Page 24 of Gavin DeLuca

With freshly dyed black hair to cover my blonde curls, I stared out at my decimated brownstone. The homes were still intact, and most of the DeLuca family and crew lived there. My younger sisters were in Italy with my mother. Brocco lived three blocks away with his wife and probably worked from our office across from my townhouse. I didn’t see his car, but he would’ve parked it in the garage on the side in case anyone looked for him. Police abandoned the site once it became evident that I wasn’t returning anytime soon. I used my contacts to close any investigation quietly. I needed to check on the community I built to ensure they were good. For appearance's sake, the neighborhood would go on once my townhome was cleaned out and another home replaced it. I wouldn’t return.

My car door opened. Without his security, Lil Tate eased into my black Chevy's passenger seat. “Bro, I swear I didn’t know you were included in the ambush.” He looked around the car. “This ain’t you.”

“Do what I have to do. Stay lowkey.” I shrugged. “Malcolm and JDonovan are handling the music. They should be getting with you about your tour.”

“You really stepping away from Aqua?”

I nodded. “For now. Got other shit to get straight. Aqua Records is still mine, and I’ll run it from afar.”

Lil Tate beamed. “Good. Because we make platinum together.”

“And we’ll continue to make platinum together.” The street was eerily quiet, as if we were the only two people left in the world. “Who told you?”

His grin faded. “Come on, Gav, you know I can’t say.”

Displaying my dimples, I commented, “Got ya.” Then I slammed his head into the glove compartment and kept his head pressed with my 9mm. “Who fucking told you?”

Blood trickled from his mouth and flared nose. “If I say anything, I’m dead.”

I tapped the muzzle against his temple. “Talk and live a few more days.”

His dark eyes flashed. Warring with himself about following the street code of not stitching or potential death.

“Come on, Bro. I promise you whoever told you is a dead man. If I were you, I’d take my chances with the man holding the gun to your head right now than the one who may or may not find out you snitched.”

Lil Tate closed his eyes. “When he approached me outside the studio, I thought he wanted to talk shit about me leaving his crew. I was prepared to fight or kill, depending on his energy. He told me to relax and congratulated me on the success of my album. Told me he was proud of me. If I relayed a message to you, all ties would be cut, and dues would be considered paid to St. James. He said you wouldn’t believe him if he told you because you were enemies back in the day. But he had firsthand knowledge that Brazino planned to take out St. James. I thought it was strange that he would instruct me to tell you. Then I thought maybe it was his prideful, slick way of asking for help. So, I did what he asked. Told you, and the next day, hell happened.”

“If Xavier told you to tell me, then maybe it was a way of asking for help.” I moved my gun and allowed him to sit up.

Lil Tate shook his head slowly. “Not Xavier. Pierre told me.”

“What?” My stomach flipped.

“It was Pierre who rolled up on me. He knew Xavier and I were still beefed and used that as leverage.”

Pierre? Why? I bumped the back of my head against the seat. “If Pierre is in another country, why are you worried about word getting back to him?”

“Because he’s here. He stopped by the studio the other day, asking if I’d heard from you. I hadn’t at the time, and he left.”

Pierre told Storm he wouldn’t return anytime soon after they had spoken two days ago. I warned him, “I suggest you leave. You know too much.”

“I can’t. I have two babies and their mamas here.”

“Take them with you. He let you live because he knows we’ll speak again sooner or later. Trust me, the next time he visits you is the last time. Capiche?”

Lil Tate’s expression sobered.

“Listen, keep in touch with the label no matter where you wind up. You good with money?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“When it’s safe, I’ll let you know. I would say sorry about that cut, but -”

“Charge it to the game.” He clasped my hand. “Stay safe.”

“No...you stay safe.” I urged and hoped he would listen. I watched him walk off and doubted that he would. Men like him knew no other place and would rather die than be forced out of New York.

I started my ignition and placed it into reverse while I made a call. When he answered, I smiled.

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