Page 32

ALLURE

Since Boaz and his crew were still waiting for their bail hearing I’d spent the entire day walking through the city. It was a bit intimidating but I needed to do this for myself.

New York had always felt like a mythical land to me. It was this sprawling, chaotic place people chased dreams and lost themselves in. I was mostly raised in California and when we moved out here, I lived in Jersey but didn’t come to the city much.

When I was living with Boaz I used to visualize it from my old bedroom, dreaming about the day I’d walk these streets freely. Back then, it felt so far away. Almost impossible.

But today… I was here. Free. On my own.

I wandered through the MET for hours, lingering in the costume institute longer than I intended, studying how garments told stories without a single word.

Fabric was memory. Texture was emotion. I found myself sketching mental silhouettes in my head.

Flashes of color and structure, inspired by freedom and absence, by grief and grace.

After that, I weaved through SoHo, popping into boutiques that looked more like art galleries than clothing stores.

I ran my fingers over silk blouses, vintage denim, hand-stitched leather.

Each piece whispered a different kind of possibility.

I didn’t buy anything, I wasn’t ready for that yet, but I wanted to see what moved me.

What tugged at my eye. What felt like me.

I was learning to trust my own taste again. To find myself again.

And now, as I stood outside a small café tucked into the edge of Harlem, I was trying to breathe through the nerves in my chest. Because in just a few minutes, I was about to see my brother—Carmelo—for the first time in over a decade.

I scanned every face that passed, my fingers tugging at the sleeves of my cropped jacket. The closer the time came, the tighter my chest felt. I didn’t even know what to expect. Would he look the same? Would he even recognize me? Would he believe it was me? Or had I changed too much?

Then I saw him.

And he saw me.

He froze on the sidewalk, phone in hand, mouth slightly parted.

His face was older now, sharper around the jaw, his frame bigger, broader—but his eyes…

they were the same. The same ones that used to watch cartoons with me under a blanket.

The same ones that used to sneak me extra snacks when Mama wasn’t looking.

His whole expression cracked open as he stepped forward, and I didn’t think, I just ran to him.

He wrapped his arms around me like he didn’t want to let go. Like he wasn’t sure I was real.

I buried my face in his shoulder and squeezed tighter. His scent hit me. It was faint cologne, city air, and marijuana that made my eyes sting.

“Damn,” he whispered. “You’re really here.”

I nodded against him, my throat too tight to speak.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, both hands still gripping my arms. “You look like her. Like Ma.”

“So do you,” I said.

We both laughed a little, like we didn’t know what else to do with all this emotion crowding in.

“I still can’t believe it,” he said. “Diori texted me and I thought it was a joke or some cruel scam. But then she sent me your picture and—” He shook his head. “I didn’t sleep all night.”

“Neither did I,” I said, the words barely a whisper.

He motioned to the café. “Let’s sit. You hungry?”

I nodded again. But really, I just wanted more time. More space to look at him. To remember him. To hold on to something familiar.

As we walked inside, I kept stealing glances at him. This was my brother. My blood. After everything, after ten years of silence and confusion and darkness, he was still here.

And now, maybe, I’d finally get the answers I needed.

We slid into a corner booth by the window, in an area where we could people watch. But I didn’t need to people watch. I needed to connect with my big brother.

Carmelo sat across from me, arms on the table, eyes locked on mine like he was afraid I might vanish again if he looked away. His expression was unreadable, equal parts awe, sadness, and something fierce beneath the surface.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, voice low but steady. “Every day. Every year. I used to pray you’d come walking back through the door. Even when everyone said you were gone for good, I held out. I always thought, somehow, you’d find your way back.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away. I couldn’t fall apart, not yet. “I missed you too,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “There were nights I would dream about you. About us as kids. I held on to that when things got… bad.”

He swallowed, his jaw tightening. “I should’ve looked harder.”

“You were a kid too,” I reminded him gently. “It wasn’t your job to find me.”

Carmelo leaned forward, eyes burning into mine. “You stay with me so I can look after you.”

The words caught me off guard.

“I’ve got space. A spot uptown. It ain’t the most peaceful, but it’s safe. It’s just me and my wifey…” He paused, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight again.”

I opened my mouth, but the answer didn’t come easily.

The truth was, I didn’t want to stay with him.

I wanted to go home, to Riot’s place. Riot was the only person I felt safe with.

I knew he could take care of me better than my brother.

Besides, Harlem was growing on me. I loved being there amongst so many other artists.

I was finally coming back to life there and I didn’t want to give it up.

But I couldn’t just say that. Not to Carmelo. Not when we were still stitching ourselves back together.

“I just need a few days,” I said instead, choosing my words with care. “There’s some things I have to figure out.”

He nodded, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it. “Yeah. Okay. Just don’t disappear on me again.”

“I won’t.” I forced a small smile, hoping it was enough to reassure him. “I promise.”

He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper.

“Here. It’s Ma’s number. She moved to Baltimore after everything with Dad…

but she’s coming to New York soon. She’s been talking about it for a while.

When she finds out you’re alive…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “She’s gonna lose it.”

I took the number with trembling fingers, my stomach flipping. My mother. Just knowing she would be back soon made me feel ten years old again.

“But how’d you get out? I know that Boaz runs a pretty tight ship.” Carmelo asked after a beat. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I need to know. Who helped you? Did you escape? Are you safe?”

I hesitated.

I wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to dump the whole damn story in his lap and let him carry it with me.

But I thought of Boaz. Of Avi. Of the reach their family still had.

If Carmelo got too close, —if he asked too many questions, it could paint a target on his back.

And Diori’s words rang in my ears . I thought about how she said that he wasn’t built for this life.

How he was running my father’s business into the ground.

I couldn’t trust Carmelo yet. I needed Boaz to be dead before we got close again.

“For your safety,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “I can’t say much. Just… know that I’m okay. But Boaz might get out soon. If he thinks someone helped me, he’ll come looking. I don’t want that to be you.”

Carmelo’s nostrils flared. “Then I’ll kill him.”

The words came out of him so fast, so sharp, I almost believed them.

Almost.

But inside, I knew better.

He didn’t have the resources. The firepower. The backing. Our father’s empire was crumbling under his feet. Diori had said it herself—he wasn’t built for this life, not in the way our father had been. And definitely not in the way Boaz needed to be dealt with.

Still, I didn’t say that.

Instead, I reached across the table and took his hand. “Just take care of yourself. Please.”

He squeezed my fingers, then pulled back. “I’ll be in touch.”

We stood and hugged again, this time a little longer, a little tighter. I pressed my cheek to his shoulder and let myself feel what it was like to be his little sister again. To not be alone.

“I’ll call you,” I said.

“You better.”

We parted ways on the sidewalk, the sound of the city rushing between us as he turned the corner.

I stood there for a minute, watching the traffic, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest. My heart was full and hollow at the same time.

Reunions had a way of doing that, reminding you of everything you had, and everything you’d lost.

When I pulled out my phone, my hands were still shaking.

I tapped the number he’d given me and lifted it to my ear.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Then: “Hello?”

I froze.

Her voice. Older, softer, but still hers.

“…Ma?”

There was a pause. A sharp inhale.

“Allure?”

Tears blurred my vision as I whispered, “It’s me.”

And on the other end, my mother began to cry.