Page 105 of Heavy Is The Crown

And just like that, the conversation was over. No threats. No hostility. Just a quiet, unshaken warning wrapped in a simple “we’ll see.”

Sydnee gave him one last unreadable glance before turning and heading back inside, leaving Kenyatta standing there with the sounds of the summer night all around him. Cicadas humming, the faint laughter of family from the kitchen, and the gentle creak of the porch as she disappeared inside.

And that one, lingering thought pressing at the back of his mind: Did he even realize what he was stepping into?

Chapter 27

The sun had barely begun its descent, casting long shadows over the quiet street, when the first knock came.

Sharp. Firm. Unfamiliar.

Not a polite tap. Not a neighbor dropping by. This was intentional.

Traci, in the middle of folding laundry, froze. The faint laughter from the old sitcom playing in the background suddenly felt distant, insignificant. Her hands stilled over a fresh pile of towels, muscles tensing as a second knock landed, harder this time, more impatient.

Her brows pulled together. She wasn’t expecting anybody. And the last time someone came to her house unannounced…Yeah, it wasn’t for anything good.

She inhaled deeply, wiping her hands on her leggings before making her way to the front door. The second she cracked it open, she knew. The man on her porch wasn’t some lost delivery driver.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black from the bomber jacket to the heavy boots planted firm on her welcome mat. Attire all wrong for the June heat. His skin was deep brown, his expression unreadable, but there was something about him.

Something that made her stomach twist. Not out of fear, but because this wasn’t random. This was about Kenyatta.

His eyes moved over her, slow, deliberate, taking her in before he tipped his chin slightly. “You Traci?”

The casual tone did nothing to soften the weight behind the question.

Traci’s fingers tightened around the doorframe. She already knew. But she asked anyway.

“Who’s askin’?”

The man smirked slightly, a small, amused chuckle slipping from his lips as he shook his head.

“Ain’t even gotta do all that,” he said. “Just need you to pass somethin’ along to your boy.”

Traci’s jaw tightened. “My boy?”

He nodded once, shifting his stance just a little. “Yeah. Yatta. Kenyatta.”

The name rolled off his tongue smoothly, like it wasn’t the reason he was standing on her damn porch at dusk, bringing this to her front door.

Traci exhaled deeply, arms crossing over her chest. “What kinda message?”

That’s when he stepped forward. Not enough to invade her space; just enough to let her know he could.

“Tell him Rico still waiting on his money,” he said evenly. “And if he got time to be out, flossin’ with some new chick, then he got time to take care of what’s owed.”

That made her stomach twist. Not because she didn’t already know Kenyatta was mixed up in some shit, but because now it was on her damn doorstep.

Her voice came out cool but edged with warning. “You bringin’ this to my house? That’s what we doin’ now?”

The man—Bishop—smirked, lifting his hands slightly, as if to say relax.

“Look, Miss Traci…this ain’t even about you.”

Then his expression shifted, that casual edge fading as his tone dropped lower, sharper. “But if he don’t handle this? It will be.”

The unspoken threat settled between them like thick smoke.

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