasn't calm. I was far from it.

That weak-ass, fake-ass excuse of a man was putting his hands on my Yanna. Controlling her. Hurting her. And her father? That bitch was just letting it happen.

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

I wanted to kill them both.

With my bare hands.

I wanted to feel Wyatt struggle under me, wanted to see the light leave his eyes while I crushed his throat. And her father? He wasn't even worth a slow death—I'd put a bullet in his skull without a second thought.

And then I'd take Yanna away from all this bullshit.

Away from the cameras, the pressure, the cage they had her trapped in.

She was mine.

She was always mine.

And I was gonna get her back.

No matter what it took.

I sighed, rubbing a hand down my face before shutting off the iPad. My head was pounding, my body tense with all the anger boiling under my skin.

But sitting here, stewing in it, wasn't gonna do shit. Not yet.

I pushed myself up from the bed and went to my closet, pulling out a pair of sweats and a fitted tee. Something comfortable. Something easy to sleep in. After changing, I ran a hand over my locs, making sure they were still secured in the loose bun before slipping under the covers.

The bed was big—too big. Too empty.

I turned over, staring at the wall as I exhaled slow. My body was tired, but my mind was still running, still thinking about her.

Wondering if she was thinking about me too.

Wondering if she still wore my ring when nobody was watching.

I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion pull me under, my last thought before sleep took me being the same one that never left my mind.

I'm coming back for you, Yanna.