Page 126 of Heavy Is The Crown

Krys smiled pleasantly. “Thank you.”

Traci tilted her head. “You got a lil’ money, huh?”

Weird thing to outright ask, but Krys didn’t let it bother her. She lifted a shoulder. “I do alright.”

A flicker of amusement flashed in Traci’s eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came. She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers against the armrest. “You must really like my son to put up with his shit.”

Not a question; more of a statement.

Krys didn’t flinch. “I do.”

Simple. Straightforward.

Traci gave a slow nod, a sip from her cup as if she was reflecting; then gave a grunt.

That was it.

Kenyatta nudged Krys and motioned to move on. He knew that was all they were going to get from Traci which was better than he expected.

As they stepped away, Krys glanced at him with amusement. “She always like that?”

Kenyatta chuckled. “That was her being nice.”

Krys gave a thoughtful sigh. “Good to know.”

Kenyatta shook his head. “That’s just her. I think that’s where Kaliyah gets it from.”

Krys let out a soft laugh. “Yeah…I can see that.”

She had no idea how much he was truly appreciating her right now. The way she handled herself, moving through the family with ease; and then the way she looked at him like she wasn’t afraid to be associated with him. This was something he wanted to hold onto.

Chapter 31

In the makeshift parking, Kenyatta and Krys congregated amongst the city’s most seasoned and strategic players in the game. They weren’t just some young niggas trying to make a name; these were men who knewThe Waterlike the back of their hands. They’d swam in it for years, some almost drowned, some learned how to make waves.

The War Lords hailed from the Deuce-Ace, most notorious part of Southside Haven, known for grimy street politics, abandoned buildings, and crews that never slept. They also had jurisdiction over Havenwood Heights, the housing projects stretched out like a forgotten promise, tucked away on the Southside of Trinity, past the last gas station and liquor store on Hamilton Blvd. The War Lords controlled street-level drug sales, chop shops, and underground gambling rings; a force to be feared.

Presently, they were discussing some unfamiliar boats trying to set sail in their ocean.

“Aye,” Tez, leaning against his all-black Charger, exhaled thick smoke. “Word is, some new niggas tryna play The Bay like it’s sweet.”

Nub, arm and a half crossed, expression unreadable, nodded slowly. “Yeah. Hush work comin’ in from over east, but it ain’t got K9’s stamp. And if it ain’t got K9’s stamp? That mean somebody playin’ dangerous.”

Duke, rocking a fresh gold chain, twisted his face in disapproval, while tugging at one of his locs. “They building sandcastles, bruh. Flashy now, but they gon’ crumble soon as the tide hit.”

Kenyatta, leaning against the hood of Krys’ Porsche, barely reacted, but he was listening. Watching, reading between the lines.

“What they moving?” he finally asked.

Tez flicked his cigarette. “It ain’t no nickel-and-dime hustle. This that bulk. High-grade. Some Midtown Money type shit, but they moving it through The Water without checking in with Mendez an’nem.”

Kenyatta let that sit for a second.Midtown Money?That meant political hands were probably in the mix. Corporate types who pretended to be clean but got their real money moving weight behind the scenes.

A slow nod from Nub confirmed what Kenyatta was thinking. He muttered, “That mean K9 got a problem on his hands.”

“And so do we,” Benzo added. “Because once them blue lights special hit? Ain’t nobody askin’ no questions. They gon’ scoop everybody.”

The men fell into silence, the weight of what they were discussing settling heavy in the air.

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