Page 32 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)

Body Roll

Naeem

From the top floor of Bulgari Developments, I sat behind my desk with the proposal for the underground floodwall and sewage project open in front of me.

I scanned every line to ensure I had covered everything.

The contract was strong; clean on the surface, but dangerous underneath.

If I locked it in, the city would hand me direct access to the tunnels, drainage lines, and the sewer infrastructure beneath the waterfront.

That kind of power was limitless.

Bulgari Developments was finally becoming what I envisioned, not just a side venture or vanity project, but a real foundation.

Something I built, not inherited. It was mine.

If something ever happened to me, my wife and future kids would inherit more than just bloodstained legacy. This was generational wealth.

A knock broke the silence, and I drew my eyes upward to see who was there. “Come in.”

Khalil strolled inside and shut the door behind him. “Sup, bro?” he greeted, upping his chin. “How was the meeting?”

“Good. The city’s biting. The coastline has them nervous, and I offered a permanent solution. Full revamp of the floodwall system.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

I turned the screen so he could see. “Control. The system touches everything under the south corridor. Once the contract clears, we can move our product under the city without interruptions, eyes, or rivals watching our every move.”

Khalil studied the plans. “It’s too clean. They’re gonna dig.”

“I’m ahead of them. I’ve got three companies standing in as subcontractors. They’re all clean and all under fake ownership. The city won’t look past the paper trail, especially once the feds start matching grant money.”

He looked up at me. “You serious about this?”

“I am. This is something I want to put my name on. I’ve put in the work for years for the family, and now I want to do something for myself. I want to give my wife and future kids something built off my vision. Something that’s ours.”

Khalil nodded slowly. “Who’s the holdout?”

“Councilman Rosario. He’s dragging his feet. I need him leaned on.”

Khalil didn’t hesitate. “You want pressure or persuasion?”

“Whatever gets it done. I want that bid.”

He gave a short nod. “I’ll make a call tonight. You’ll have your yes.” He then paused for a moment as if thinking things over once more. Then, he asked, “You sure this is worth the heat? People will come for something this big.”

“Let them. I’m not building it for now. I’m building this to last.”

Khalil nodded again.

“I need you to keep an eye out for private investors.”

“I had a feeling you were gonna go through with this, so I put eyes out for them already,” Khalil replied like the know-it-all he was, a slow, mischievous grin stretching across his face.

“If anyone outside our circle tries to sneak in through a third party, I’ll handle it before it becomes a problem. ”

That was exactly what I needed to hear. Khalil was a strategic monster, and I had no doubt he would make sure this deal went through without interruption.

I sat back, satisfied. “This project is big, Khalil. I had a lot of time to think during those months I was down after I got shot. I need this.”

“That’s why I’m making sure no one gets in your way.” He said as he stood and adjusted his Rolex. “Give me a week, and this deal will be locked in without a single obstacle.”

“Make sure of it.”

Khalil reached the door, pausing just before stepping out. “I will. This is gonna put you on another level. Just make sure you’re ready for what comes with it.”

“I was born ready,” I replied, staring him directly in the eyes, my gaze never wavering.

Khalil chuckled, shaking his head as he left. “I don’t doubt it, big bro. Not one bit.”

“Thank you. It’s good to know you still have faith in me.”

He paused at the door, smirking. “You might make questionable decisions when it comes to Tatum, but every player fuck up sometimes. I’d be no better than our enemies if I switched up on you just ‘cause you went after what your heart wanted. You know that ain’t my style.

Loyalty over everything, tender dick ass nigga. ”

“Fuck you,” I spat, laughing under my breath as he walked out.

Almost immediately after, Chachi, my secretary, spoke over the intercom, “Sir, Mr. Jayce is on the line. Should I put him through?”

I pressed the button to reply and picked up the phone all in one motion, “Put him through.”

“Yes, sir. I’m putting him through now,” Chachi said before the line clicked, signaling she’d pushed him through.

“Boss, it’s Jayce. I tried your cell a few times, but it kept going to voicemail. Apologies for the interruption, but Mon said you texted wanting an update on your wife's whereabouts.”

I did. Tatum turned off her location hours ago. That alone told me she didn’t want to be found, and possibly doing something she had no business doing.

I didn’t like being in the dark about anything.

“Go on.”

“Mrs. Bulgari is at Sip Symphony—that new lounge down on Fourth and Newport with Ms. Sophia and Ms. Riley. We’ve been here since this afternoon.”

My jaw locked, and I breathed fire through my nose. Tatum had all the time in the world to sit inside a bar, but couldn’t respond to my calls or texts. When did she get so comfortable that she thought it was okay to ignore me?

I leaned forward, gripping the edge of my desk. My voice stayed calm, but the anger underneath was impossible to miss. “Keep an eye on her. Don’t interfere unless you have to.”

“Yes, sir,” Jayce said quickly. “One more thing—I saw Dallas Veneto approach their table. I let the women handle it. Didn’t want to blow my cover, since Mrs. Bulgari isn’t supposed to know I’m detailing her.”

“And you let him get close?” I asked finally.

“No one was touched, especially your wife, Sir. He walked up, said something, then walked away just as fast.”

My grip on the desk didn’t loosen. “I don’t give a fuck about him not touching her. Breathing the same air as my wife is a violation. Next time, I don’t care if she puts a gun to your head—if Dallas gets within arm’s reach of my wife, you handle it.”

“Yes, sir.”

I released a breath through my nose. “Keep your distance, but if he’s still there when they leave, follow him.”

“Understood.”

I ended the call and sat in silence for a beat, staring at the dark screen.

Dallas. I hated muthafucka and everything associated with that name.

The Dallas Cowboys. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.

The Dallas Mavericks. Dallas, that old ass soap opera with the oil tycoons.

Hell, I hated the city of Dallas, and I’d never even been.

Fuck Dallas, Georgia, too. Nobody even heard of that shit anyway.

My fingers flexed against the edge of the desk, but I didn’t move until I had full control of my rage again. I stood, grabbed my coat, and headed out. There were some things a phone couldn’t handle. My presence spoke louder.

By the time I pulled up to Sip Symphony, the sun had dipped behind the skyline, casting long shadows over the sidewalk.

The bar sat on a strip in the Lower East Side, right at the edge of Veneto territory, surrounded by luxury high-rises and designer shops.

It was upscale, sure, but it catered to the boughetto—the bougie ratchet who knew how to put that shit on, pop bottles, and dance like life hadn’t been beating their ass all week.

As soon as I stepped inside Sip Symphony, the energy shifted. The bass didn’t just hit; it moved through the walls, syncing with the LED lights embedded in the ceiling. The place looked like luxury met the future and agreed to keep it sexy.

High-gloss black floors reflected streaks of neon blue and violet, enveloping the room in a soft, vibrant color. The walls were smooth and dark, lit by geometric strips that changed hue with the music, casting just enough light to make skin glow and jewelry dance.

The bar stretched along one side with glass shelves stacked with backlit bottles, pink and purple lighting illuminating the liquor like art. Tables were sleek and black, with glowing cylinders in the center that flickered between shades of indigo and red.

People weren’t just standing around trying to look important.

They danced. They vibed. They poured shots and made memories they’d lie about the next day.

It was the spot you flexed for on social media and revisited when you wanted to feel untouchable.

Sip Symphony was a vibe, and every person inside seemed to match its energy.

The owner, Tolo, a man in his forties who was once cool with my pops, approached wearing a fresh fade, an expensive blue suit, a gold chain tucked under his collar, and a nervous smile.

“Naeem. Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I won’t be long,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

It was quick and firm, excluding any small talk, and he knew that was the end of our conversation. Tolo stepped aside without another word. Smartest thing he could’ve done. I didn’t fuck with him like that, and he damn sure knew it.

Years ago, when I was just a youngin’ getting into shit I had no business in, he was always running to my pops, snitching about what he saw or heard. There was nothing harmless about it. He was a rat, plain and simple. And in my world, that label stuck. Didn’t matter how much time had passed.

Once a snitch, always a snitch.

I slowly scanned the room, and my eyes landed on Tatum almost immediately.

She was on the dance floor, her back to me, hips moving to the beat as if the melody was made only for her.

The crowd pulsed around her, but she stood out like a flame in a room full of smoke—unbothered, untouched, and completely in her own world.

People gravitated to her without realizing it, pulled in by strings they couldn’t see, only felt.