NICHOLAS’S POV
After opening the black file and seeing Ava’s wide-eyed horror that morning, there was nothing else to say. Her silence was louder than any shout.
She didn’t ask any more questions.
She didn’t even look at me the same, but I didn’t have the time to ease her fears.
My children were still gone and whoever took them knew me, not the version in the media, not the billionaire with a cruel smile and elegant suit.
No, this person knew the version I tried to bury ten years ago in the narrow streets of Harlem, under contracts soaked in blood and debts paid in fear.
I stood by the window, watching the city in restless disorder.
Somewhere out there, my children were alone, waiting for me.
And someone was playing a game I didn’t remember starting somewhere, and they were
