Page 49 of I See You

Hassan dapped him up, their grip firm.

"Happy birthday, nigga." Hassan’s voice was calm, steady, as always.

Roman grinned, shaking his head. "Nigga, you couldn’t follow rules for one day? Where your mask at, mane?" His tone was playful, but he already knew the answer.

Hassan’s eyes scanned the casino, ever-watchful. "You know I’m not a festive ass nigga."

Roman chuckled, unbothered, as they made their way upstairs to the overlook, a private VIP section that gave them a clear view of the casino floor. Hassan leaned against the rail, watching as guests were patted down by security before being let inside. This wasn’t just any party. This was invite-only. The most powerful, untouchable, top-tier names in the business were here.

And Roman’s day ones—the ones who had been with him before the money, before the power—had also been invited. But none ofthat mattered to Hassan. Because even now, standing above it all, watching the night unfold—

His mind was still somewhere else. Or more accurately, on someone else.

Hassan spotted Vittorio Marino and his son Luca entering the casino, their presence immediately commanding attention as they walked through the space with the effortless confidence of men who owned every room they stepped into. He nudged Roman, subtly pointing them out.

"That’s the Marino family."

Roman’s gaze followed, locking onto the two Italian men as they moved through the casino, their eyes scanning the scene, taking in every detail. Hassan didn’t miss the nod of approval from Vittorio or the smirk playing at the corner of his lips—he was impressed.

"So you closed the deal?" Roman asked, casually sipping his whiskey, his tone knowing but still waiting for confirmation.

Hassan turned to him with a look that screamed nigga, do you know who you talking to?

Like the question itself was stupid. Like Roman had somehow forgotten who the fuck he was best friends with.

Roman caught the look and let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head.

"We about to change the game." His voice carried hype, his energy always the opposite of Hassan’s—loud, excitable, electric.

Hassan simply nodded, his expression calm, unreadable as always. "Nigga, yo ass don’t get excited for shit." Roman shook his head, lookingatHassanlikehewasalostcause."Youcouldatleasttoast with a nigga."

Hassan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Excitement wasn’t something he did. It wasn’t in him. He had never allowed himself the luxury of celebration, because everything good in his life always got taken away. His father. His mother. His childhood. And soon his grandmother.

Every time he allowed himself to feel something, to let his guard down, life snatched it away without hesitation. So he didn’t get excited. Didn’t show shit besides calmness.

Because in the back of his mind, he was always waiting for the moment it all got taken away again.

Still, for Roman’s sake, he lifted his glass of cognac, tapping it against Roman’s.

"Changing the game." His voice was firm, laced with conviction, but still emotionless.

Roman nodded, accepting it for what it was—Hassan’s best attempt at showing some type of excitement, even if it was buried beneath years of cold detachment.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

"I can’t wait to take all these niggas' money, mane. Like taking candy from a rich-ass baby." Roman leaned against the railing, surveying the floor below, his grin sharp and full of anticipation.

Hassan shook his head. He had tripled security tonight for this exact reason, knowing Roman was about to hurt a lot of feelings—and a lot of bank accounts.

Roman’s eyes drifted toward the entrance, his posture shifting as three women walked in, their presence instantly shifting the energy in the room. Elegantly dressed, their gowns flowing with every step, they commanded attention without even trying.

The first woman moved with effortless grace, her nude, diamond- embellished dress clinging to her frame in all the right places before cascading down like liquid gold. Her white masquerade mask only added to the mystery, but Roman didn’t need to guess who she was— Harper. He recognized her instantly. The deep waves in her long, dark hair framed her rich, chocolate skin perfectly, her natural beauty shining even beneath the mask.

Then, his gaze shifted to the second woman beside her. And that’s when his entire focus snapped into place.

His smirk deepened in approval, because God had to be real— shorty was wearing his color.

The exact same shade of red he had on.

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