Page 123 of Heavy Is The Crown

Musa, stretched comfortably in the back seat, lifted his head immediately, his dark eyes locking on the movement outside. His presence was as commanding as ever, solid, watchful, present.

Krys, perched in the passenger seat, adjusted the delicate jewelry on her wrist and smoothed the hem of her dress, acting unbothered but very much aware that all eyes were about to be on them.

The moment Kenyatta opened the driver’s side door, heads turned. Krys slid out of the Porsche with slow, effortless ease. The sun kissed her skin, the soft shimmer highlighting the curves of that body-hugging dress. Her fresh Nikes only made the look more effortless, like she was just as comfortable in the Southside as she was in a penthouse overlooking Midtown.

A few women exchanged knowing glances, murmurs passing between them.

The men eyed Kenyatta with recognition; because this wasYatta. The one who used to pull up like this. The one who always had money in his pocket and an aura of untouchable confidence. And now he was standing here, with her.

Then, the back door eased open, and Musa stepped out.

The immediate shift was palpable.

A few people stopped mid-sentence, their eyes widening as the massive Cane Corso emerged from the car, his black coat shining under the sun, his size damn near absurd to those who had never been in his presence.

A low whistle came from somewhere in the crowd.

“Aye, what the hell kind of lion you got with you, Yatta?”

Kenyatta chuckled, patting Musa’s side. “Chill, man. He good.”

Musa was unbothered. His massive head turned slightly, taking in the scene like a general surveying his territory.

Krys didn’t even flinch, tossing her oversized sunglasses onto her head. “I already warned Yatta, if something pops off, Musa gon’ act accordingly.”

“Man, that ain’t no regular dog!” Nub’s voice boomed as he made his way over from the crowd. “That’s security on four legs!”

Musa’s ears flicked at the noise, but his focus remained on his perimeter. He stayed close to Krys, his presence alone enough to demand respect.

Nub reached them first, his one good arm lifting as he called out, “Ayyyeeee, look who finally decided to bring his ass around!”

A roar of approval followed from the group near him, and before Kenyatta could respond, Nub was already sizing up the situation.

“Damn, boy, you still know how to pull up in style, huh?” Nub’s gaze flicked from the Porsche to Krys to Musa. His grin deepened. “And you ain’t come empty-handed, either.”

Krys folded her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before Nub could answer, Tru, one of Nub’s homeboys, stepped up, pointing directly at Musa. “Aye, I don’t know about the rest of y’all, but I ain’t tryna get too close ‘til I know if that mothafucka bite.”

Krys tilted her head, amused. “He don’t bite.”

Kenyatta cut her a look. “Krys.”

She chuckled, glancing down at Musa, who was still on high alert, his massive body positioned protectively beside her.

“A’ight,” Krys amended. “He don’t bite unless you do something stupid; so, don’t be doing nothing stupid.”

Nub let out a sharp laugh, nodding toward Kenyatta. “Oh yeah, she dangerous bro. You sure you got this under control?”

Kenyatta just shook his head, grin creeping back up. “Man, she ain’t my problem; she y’all’s now.”

Krys rolled her eyes, grabbing the case of premium liquor from the backseat. “Y’all standing here talking, or we drinking?”

That got a reaction. Tru stepped up and grabbed the liquor from her.

“Oh, I like her,” one of the YN’s close by called out.

“She bossy. I see why you been hiding her, Yatta,” an old head added.

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