Page 88 of All In

“If you had somewhere else to go, you would’ve already left.”

“I’m handling it.”

“No. You not.” Kormia folded her arms.

“So, you came all the way down here to argue?”

“No.”

“Then what?” Newdy held her gaze. “I came down here because you’re not freezing to death in one of my properties. So, I suggest you get your shit and come on.”

“No.” She said still trying her best to hold on to the little pride she had left.

His expression didn’t change. “I’m not leaving.” She folded her arms tighter across her chest like that somehow settled the matter. Newdy stared at her for a long moment before stepping closer. When he spoke again, his voice dropped. “Ayo, Kormia.” He glanced past her shoulder toward the dark shop before looking back at her. “Either you walk out or I carry you out. And I honestly don’t care which one you choose.” There wasn’t an ounce of humor in his voice. Before she could respond, Graveyard’s voice floated from inside the shop. “Mia, who at the door?” Kormia closed her eyes. “Fuck.”

A second later Graveyard appeared beside her, blanket around her shoulders, Chinese food still in her hand. She squinted toward the doorway, then her whole face lit up. “Nephew?”

The word hit Kormia like a slap.Nephew?

Her head snapped to Graveyard, then back to Newdy. Graveyard had spent the last hour talking about her “nephew”—the one who was so connected niggas had to check in with him before they made a move in the city. The same one who supposedly ran shit.This couldn’t be him.

Everything Graveyard had said tonight suddenly clicked into place. The stories. The “my nephew this,” “my nephew that.” The way she swore he was coming to get her.

Kormia felt the floor shift beneath her feet.Newdy was the nephew.The realization made her stomach drop so hard she actually took a small step back. Newdy’s eyes flicked between the two of them, confusion flashing across his face for a split second before he focused on Graveyard.

“I thought I told you to wait for me on Market Street.”

“I was waiting,” Graveyard said, shooting Kormia a look, “but she made me come with her.” Kormia still couldn’t speak. She just stood there, blanket pulled tight, staring at Newdy like she was seeing him for the first time. Newdy watched her for a long moment. Then his voice dropped, low and final. “Look… I’m not about to argue with you in the snow. Either you walk out, or I carry you out. Your choice.” Kormia stared at him. The fight was still in her chest, but she felt her resolve weakening. She could feel Graveyard watching them, and the weight of everything she’d just realized sitting heavy in her stomach. She exhaled, long and tired. “Okay.” Newdy nodded once. “Good.”

He glanced past her into the shop. “You need help with your stuff?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I got it.” She started to turn away, then paused.

“You can wait in the car. I know you probably cold.”

“Nah.” His voice followed her down the hallway. “Imma stand right here and wait for you.” Kormia kept walking, heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t know what any of this meant.

But she knew one thing for sure: Newdy wasn’t leaving without her tonight.

CHAPTER SIXTY

CASH

Six Months Later...

Cash Hated these fittings with a passion…

It didn’t matter if it was a suit, a tux, or whatever the hell Brother Abdul was calling this long-ass robe he had him standing in. The answer was always the same. He hated it. “Hold still.”

“I’m holding still.”

“No. You’re breathing too fucking much.” Cash looked down at the old man pinning fabric around his waist. “You want the shit to fit or not?” Brother Abdul muttered without looking up. Across the room, Montana damn near fell off the couch laughing. “Yo, why he talking to you like that?”

“Because he know I won’t hit his old ass,” Cash said. Brother Abdul was family, his mother’s first cousin and the best tailor in the city. He dressed everybody who mattered: wise guys, politicians, and the handful of street niggas who could afford him. Right now, he was fitting Cash for his Nikah attire, and he had no problem talking reckless while he did it. “Keep talking and I’ll let you do this shit yourself,” Abdul warned. Cash didn’t respond. He just stared at his reflection in the long mirror.

Fifty-two days.

That’s how long he had until the wedding.