Page 131 of I See You

“Not yet,” Hassan said coldly. “I want him watched. Every step, every call, every bitch he meet up with. We treat him like he the feds.”

Von nodded once, already running scenarios in his head.

Hassan wasn’t just being cautious—he was waiting. Waiting for Hendrix to show his hand. Because he knew the nigga hadn’t shown up just to visit Helen. No, Hendrix was plotting. Just like before.

Back when Hassan blew up his plan, the rage Hendrix carried wasn’t just about being interrupted—it was about losing money. He’d promised that man a “fresh, clean pussy.” His own daughter. Harper was still a virgin then, and Hendrix planned to auction off her body like she was property. He didn’t care who she was—just what she was worth.

And Hassan had stopped it.

But Hendrix never let that shit go.

The second he walked into the hospice room, Hassan saw it. The way his eyes followedHarper when she wasn’t looking. The subtlesmirk. The way his gaze slid over her body like he was owed something. He wasn’t there for Helen. He was back to finish what he started.

And Hassan was going to kill him before he could lay a single finger on her. But he had to move smart. With Braxton and the feds sniffing around everything tied to his past, one wrong move could cost him everything.

Roman and Von both nodded, picking up on the tension rolling off him. Roman especially. He knew Hassan wasn’t saying everything— his eyes said more than his mouth ever would—but he didn’t press. He’d been around long enough to know when to ask questions, and when to let a man carry his rage in silence.

There was more on the table tonight anyway.

And as the air in the office thickened, they shifted to the other problem—the reason this meeting had been called in the first place.

“Jules said Braxton’s case ties Desmond back to a deal my pops was in. The nigga I killed?” Hassan paused, his voice low but sharp. “Carlos’ nephew.”

Von and Roman both sat up straighter.

They already knew Hassan had killed the man who murdered his parents. That wasn’t new. But the weight behind the name Carlos was.

“Who the fuck is Carlos?” Roman asked, brows furrowed.

Von was already tapping away on his phone, doing his hacker shit, fingers flying as the room filled with tension.

Before Hassan could answer, Von spoke. “Carlos DeVille. CEO of DeVille Technologies. On paper, he owns half the fucking country. He got pull outside the country too—his businesses stretch global.”

Hassan’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding at just hearing the name again.

“So he a tech CEO?” Roman asked, still not understanding the gravity.

Von looked up, dead serious. “Nah. That nigga a tech CEO on paper. In real life? He’s the puppet master of the drug trade. One of the most powerful niggas in the world. Old head, been running shit from the shadows for decades. Law enforcement, politics, government— he don’t run through the police department, he move through White House status type power.”

Hassan inhaled a long drag from his blunt, trying to keep the heat in his chest from spilling out. He didn’t fear Carlos—fear wasn’t something he carried—but going up against a man like that made him feel what he hated most:out of control.

“So… he after us now?” Roman asked cautiously.

“No,” Hassan said, blowing out a stream of smoke. “He after me. I just need y’all to be on alert, move smart. One wrong step could fuck up everything.”

Roman gave him a look. “You didn’t even know who the nigga was when you killed his nephew, right?”

Hassan shook his head. “I was ten. I wasn’t thinking strategy—I was thinking revenge. That nigga took my parents, so I took his blood. Now it’s coming back for me.”

For the first time, Roman heard it. Stress. In Hassan’s voice. And that shook him more than the threat itself.

“Nah, fuck that,” Roman snapped. “Fuck these niggas, San. Ain’t no nigga—no matter how powerful—taking you out. I’ll burn this whole world down before I let that happen.”

Hassan nodded slowly. He knew Roman meant it. That was his brother. His only real family outside of Helen and Harper. Roman would go to war blindfolded for him.

But war had to be played smart this time.

“I know,” Hassan said, his voice quieter but heavier. “Ain’t no nigga takin’ me out. We just gotta move like every step is watched. ‘Cause it is.”

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