Page 33

A Month Later

T h e w a r m t h o f Shooter’s body was wrapped around me when I stirred awake, his slow, steady breathing against my neck. I stretched lazily, blinking up at the soft morning light creeping through the penthouse windows. Shooter groaned slightly, his grip tightening as if he could keep me there forever.

“Where you goin’?”

he murmured against my shoulder, his voice thick with sleep.

I smirked, shifting just enough to turn in his arms. “I gotta pee.

“What time is it? We got a brunch to get to.”

Déjà vu hit me hard. I thought back to the first time he told me we had a brunch to attend, back when I was still fighting him every step of the way. I had given him the hardest time, dragging my feet, throwing attitude, acting like I was being forced into some arranged marriage.

Now I just sighed dramatically and stretched. “What’s the dress code?”

Shooter chuckled, squeezing my hip. “Dress your ass off like you always do.”

I grinned. “Say less.”

An hour later, I was stepping out of the penthouse in a form-fitting, burnt-orange sweater dress that hugged every curve just right, paired with gold heels and matching accessories. My hair cascaded in soft waves down my back, makeup flawless. Shooter was in a crisp black suit, looking every bit the powerful, dangerous man he was. We were a problem together.

Outside, an awaiting limo was parked, sleek and polished. The driver opened the door for us, and as soon as we slid inside, I noticed the setup: two chilled glasses, an open bottle of champagne, and a small plate of fresh strawberries. My eyes cut to Shooter suspiciously. “Okay… what are you up to?”

His smirk was slow and knowing as he grabbed the bottle and poured us both glasses. “Damn, can’t I just wine and dine my wife?”

I scoffed playfully, taking the glass he offered. “You can, but you being extra smooth right now. What’s the occasion?”

Shooter clinked his glass against mine before leaning back against the seat, his powerful presence filling the space. “Ain’t no occasion. Just wanted to let you know I really fuck with you.”

He took a sip, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Our future lookin’ real bright, baby.”

Something warm bloomed in my chest, but I couldn’t help myself. I arched a brow. “Damn, are you getting soft on me?”

Shooter shook his head, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. “See? This why I don’t be sayin’ shit. You always got a smart ass mouth.”

I grinned, sipping my champagne. “And yet, here you are. Still stuck with me.”

His blue eyes darkened, gleaming with something possessive.

Eventually, the limo slowed, and I glanced out the window in confusion. We weren’t at some fancy restaurant or private club. Instead, we were parked in front of a commercial building, and standing outside were my girls, my father, and Seth, sitting in a wheelchair.

I turned to Shooter. “What’s all this?”

Instead of answering, he stepped out, walked around to my side, and opened the door for me. “Come on.”

Still confused, I let him help me out. My girls were all grinning, looking way too excited, and my father was watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. Shooter pulled something from his pocket and placed it in my hand. It was a set of keys.

My breath caught. “Sebastian… what—”

His gaze burned into mine. “It’s yours.”

I blinked, looking from the keys to the building, realization dawning on me. “This… this is mine?”

Shooter nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Your name’s on the paperwork. Full ownership. No more talkin' about it, no more dreamin' about it. You want a store? It’s yours, baby.”

Emotions swirled inside me—shock, gratitude, disbelief. I pressed a hand to my chest, suddenly overwhelmed. “You… you really did this for me?”

Shooter smirked. “Told you before—whatever you want, all you gotta do is ask nicely.”

Before I could even process it fully, the moment shifted. Shooter dropped down on one knee. My heart stopped. Gasps and whistles filled the air as he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and flipped it open. Inside sat a massive pear-shaped diamond, gleaming under the morning sun. It wasn’t just the ring, though. It was the way he looked at me.

His voice was low, raw. “… I appreciate you. And even though we started this shit as business, I want it to be more. I want us to be partners, baby—in love, life, and loyalty. For real this time.”

Tears pricked my eyes. I glanced over at my father and Seth, two men who had once seen this marriage as nothing but a power move. Now, they both looked proud. Honored. Shooter’s grip on the box tightened slightly, his intense gaze locked onto mine. “This ain’t about business no more,”

he said, his voice rough with emotion. “This is about us. So…”

He smirked slightly. “You can have me if you ask nicely.”

That inside joke hit me hard. I let out a watery laugh, wiping my tears before giving him a slow, teasing smirk. “Ask nicely.”

His voice was deeper, rougher, as he said, “Nah but Alizé Whitmore… will you marry a nigga for real this time?”

I squealed—actually squealed—and nodded. “Yes! Yes!”

Shooter didn’t waste a second. He slid the ring onto my finger, then stood, sweeping me up into his arms as he kissed me deeply. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere,”

he murmured against my lips.

I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t even try. You’d find me.”

As soon as the ring was on my finger and Shooter lifted me in his arms, my girls lost their damn minds. “Oh my GOD!”

Mecca screeched, practically bouncing on her heels. “Bitch, that ring is everything! I love it!”

Retia fanned herself dramatically. “I told y’all this would eventually happen! This some forever shit.”

Kalea was grinning, hands on her hips. “So, uh… your homeboys got rich brothers or cousins or somethin’? ‘Cause—”

Shooter smirked and I rolled my eyes, but before I could respond, my father stepped forward. Everything quieted just a little. He looked at me first, then turned his gaze to Shooter. “You love my daughter?”

His voice was calm, steady, but there was weight behind it.

Shooter didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

My father studied him for a long moment before nodding once. “Good. I guess all this shit worked out for the greater good.”

Then, to my shock, he pulled Shooter in for a dap and a brief, firm hug. When he pulled back, he turned to me. “, I know what I said before about you wanting to run your own business, but I’m proud of you. I hope you can forgive me for how this all started. It was never personal, baby, just business.”

I swallowed, emotions thick in my throat. “And although I don’t agree with it, I’m kinda glad it happened. I’ve really never been more sure of anything in my life. I’m good with Shooter. I’m happy.”

My father nodded slowly, eyes glistening with something deep—pride, love, maybe a little acceptance. Then he sighed, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “Well, hell… looks like I just gained a son for real.”

Seth, who had been quietly observing in his wheelchair, finally spoke. “Yeah, , you aight with me.”

He nodded and I gave a light smile back.

The tension broke, and suddenly, everyone was laughing again. That’s when I turned to my girls, tossing my hands up. “Alright, which one of y’all is gonna be my maid of honor?”

Chaos erupted.

“I BEEN here since day one!”

Mecca shouted. “It gotta be me!”

Kalea scoffed. “Girl, bye! You wasn’t even likin’ Shooter at first. If anyone deserves it, I do!”

Retia held up a hand. “Excuse me? I was the only one tellin’ to stop fightin’ her feelings! Where’s my credit?”

I rolled my eyes as they started arguing for real, but deep down, my heart felt so full. As we all stepped inside the commercial space, my girls immediately started going crazy with ideas. Mecca was already snapping pictures. “Oh, this space is perfect! We could put the register over here, put some mannequins by the front window—”

“, we have to do a whole aesthetic layout,”

Retia added, eyes gleaming. “Like, imagine sleek black fixtures, some gold accents, and soft-ass lights to give it that luxury boutique feel.”

Kalea was walking around, arms crossed, deep in thought. “And we need a whole separate dressin’ room section, a vibe-y ass mirror setup for try-ons, and a little lounge area with complimentary drinks, ‘cause baby, we sellin’ an experience.”

I grinned, shaking my head at their enthusiasm. “Y’all done turned my store into a whole empire in five minutes.”

“Duh, bitch.”

Mecca smirked. “You think we gonna let you do this shit basic?”

I laughed, but my heart swelled at how invested they were. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Seth and my father were deep in conversation, their voices low, their expressions serious. I knew that look. They were talking business.

I looped my arm through Shooter’s, leaning into his side as I nodded toward them. “What happened to your dad? Why is he in a wheelchair?”

Shooter’s body tensed slightly, his gaze dark and unreadable as he turned to me. “What happened to not askin’ questions you really don’t wanna know the answer to?”

I sighed, chuckling as I nudged him. “Fair enough.”

But the truth was, I was curious. Curious about everything.

This man—my man—was a killer, a strategist, a boss bred from generations of crime, yet somehow, I trusted him with my life. This wasn’t the life I had imagined for myself, and yet, I wasn’t scared. I finally knew what being with Shooter really meant. Loyalty. Protection. Bloodshed.

And I wasn’t naive—I knew that this world would always come with violence. That there would be nights I’d be lying awake, wondering if he’d make it home. But I also knew he’d always fight to. And maybe that’s what made all of this real.

I was about to plan a real wedding to a man I had gone from tolerating… to wanting… to loving. I turned to Shooter, looking up at him as he watched the room, his presence strong, his energy powerful. He caught me staring and smirked. “What?”

I shook my head, a soft smile on my lips. “Nothing.”

He tilted his head. “Nah, tell me.”

I exhaled, leaning into him a little more. “I love you.”

Shooter’s gaze softened just slightly. “I love you, too, Mrs. Mosley.”