I was in a pure haze as I sat in an Italian diner in Hollywood, way in the back, waiting for King to walk back in, along with a few men we were having a meeting with. After taking out Troy, I was officially numb with every soul I'd taken in the last few months on my shoulder. But here I was with my poker face that was starting to fade.

I missed Imani and what we were building. I had been texting her every morning, just to say good morning, in the middle of the day to see if she ate, and sending her a goodnight text. She responded very briefly, but she let me send her lunch a couple of times. I thought if I did the little things she liked, maybe it would mean something. Maybe starting slow was what we needed, but I knew this was all about what was revealed with my mental health. I was going to fix it. I promised her I would, so I was going to keep my word.

I snapped out of my thoughts when Uncle King walked in after taking a phone call, looking like he had nothing bothering him. I envied his strength, and I thought I was strong like him, but I wasn’t. I was broken with a bunch of demons attached to me, and I couldn’t keep a woman to save my life.

“What’s up, nephew? You ready for this meeting? Boy say he can bring in millions in a matter of months!” Uncle King said excitedly.

“Yeah, you told me,” I bitterly replied. Money hadn’t moved me in years.

“Oh,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You remember Mady, right?”

I squinted my eyes. “Nah, not that I recall.”

“Ol girl that was flirting with you at the spot the other night. Madilyn.”

“Oh, yeah, what about her?”

“I think she crushin’ on you, nephew. Maybe a hood chick with a lil class might be what you’re missing. You are always going for the stuck-up ones when you need a woman who has the same interests as you, which is the streets.”

I chuckled. “Not interested. My life is complicated enough with women.”

“Well, outside of that, she is a teacher at Lynwood High, and she asked me to give you her card. Tonight is career day there for the seniors, and she was wondering if you would come sit in as the entrepreneur.” He smirked.

I chuckled. “Get the fuck out of here, Unc. A teacher? She works at a fuckin’ trap house.”

“Working for us is her side job, but she’s good peeps. She been trying to get out of the streets for a while. Shit, the streets paid for her teaching degree.” He shrugged.

“I just strapped a bomb to a nigga’s chest, and you think I am some role model? Only thing I can teach them kids is how to scale a key of coke.”

“I think it’s a good look. You are always worried about your public image, and this could be another thing to slap on your professional resume.” He slid me her card. I gazed at it.

Madilyn Love.

She had an interesting name, and I suddenly remembered her face. She did have the look of a teacher. She had long black hair, but she had a streak of gray in the front. She was very soft-spoken, and she had a nice body, but I wasn’t interested. However, going to the career day did cross my mind.

“Let’s see how this meeting goes, then I’ll think about popping in on a career day.”

Minutes later, the door opened, and a crew of Italians walked in like they were the bosses. I sat back in my chair, sizing them up, my face a mask of calm. I wasn’t fond of working with outsiders, especially after the Felix incident. They were through King, so I had to respect it. He told me that these men had what we needed—money and the kind of connects out of the country that could keep the family on top.

Their leader, Marco, stepped forward. He was tall and sharply dressed with slicked-back hair and a gold chain peeking out from beneath his collar. His crew followed him, each one wearing an air of quiet confidence.

I gestured to the table. “Have a seat.”

They sat, exchanging nods but no words. These were businessmen, and I could already tell this meeting wasn’t going to involve small talk or pleasantries.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” I said, slightly leaning forward. “I know who you are, and I know what you bring to the table. But one thing my source didn’t give me is where you’re based.” My gaze flicked between them, sharp and probing. “I know you’re Italians, but where’s home?”

Marco hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. He exchanged a brief glance with one of his men before finally answering. “Canada,” he said, his voice steady.

I raised an eyebrow, feigning mild interest while my mind raced. Canada . A wave of annoyance hit me instinctively, but I didn’t let it show. Damian . He was hiding somewhere in Canada, and now these men—Italians connected to the same underworld—were saying they were based there, too. Coincidence ? I doubted it.

“Canada,” I repeated, my tone neutral. “That’s unexpected.”

Marco nodded. “Our family moved there years ago on a business venture. We were kids then, but we grew up there and built something. It’s home now, but we don’t have the plug we need. We have all the connects to make money but no product.”

I leaned back, steepling my fingers as I processed his words. My instincts told me there was more to this connection than Marco was letting on, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Damian’s name didn’t come up, and I wasn’t about to bring it into the room either. This wasn’t the time or place to tip my hand. I knew where Damian was, so I didn’t need any leads. King was handling everything for us to get to him. I was just waiting for him to tell me our next move. Until then, it was business as usual.

“Fair enough,” I smoothly said, shifting the conversation. “Let’s get to business.

The meeting with the Italians went exactly as I expected—efficient, cold, and all about the money. They talked numbers, distribution routes, and promises of quick returns. They had access to planes and niggas who knew how to cross the border. I listened carefully, nodding where necessary, but my mind was still turning over their connection to Canada. It didn’t sit right with me, but I stayed focused.

I stood up after they finished their pitch. My eyes swept across the room, cutting through the calculated confidence they wore. I wasn’t here to impress them; I was here to make sure they understood who they were dealing with.

“You want to promise millions in a few months?” I started, my voice low but commanding. “That’s fine. I’ve heard bigger promises from men with smaller pockets. But let me make one thing clear before we go any further.”

I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in. The room was silent, their attention fixed on me.

“You don’t get to disrespect me,” I said sharply. “Not when I’m the one bringing the weight to the table. You treat me with the respect I give you, and we’ll all eat. Disrespect me, and I’ll show you just how dangerous a nigga can be.”

Marco’s expression remained neutral, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes—respect, maybe even a hint of unease. Good. I wanted them to understand exactly who they were dealing with.

Finally, Marco nodded, his tone measured. “Understood.”

“Good,” I said, my voice firm. “Now, let’s talk terms.”

As the Italians filed out of the room an hour later, I leaned against the edge of the table, watching them go. They’d agreed to everything I laid out, but I could still feel the tension lingering in the air. These men weren’t the kind to bend easily, but they’d bent tonight. And I knew why.

Respect. It was the only currency that mattered in this business, and I’d made sure they understood exactly how much mine was worth.

King smirked from his spot by the window. “Let’s hope they don’t turn on us, especially saying they are in Canada. I knew we needed our product in Canada, but I can’t help but think of Damian being there. Italians got a way of smiling in your face while they’re sharpening the knife behind your back. But we gon’ see.”

I nodded, still deep in thought. My mind wandered back to Canada, just like Uncle King, to Damian, and to the possibility that these men knew more than they were letting on. But I pushed the thought aside. For now, I had bigger things to handle.

“Let’s get out of here,” I finally said. “I’ve got shit to think about.”

King and I exchanged a glance, but he didn’t push me for more. He knew better than to ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

We cruised through the streets of Los Angeles, the Porsche’s engine growling beneath us as we headed to South Central. The usual lights and noise of the city felt distant as if I was floating through it all without really being a part of it. I didn’t feel the connection to the streets that I used to. This life, this empire—it was mine, but it was also a cage.

At some point, I pulled out a blunt, the familiar weight of it in my hand giving me something to focus on. I lit it, inhaling the smoke deeply, trying to clear my mind, but all that filled my thoughts were the echoes of everything I had lost.

“I’ma narcissist, Unc, and I’m depressed. I might hand this shit over to you soon,” I blurted as the THC got the best of me.

King glanced at me from the driver’s seat, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “You know, nephew, you gotta stop letting these women get in your head because I’m sure that’s where you got them thoughts from. Ain’t no room for that shit right now.”

I exhaled sharply, the smoke curling in the air. “Yeah, I know. It’s just... a lot. I’m trying to figure it all out, but it feels like I’m losing control.”

King shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “You gotta focus on the business, my boy. Focus on what’s important. All this mental health shit? Ain’t nobody got time for that. Look at Damian. That boy’s got more issues than a fuckin’ magazine, but he’s still out here pulling strings. Ain’t nobody got time for a soft heart. Just keep your mind on the prize.”

I knew he wasn’t going to understand. King didn’t believe in mental illness. He never had. To him, it was a weakness, something to be ignored, shoved aside. I expected him to say that, but it still stung.

We pulled on Crenshaw, and the juice bar came into view, its neon sign casting a soft glow over the parking lot. King pulled in, parking next to Hocus’s black Range Rover. Even from outside, the place looked spotless—employees moving efficiently, customers sipping on their overpriced smoothies. Hocus ran a tight ship, and I respected that about him.

We stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting me as I flicked the blunt away. The faint smell of fruit and freshly blended drinks greeted us as we walked inside.

Hocus was behind the counter, dressed clean in a button-up and slacks, looking more like a corporate exec than a man tied to the Knight empire. He spotted us immediately, nodding to his employees before stepping out from behind the counter.

“What’s good, fellas?” he said, clasping my hand in a firm shake. “Y’all looking like you just handled business.”

King smirked, leaning against the counter. “We did. Italians are in. Took a little convincing, but they know who’s running shit now.”

Hocus chuckled, nodding toward me. “You give ’em the speech?”

I shrugged, a small grin tugging at my lips. “Let them know the deal. Respect me, and I’ll respect them. Disrespect me, and I’ll show them what a real nigga looks like.”

“They take it?” Hocus asked.

King nodded. “They didn’t have much choice.”

We all laughed, but the energy shifted when Hocus’s expression grew more serious.

“The Troy nigga. That shit’s all over the news,” he said, crossing his arms.

I chuckled darkly, the memory of the explosion still fresh in my mind. “Just how I like to see niggas—smoked out and handled.”

King shook his head, his smirk fading. “Yeah, well, it’s drawing heat. But that’s not our biggest problem right now.”

He turned to Hocus, his tone growing sharper. “I already told you a few days ago, but now that we know Damian’s in Canada, it’s time to bring him back to the States.”

Hocus nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’m ready whenever y’all are.”

King looked at me, his gaze heavy. “What about you, nephew? You ready to handle this? We have to, knowing these Italians are from out there. We don’t want him somehow interfering. That boy is crazy, but he’s smart, just like you.”

I didn’t answer right away. My eyes fixed on the counter as I rubbed a hand over my face. “Give me a few days,” I finally said.

King raised an eyebrow. “Why a few days?”

I sighed, the weight of it all pressing down on me. “Because I can’t believe my own blood is after me. Every move Damian makes, it’s like he’s daring me to end him. And I’ve been trying to avoid it because... I don’t know if I can.”

The room fell quiet. Even Hocus, usually quick to jump in with a comment, stayed silent.

King leaned forward, his voice softer. “Look, nephew, you’ve got nothing to worry about once it’s done. Damian made his choice. It’s him or us. And you know what happens when family crosses family.”

I nodded slowly, the truth of his words sinking in.

King straightened up, his tone shifting back to business. “Just be ready. We leave soon, and I don’t want any hesitation when the time comes.”

I exhaled sharply, the tension in my chest refusing to ease. “I hear you, Unc. But I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

King nodded, letting it go—for now. “A’ight. Let’s get you back to your spot. You’ve got some thinking to do.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Take me home.”

As we left the juice bar, I glanced back at Hocus. He gave me a quick nod, his way of letting me know he had my back, no matter what. That’s what I needed to focus on—the ones who were still loyal. The ones who still believed in me.

King pulled out of the parking lot, the city lights flashing past the windows. I leaned back, closing my eyes, but the thought of Damian lingered. No matter how much I tried to push it away, his shadow was always there, waiting.

$$$$$$

It was 6:00 p.m. when I found myself parked in my garage, sitting alone in the driver’s seat of my Bentley. The weight of the day was pressing on me, but I had to focus. I couldn’t keep letting everything distract me.

I had promised Imani I would fix myself. That’s why I had been texting her every morning—just to say good morning. Then, in the middle of the day, I would check in, asking if she had eaten and making sure she was okay. She responded, but only briefly. Still, I held onto the small victories, thinking maybe starting slow was what we needed. But, deep down, I knew it wasn’t about small victories anymore. It was about fixing the shit that had gotten out of hand.

I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen for a moment. I wasn’t ready to beg Imani for forgiveness. So, I dialed a different number. I called Madilyn.

“Hey, Damier!” she answered quickly, her voice light. “What’s up?”

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “Not much. Just trying to stay busy. What’s the deal with career day?”

“Oh! You’re coming? It’s starting in an hour, but you can speak last if you want. You’d be perfect for the entrepreneur slot,” she said, her voice soft and inviting.

I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I’ll be there. I need to get out of my head for a minute.”

I heard the playful tone in her voice as she continued. “I think the kids are gonna love you. You’re a billionaire entrepreneur, after all.”

There was a slight pause before she added, “And maybe we can grab some food after?”

I wasn’t falling for it. I had to keep my focus. “We’ll see,” I said, trying to keep things casual.

As we disconnected the call, I couldn’t help but smile a little. I knew she was trying to flirt, but I wasn’t going to let that get the best of me. Not tonight.

I sat back in the seat, thinking to myself, I’m too easy. I gotta stop letting women get the best of my emotions. It wasn’t just Madilyn—it was all of them. I couldn’t let that define me.

I arrived at Lynwood High, walking into the gymnasium with the sound of students chatting and buzzing around. It was a simple career day, but something about it felt... different. I wasn’t just here for the kids—I was here for myself. I needed to remind myself that I was more than what I had been doing. More than just a drug lord.

The lawyer, the doctor, the firefighter, and the chef all spoke first, each one presenting their career, but I could feel the room’s energy shift when I walked in. The kids were already intrigued. The fact that I was a billionaire seemed to spark their interest before I even said a word.

When it was my turn, I stood up confidently, letting the room quiet down. Madilyn introduced me as a billionaire entrepreneur with several ventures under my belt.

I began, “I have degrees in business and finance. I turned my family’s nightclub business into an empire within ten years. I own clubs in Paris and New York. But that’s not all—I’ve also invested in fast food chains, supported local charities, and worked with the city’s mayor and manager on several projects.”

The kids’ eyes lit up as I spoke about the Knight Foundation—what we were doing for the community, building computer labs, providing scholarships, offering jobs, and helping sick children.

“Before I go, I just want to say one more thing. Respect yourself, and others will respect you,” I said, quoting something that had always stuck with me.

By the time I finished, the room erupted in applause. It wasn’t because I was a billionaire. It was because I was more than that. I was a man who had built something from nothing, and they knew that.

At the end of the session, the lawyer and the doctor came up to me. The lawyer, Spencer, spoke as he shook my hand. “After hearing your journey, I admired you, Damier,” he said. “I wanted to be like you, even when I was studying to be a lawyer.”

One of the students came up for an autograph, saying her mom loved me from the show. I hesitated, but Madilyn urged me to sign. I did, and for a moment, I felt the weight of my celebrity status—something I had almost forgotten about.

Once everyone cleared out, Madilyn and I stayed behind and talked.

“How does a woman who works in a trap house become a teacher?”

She smirked. “The same way you’re a drug lord and a billionaire.”

She went on to explain how she cared about the youth and wanted to help them, even if her side job could get her fired. She told me she wanted to get out of the streets, especially now that she was pushing forty. I sympathized with that because it was something that had been nagging at the back of my mind as well.

“I respect that,” I said, nodding. “Come by my office tomorrow. We’ll have breakfast. I might have a legit job for you.”

She smiled, agreeing, and I left feeling better than I had in a long time. It was a small step, but it felt like a big one.

For the first time in a while, I wasn’t thinking about the next move. I was thinking about what came after that. And maybe I was finally seeing that I was more than just the man I had been.