Page 50

Honor Gravehart

L ifting the blunt to my lips, my fingers stained with ash as the timepiece on my left wrist caught the moonlight.

I inhaled deeply, trying to fill the hollow in my chest that nothing in this world could reach.

A nigga was fucked up, but this good shit courtesy of my sister was gon' help make what I was about to do bearable.

The smoke scraped down my throat with ease, settling in my chest. I smirked, feeling that burn heating my skin. The shit was smooth, sharp, alive.

For a second, I held it, letting the burn cruise from my chest and curl behind my rib.

The flame worked to carve something out of me that no longer lived there.

Then everything faded. The weight, the insecurities I didn't create but had to deal with, and the echoing of his voice in my head.

It all fucking faded, leaving me with just the burn, the breath, and the silence that followed after I exhaled and watched the smoke rise like the ghosts of the skeletons occupying my mind.

Burn. Breathe. Silence.

The smoke curled around me, fogging my vision like a veil.

I slouched further into the chair, its leather cracking beneath me, just like a nigga's mind.

My shit was worn out, tired, struggling to hold it together and still I showed up for my people.

Being mentally exhausted didn't mean shit when niggas were out here plotting against my family.

Bringing the blunt back to my lips, I dragged deep, waiting for the numbness to come quicker.

I didn't have much time to fuck around. He was gon' be here in the next ten minutes or so.

Ten o'clock was the time we agreed on, but this nigga moved on his own time to show dominance.

His old ass still thought he was running shit, when just like me he wasn't shit but another piece on the board, and another fucking step for the next nigga to use on his way to the top.

I scoffed, blowing out a cloud of smoke at how bad a man's ego can be.

A man's ego will have him believing the worst about himself.

That he's untouchable and power makes him invincible.

Once ego sets in, those beliefs ring off like fire alarms, sending weak men into the flames, forgetting their gear.

Smoke burns their eyes, and before you know it, they're moving sloppy and becoming easy marks.

Seen it one too many times. The men I've seen fall never saw it coming.

Ego-driven men fall hard, but a man with honor bleeds quietly and stands alone but still carries the weight of those he loves, despite it breaking him. I was the nigga with honor.

My phone ringing broke my mental rant for all a second.

Navy .

Her name and picture appeared on the dark screen. I watched her call ring out, then pop back on the screen. She called two more times.

Burn. Breathe. Silence.

I smirked when a text from her popped up next. I hit the lock button, then set my phone face down on my lap.

Fucking Navy.

A nigga's head stayed conflicted with thoughts of her.

Navy was too perfect for a tainted nigga like me.

I fought off those feelings whenever her sad eyes locked with my distant ones.

She didn't come around often at first, but when she did, I got high off her presence.

Like this weed, her being near numbed me to the dark shit I was fighting.

She wasn't a part of me, but I could feel her moving throughout me.

First knocking at my chest, then making her way to my rib.

She wanted what didn't exist there anymore.

It took her a few years to realize what she was in search of was gone.

That's when she started trying to save me.

Navy wanted me to be the nigga my name painted a picture of and for the most part I was, but what my name meant to her didn't hold true to my own definition.

Honor. My mom gave me that name like it was a blessing.

Placed it on me like a crown made from gold but carried the weight of iron.

Like my mom, Navy saw it as some shit to be proud of but the name was a shackle snapped around my ankle.

The weight of my ball and chain came from my expertise at swallowing pain like communion.

I didn't have the luxury of licking my wounds.

I bled quietly, letting my external pain scar over internally.

Niggas didn't fuckin' understand why I stayed in my head. Having these inner monologues was easier than looking at those I love in the face and telling 'em the haze in my eyes wasn't courtesy of weed but demons roaming free.

Burn. Breathe. Silence.

As the smoke rose around me, fogging my vision, I felt a sense of clarity.

The best part of me died long before I knew how to use it.

I was too young when my mom started to use whenever shit was broken in her life.

I became the promise she never kept, and the standard she refused to meet.

Then I held myself to the light, allowing it to strip away my innocence and welcome me to the shadows.

Lucian Mancinelli took honor and twisted it into his own definition.

I became a man he benefited from and thought he controlled.

Lucian drilled into me that with a name like mine, weakness couldn't exist. There was no space to fall apart because my job was to hold the weight of his sins on my spine.

I took those lessons and flipped that shit.

I used that same logic and created a family worthy of my name.

And for them, I was willing to do the worst.

My family knew me to be a noble nigga who carried their shit, so they never had to.

My enemies knew me as the nigga who approached with cold eyes, steady hands and a smile that meant they were already dead.

But to myself... I wasn't shit but a prison.

Closing my eyes, I took one last pull from my blunt. The smoke sat heavy in my lungs. I opened my eyes and ashed the blunt as my eyes lingered on my watch.

10:20

The creak of the hotel door opening caught my attention.

I smirked but didn't turn. I already knew who it was, and standing was the respect he expected but didn't deserve.

The tobacco-stained cologne slipped into the room, hunting until it found me.

But Lucian wasn't alone. Heels clicked against the floor, carrying the scent of peach and vanilla that cut through the heavy tobacco haze.

Choyce moved with calm purpose, eyes deliberately avoiding mine, standing just a step behind Lucian.

"I see you're still sitting in the dark, letting the night's lights guide you." The snarl of his tone didn't go unnoticed.

"You say it as if it's a problem." I chuckled. "You made sure I lived amongst the shadows, so I gotta make sure I'm still guided by the sliver of light cast by the stars."

"Stars or Navy?"

Our eyes finally met at the mention of the woman who came into my life but was born from his loins.

"Both. Why are you here, Lucian?"

"You've never been fond of speaking about my daughter to me or around me, Honor.

As her father, the silence is troubling.

I do understand some things are sacred, and maybe your relationship is one.

However, I do believe any man who involves himself with my daughter should speak her name like a prayer whispered in fear. "

Lucian moved in closer. I rose, hands clasped in front of me, shoulders squared, gaze steady.

"You stand here, in front of me, willing to defend my daughter from the outside world and myself. Loving her in silence when you should be on your knees asking my permission. L'amore per una figlia non si prende... si chiede." (Love for a daughter is not taken... it is asked for.)

Lucian's voice was low but cutting. He was used to his tone causing a shiver to make its way down a man's spine in fear, but I wasn't that kind of nigga. Nothing Lucian said moved me. I glanced toward Choyce briefly. She stood stone-faced, focused on the landscape of the city beyond the glass.

"Permission? We both know Navy does what she wants."

"That we do." Lucian chuckled. "I'm sure you love her because of it.

Navy is everything the woman who broke your heart wasn't. As her father, I admire the man you are for her.

As your boss, I'm disappointed. I've taught you better than to fall in love with the first pretty face you see.

In our world, love is a liability. I've watched you over the years become dulled by your feelings for my daughter.

She's a distraction. That light of hers is not just a guide for you but your enemies as well.

They take one look at Navy and realize she's the crack in your armor.

Chi si lascia guidare dal cuore, finisce col tradire la mente.

" (He who lets the heart lead will betray the mind.) And betrayal, even unintentional, always has a price. "

"Fuck you say?" I gritted through clenched teeth, grabbing him by his suit jacket.

"Choyce." Lucian's tone was deliberate, steady, giving a silent order that I knew too fucking well.

"Don't pull your shit out unless you plan to use it," I warned Choyce.

The corners of her mouth curled into a slight smirk.

Her hands slipped toward the hem of her black Italian-cut suit jacket.

I followed her movements, noticing the thigh holster.

Her fingers curled around the handle of a Glock 43.

She moved with precision, bringing the gun from her thigh and pressing it against my temple.

Running my tongue over my teeth, I shoved Lucian away from me, but the gun remained aimed.

"There's no need for us to be physical or for Choyce to leave your brains on the floor for your people to find. I came to have a civilized conversation. Can we do that?"

I nodded, unmoved by his fake attempt at peace.

"Choyce."

At the mere sound of her name, Choyce moved the gun and stepped back in line with Lucian.

"Now, you came to me asking for my help about River's accident."

"I didn't ask for your help. I asked if you had anything to do with it."

"Accusations are just your way of asking for my help indirectly."

"If that's your perception." I shrugged indifferently.

"I'm not the enemy here. I want to help you, but before I do, I need a favor."

Letting out a bitter laugh, I rubbed along my jaw.

"What more could you possibly want from me? There's a price tag on my life set by you. My brothers and I are already acting as enforcers for your son and his wife. A percentage of my business endeavors goes to you and?—"

"I want you to kill my son."