Page 94 of Heavy Is The Crown

By the time they got back, Kaliyah barely stirred as Kenyatta carried her inside, tucking her under the covers in the guest suite.

Krys leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the way Kenyatta adjusted the blankets around her. His movements were careful, deliberate, protective.

She was falling deeper than she had ever planned to.

She knew it the second she whispered, “Goodnight, baby girl,” and Kaliyah mumbled sleepily back, “Goodnight, Auntie Krys.”

That should’ve stopped her in her tracks, made her pull back; but instead it made her feel like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Krys laid in her bed later that night, staring at the ceiling, legs tangled in the silk sheets, her mind nowhere near rest.

She liked him. And not just as a fake boyfriend or as an ally in this performance.

She liked him.

Kenyatta. The man. The father.

The way he moved. The way he protected. The way he took up space without demanding it. The way he looked at her like she was the first thing in a long time that surprised him.

She turned on her side, biting her lip, shaking her head at herself. “You done fucked around and caught real feelings, girl.”

She groaned into her pillow.

This was not the plan, but it was the reality; yet she didn’t regret it.

Chapter 24

The sun was beginning to set, casting a deep orange glow over the city, but inside the warehouse there was no warmth. Just cold concrete, dim lighting, and the low hum of conversation between men who didn’t waste time on small talk.

Rico stood near the large metal desk, his presence calm but commanding, his expression unreadable as he flipped through a folder of paperwork. He always moved with patience, never rushing, never reacting emotionally. That was how he kept his grip tight in Southside Haven.

Controlled power.

Across from him, Trell leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Rico with that familiar smirk, one that always meant something was brewing.

“You gon’ handle this soft or hard?” Trell asked, already knowing the answer.

Rico let out a slow exhale, setting the folder down. “Nigga out here thinking shit sweet,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Like I forgot.”

Trell nodded. “So, what’s the move?”

Rico tapped his fingers against the desk, thinking. He wasn’t about to do anything messy.

Not yet.

This wasn’t about starting a war, it was about reminding Kenyatta where he always stood. Right now, Kenyatta had too much peace. That shit was about to change.

See, Rico wasn’t a loud or reckless man. He didn’t throw tantrums like some of these young niggas who let their emotions rule them. That was the difference between a boss and a soldier.

A nigga like Kenyatta had the potential to be something serious, but seven years inside had made him soft. He wasn’t moving with urgency. He was out here walking free, eating good, acting like a man with no weight on his back. In Rico’s eyes, that shit was disrespectful.

Rico had fronted Kenyatta a play before he got locked up, a play that should’ve made both of them a lot of money. But then Kenyatta got snatched, that money disappeared.

He let the seven years slide because he figured Kenyatta was out of the way, but now that he was back, there was no excuse. Seven years didn’t erase a debt. And Rico didn’t do forgiveness.

Rico pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before landing on a name.

Bishop. A man who specialized in sending messages that couldn’t be ignored.

---