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HAVOC

King’s Vine sat like some pristine monument to money and ego, spread out wide and smug against the hills, polished to perfection.

The main tasting hall was all clean lines, glass, and stone—modern luxury that made it real easy to forget the blood money buried under the damn foundation.

But I never forgot. Couldn’t. Every detail screamed Riot.

From the matte black fixtures to the imported wood floors that probably cost more than my whole fuckin’ penthouse.

I pulled up in my matte gray Range and parked off to the side, already clocking two security cameras angled wrong, leaving a blind spot by the western trail entrance. Good to know for my ambush.

Riot was waiting near the patio, leaned against one of the tall stone columns. Crisp white tee with his arms folded like always. He didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Just gave me that same tight nod he always did, like he was tolerating me, not greeting me.

I walked up slow, taking my time, eyes grazing over the grounds.

The whole place was dressed for success.

Clean landscaping. Private guest bungalows.

Enough open space to make anybody feel like they were far away from the streets that raised us.

But all I saw was vulnerability. Weak spots. Entry points.

“You wanted me to see the setup,” I said flatly. “So show me.”

Riot pushed off the column and gestured toward the main walk. “We’re opening the east and west lots for parking. Security detail’ll post at both entry points. Abra’s coordinating that with the local sheriff’s office.”

He walked ahead, assuming I’d follow. Arrogant as ever.

I fell into step behind him, hands in my pockets, eyes scanning every window, every angle. I made mental notes like I was building a blueprint. Because I was. I wasn’t just here to look around, I was here to make this place bleed.

Riot talked like a man who thought he was invincible. Like a man who forgot his kingdom was built with his daddy’s dirty dollars and his brother’s body count. He didn’t know the game like he thought he did. And he damn sure didn’t see me coming.

“You’ll be manning the west lot,” he said. “Keep eyes on the road and make sure the guests don’t wander off the trail. Last thing we need is some influencer getting hurt in the vines and tryna sue.”

I laughed under my breath. “You mean you don’t wanna mess up your Yelp reviews?”

He glanced at me sideways. “Nah. I just don’t want blood on the grapes. We’re harvesting soon.” He then let out a laugh. “Fuck no, I don’t want to mess up my Yelp reviews or any reviews for that matter.”

That smug tone of his was like gasoline on my fire.

Every word out his mouth made it clearer, I couldn’t just take this man out quietly.

I had to ruin him. Publicly. Violently. I had to dismantle this illusion he’d built of being the clean King.

The reformed one. The business-savvy heir who left the streets behind.

Fuck that.

He was no better than me. The only difference was he had Creed in his corner and a father who taught him to swing with precision. I got scraps. I got pain. I got the part of Silas King nobody wanted to claim.

And they wonder why I turned cold.

We walked the perimeter, Riot pointing out event flow and staff routes.

My eyes stayed on the blind spots. The camera on the back barn was angled too high.

The perimeter gate sensors had dead zones near the vineyard’s south fence line.

I noted it all. Stored it deep in the part of my mind I didn’t share with anyone. Not even Mimi.

Because this? This was my revenge. My resurrection.

Riot stopped at the overlook, the rows of grapevines stretching beneath us, golden in the late sun. He looked proud. Comfortable. Like a king surveying his land.

“This is it,” he said. “The first event ever thrown. All the right people’ll be here. Press. Buyers. Local officials. Even that senator Creed’s been grooming.”

I nodded, keeping my face blank.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he added, voice dropping low.

My jaw tightened. “I won’t.”

But inside, I was already envisioning the chaos. Fire in the vines. Screams echoing off the stone walls. Blood soaking into that pretty imported wood floor. Riot on his knees, confused as hell, trying to figure out how his little brother beat him at his own game.

I walked back to my car with a smile twitching at the corner of my mouth. Not enough to show. Just enough to feel.

He didn’t see it yet. But his perfect little empire? It was already crumbling.

And I was the one lighting the fuse.

I peeled off from King’s Vine and headed straight for the cemetery to meet Mimi. It was her sister’s birthday and she wanted to pay her respects. And I wanted to be there for her.

The graveyard sat quiet, heavy, as if the earth itself was holding secrets. I rolled slow down the narrow path, the crunch of gravel under my tires the only sound for a stretch. My stomach was tight. Not from nerves, but from anticipation.

Mimi was already there when I arrived, standing at the edge of Malia’s plot. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, arms folded across her chest, that same tension in her jaw that told me she was pissed but holding it in for now. I parked, killed the engine, and walked over slow.

Our son was with her mother for the day. But I missed him. I loved them both so much.

But the headstone was simple. Just her name, her sunrise and sunset, and a Bible verse.

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give you.

Mimi knelt and ran her fingers across the letters, her mouth tight, eyes hard. “I don’t have peace with her gone. I’d have more peace if she were still alive. Happy Birthday Big Sis,” she muttered.

I stayed quiet, letting her speak first. This wasn’t a moment for noise.

“She used to sneak me into clubs when I was sixteen. Had ballers buying me drinks, trying to take me shopping the next day. I was crazy. We had so many good times and we would’ve had so much more if she were still here.”

She stood, brushing off her jeans. “She deserved better than this.”

I nodded, the silence thick between us.

“I know me saying sorry doesn’t change much for you but I really am. Your sister did deserve more than she was given. My brother is a piece of shit for killing her the way he did.”

“Like she was some animal. What kind of man can slit the throat of someone he loved. I know she robbed him but it was just money. You can always make more money but you can’t get life back. And then she was pregnant…”

Mimi began to cry. I draped my arm around her and pulled her in close. She sobbed and I felt so bad for her. I had to get this revenge for the both of us.

“Riot killed her brothers too. Malia and I were half siblings. We had the same mother. But her father had other sons. Those were the ones that got her involved with robbing Riot. Do you know her father got hooked on crack after all his kids were killed by Riot?!” She yelled.

Her voice cracked with rage. Mimi wasn’t just mourning anymore, she was unraveling. Her grief had teeth now, sharp and jagged, and I felt every bit of it sink into my chest like it was mine to carry too.

“I watched my mother go numb,” she said, swiping at her face.

“She never came back from that loss. She hasn’t been the same after she lost her.

She started drinking and now she’s an alcoholic with a broken heart.

” Mimi turned to me, eyes glossy, voice dropping to something softer but twice as deadly.

“And all the while Riot gets to live his best life. He goes on like nothing ever happened.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, jaw tight enough to crack bone.

Riot didn’t deserve peace. Not when so many others had been shattered just so he could rise.

He walked around like he was the reformed one, the heir apparent, the golden son, but we knew the truth.

He was bloodstained and rotten, just like the rest of them.

“I’m gonna make him pay,” I said, my voice low but pulsing with purpose. “Not just for Malia. For all of it.”

Mimi’s eyes searched mine. “You promise? Progress has been real slow on your end.”

“I swear. My plan is coming together.” I told her, pulling her into my chest again, her cheek resting against my heartbeat. “I got you. I got both of y’all.”

She didn’t cry this time. She just nodded against me, arms wrapping around my waist like she was locking herself into a war she’d been waiting too long to fight.

I kissed the top of her head, tasting salt and wind and something like destiny. “

Let ‘em smile for the cameras now. Let ‘em toast at that open house. We gon’ see who’s left standing when the smoke clears.”

She stepped back, wiping her eyes one last time. I couldn’t let her down.