Page 95 of Heavy Is The Crown

Rico shot off a quick text:

[Rico] 6:53PM— Need you to tap in. Location inbound.

Then, he looked up at Trell. “Bishop gon’ pay our boy a visit.”

Trell raised a brow. “Where at?”

Rico sneered. “His mama’s house.”

Trell let out a low whistle, nodding.

“Now that?” he said, laughing under his breath. “That’s gon’ get his attention.”

“You goddamn right.” Rico lifted the cigar to his lips, taking a slow drag, the ember flaring against the darkness. His dark eyes gleamed beneath the flickering industrial lights.

Rico wasn’t going to snatch Kenyatta off the streets.

Yet.

But he would remind him that this wasn’t just about him. Men like Kenyatta thought they could disappear, change, move differently. But Rico knew every man had something to lose. And if Kenyatta wasn’t worried about himself, then he’d make him worry about Traci.

Bishop wasn’t being sent there to put hands on her. Rico wasn’t stupid; hurting a man’s mother got the wrong kind of attention, but a visit…Or a quiet knock at the door followed by a polite but unsettling conversation?

That was pressure.

That was enough to make Kenyatta feel the walls closing in, because when the streets came knocking on your mama’s doorstep you had to answer.

The warehouse remained eerily quiet except for the occasional hum of voices outside and the faint echo of dripping water somewhere in the distance. The scent of motor oil and metal lingered in the air, but Rico wasn’t paying attention to any of that.

His focus was locked on the folder in his hands, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for: a list of property records.

His eyes landed on one name in particular.

Krysta Davis.

Rico grimaced, tilting his head. “She own all that shit, huh?” he murmured.

Trell, who had been casually scrolling through his own phone, leaned over to look. “Mmhmm. Couple complexes, some high-end spots. Her name ring bells. Brooke said that’s who the nigga working for.”

That made Rico pause.

Kenyatta working for a bitch? And not just any bitch, but an ol’ bougie bitch. And one with a past and questionable connections.

Something was up with that; which meant the pressure needed to apply differently.

Rico exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb over his jawline as he pieced together the situation in his mind. He set the folder down, pressing his palms against the desk.

“A’ight. Here’s how we play it.”

Trell straightened up, watching him carefully.

“We got two angles now.” Rico held up two fingers. “First, Bishop gon’ pay a visit to Traci’s house. We keep it light; just enough to remind Kenyatta that I ain’t forgot about my money.”

Trell nodded. “And the second?”

Rico’s smirk deepened. “We start looking into this Davis bitch.”

Trell arched a brow. “You tryna say she in some shit?”

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