Page 16 of All In

Then there was a pause. Quick but sharp

“I spoke to your father this morning.” Najee’s jaw flexed.

“He’s been trying to reach you. You should take his call.”

“With respect, Uncle… you know why I don’t.” Cash knew too. Everybody in the family did. Brother Malik, Brother Amin’s older brother, Najee’s pops, was the polish. Ivy League educated; real estate developer turned politician. Shook hands with mayors, sat on boards, smiled for every damn camera like he wasmade for it. But Cash had seen past all that. Uncle Malik was the dirtiest nigga he knew. People swore Brother Amin was the gangster in the family, the street muscle, the one who made shit happen in the shadows. But that was surface work. Malik? He was a political animal. A corporate thug. The street feared Amin. The city feared Malik. Najee had always despised his father. But after his mother died, that contempt hardened into something permanent.Hatred.

Najee’s mother had been the kindest woman Cash had ever met. Different from the rest of them. Untouched by the power games. Uncorrupted by the Kool-Aid. She was an outsider. Aconvert. She had noname. Nomoney. Noreal education.Still, she was softnesspersonified. She didn’t belong to the Amin-Rashid machine. Uncle Malik hadn’t even been supposed to marry her. He’d been promised to another. But he refused the marriage and chose Najee’s mother instead. That decision cost him his position and standing in the community. And if not for his success, he would’ve been excommunicated. His influence wasn’trestored.He took it back. By force.But he never forgave her for the cost.And when she died, something in Najee broke.Something that never fully came back.

Najee came to live with them after. Stayed until he left for college.Growing up, they were close.Same house, routines, and expectations.Like brothers in proximity.But not friends.Neverfriends. Therewas always that low hum of competition. That quiet, unconditional loyalty.

Still… Cash understood him.Maybe more than anybody else in the room.

“I do,” Brother Amin said evenly. “But he’s still your father. And sometimes, even when you know exactly what kind of man he is… you pick up the phone anyway.”

“Not for him. But for you.”

Najee’s jaw unclenched just slightly.

He gave a small, almost reluctant nod.

“I’ll think about it, Unc but I’m not making any promises.”

“That’s all I ask,” Cash’s father said, stepping aside.

“Go on. Enjoy the rest of the evening. We’ll talk soon.”

Najee glanced at Cash once before walking out.

The room felt quieter without him. But the moment the door shut the energy in the room shifted. “Stay,” his father said. It was an order. Not a request, and Cash was already bracing himself. With his father, there was no easing into a conversation. He went straight for the jugular.

“I’ve been hearing things Cassius his father began, pacing slow, deliberate. “About you and Zambia. Or rather, what’s not happening with you and Zambia.” Cash kept his face still.

“You’re engaged,” his father continued, voice clipped, efficient, like he was delivering an after-action report. “Yet you’re not living together? There’s still no wedding date. Her family’s starting to ask questions and wonder if history’s repeating itself. Nobody wants this to turn into another Najee-and-Fatima situation.” Cash’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.

“You own four homes that I know of,” his father pressed, “and you’re holed up in that bachelor pad overlooking the Parkway like a twenty-two-year-old with no responsibilities. That’s not what a man does when he’s preparing for command.”

“I like my space,” Cash said flatly.

“That’s not space,” Brother Amin countered.

“That’s distance. And it’s obvious you and Zambia haven’t spent much time in the same room, let alone the same life. Marriage is work before the vows. You need to rise to the occasion. Make the effort. Treat her better. She tells me you’ve been detached. Colder than usual.”

“I don’t love her—” Cash finally admitted. His voice was low, unflinching.

“I don’t even like her.”

“That’s irrelevant,” his father cut in before the words had even settled.

“You think I loved your mother when I met her? I knew her all of two weeks before our marriage was arranged. My heart belonged elsewhere at the time. But when it was time to stand in place, I did. I built something with her anyway. That’s what men do when their legacy is on the line.” He stopped pacing, eyes narrowing. “This marriage between you and Zambia will not only unite our families the way they should have been united years ago—it will spawn opportunities, fortify alliances, and set us up for generations to come.” Cash just stood there, knowing nothing he said would sway his father. So he said nothing. “Cassius.” Brother Amin’s tone softened, but only slightly. “You are my son. Everything I’ve done in this life has been for you. You are the one who will lead this family and maintain our legacy. Your mother and I are getting older. You don’t understand now, but you will. A man needs a wife. You will need a wife.” He rested a heavy hand on Cash’s shoulder. “I expect Zambia to be moved into one of your properties by the end of this week. One that you actually occupy.”

And with that, the conversation ended.

Cash sat in his car a solid fifteen minutes after the conversation with his father, hands locked on the wheel though the engine was off. His chest felt tight, like the air inside had thinned. He’d carried pressure before, street shit, shootouts, plays gone wrong, real beef with real killers. But nothing ever pressed him like this. Nothing gave him more anxiety than the weight of being his father’s son. This was different. The pressure was heavy and suffocating, and for the first time in his life, he couldn’t make his body obey. His mind raced a mile a minute,with no off switch, no way to think his way out it. And in that spiral, her voice rose up—uninvitedandunwelcome.But steady all the same. Not Zambia attwenty-nine, loud and manipulative at his Parents dinner table, but Zambia atfifteen, whispering rebellion in his ear while another bride was walked down an aisle. The hum of the present slipped, and memory came rushing in.

Cash, age 15

Fairmount Park smelled like Cherry Blossoms and fresh-cut grass that afternoon. Sunlight spilled through the trees, glinting off the gold-threaded scarves of the women seated in neat rows. A white canopy stood near the Shofuso Japanese House, draped in silk and flowers, the kind of setup Cash knew cost money. Zainab and Umar’s families had gone all out to make their ceremony immaculate. Umar and Zainab just turned sixteen, already standing side by side as husband and wife under a summer sky.