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“Crew will be here after dark,” he informed me. I balled up the bloodied shirt, and we went out the way we came. The block was too busy, with people coming and going and kids riding their bikes, for anyone to even notice us.

He dropped me off at my building.

“We should have about forty-eight hours until people start noticing he’s missing,” Priest said. “You think his pops gonna hit you up?”

I shrugged. “He might, but there won’t be a body and there are no witnesses. If he knew what that nigga was into, he might just chalk it up to the game, but he damn sure won’t want to get the police involved.”

I dapped him up and headed inside.

In the penthouse, the smell of food cooking hit me as soon as the elevator doors opened.

I kicked off my shoes and walked into the kitchen to find Belle at the stove with a kitchen towel over her shoulder as she rapped along to a Remy Ma song that was floating over the Bluetooth speakers.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “You getting domestic on me, La’Belle?”

She yelped and jumped slightly and then relaxed when she realized it was me.

“Not even,” she said, checking on whatever was in the oven. “I was hungry and found some things in the fridge, so…”

“Uh huh.”

“Shouldn’t your scammer-ass fiancée cook you dinner?” She asked, smiling coyly over her shoulder. She closed the oven and wrapped her arms around me. She gave me a slow kiss. “How was your day, Papa?”

“Mm, better now that I’m home with you.” My hands drifted to her ass, and I gave it a squeeze. “What you making?”

“Baked some chicken thighs, mac and cheese, and threw together a little salad.”

“From scratch?”

“As opposed to?” She twisted out of my arms and hip checked me. “Unfortunately, one of my mother’s many lessons was how to cook. I had to know how to keep a husband.”

“Let me find out you been holding out on me.”

“A little. Go wash up, you’ve got blood on your face.”

I chuckled at her slipping that in. I took a quick shower and came back to Belle fixing our plates. I grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine.

It’d been a week since we spoke on the roof. Belle had moved into my bedroom and her whole attitude had done a one-eighty. She’d slowly been coming back to the version of herself I knew her to be. Lorelei hadn’t met with her again, but said Belle reached out and picked a venue.

She slid my plate across the island and sat across from me.

“Taste the mac first,” she said as I poured out the wine.

She watched me as I picked up a forkful of macaroni and cheese.

“Belle.”

“Is it good?”

“Good as fuck,” I said, taking another forkful. “Shout out to your moms.”

“Decades of watching Barefoot Contessa and Julia Child,” she snickered. “Never thought I’d be using my recipes under these circumstances, but here we are.”

“Whose blood was that?” she asked.

The tone of her voice let me know she already knew, but she wanted me to say it out loud.

“Gideon’s.”