Chapter 18
1290 Words
The Verona compound was quieter than usual.
DJ sat alone in the private lounge, one hand cradling a glass of bourbon, the other gripping the armrest until his knuckles whitened. He wore a white tank top and his suspenders hanging down his sides. The crew was out, handling the next step of their plan—Sabotage. Protection. Pressure.
But DJ wasn’t there. He couldn’t focus.
The chair creaked under him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his jaw tight, eyes distant.
He hadn’t seen Aurelia in three days.
Three days of no soft smiles. No warm laughs. No honey and rose perfume lingering on his clothes. Just silence. Emptiness. Regret.
He downed the bourbon and stood up, pacing. The memory of her voice haunted him—“You’re still just a little boy scared of thunderstorms.”
She was right. And that truth stung more than anything.
---
Across town, in the marble halls of Aurelia’s family estate, Wyatt strolled in with the confidence of a man who believed the world belonged to him.
He brought roses this time. Red. Perfect. Deceitful.
Aurelia was in the sitting room when he entered, still in her pale dressing gown, her golden hair loosely tied, her expression vacant. Her eyes flicked up as Wyatt walked in, uninvited.
“Brought these for you,” he said, placing the flowers down without waiting for a response.
Aurelia nodded stiffly. “Thank you.”
Wyatt sat down beside her with a self-satisfied grin. “You’ve been quiet lately.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been tired.”
He leaned back, studying her carefully. “Haven’t seen your little colored friend around lately.”
Her jaw tightened.
Wyatt smirked. “Guess he finally figured out who he really belongs with. Can’t blame him. Knew he’d run.”
She turned her head to the side, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But her silence only fed his ego.
“I’ve got a little surprise for you tonight,” he said, reaching to gently stroke a strand of her hair. She pulled away slightly. Not enough to offend—but enough to keep distance.
Still, Wyatt grinned. She’s not saying no anymore, he thought. And to him, that was everything.
In the guest house down the back of the estate, Maybelle slammed a tray down in frustration.
“I swear to God, Lia, you better start eatin’ or I’mma drag you by your hair to the kitchen.”
Aurelia sat at her vanity, brushing her hair in silence. Her reflection was pale, tired, distant.
Maybelle crossed her arms. “You moping like some schoolgirl don’t do nobody no good.”
“I’m fine,” Aurelia whispered.
“Bullshit,” Maybelle snapped. “You ain’t fine. You’re broken, again.”
“I’m not broken—”
“You’re cracked, girl. And Wyatt Cane’s the crowbar that’s gonna split you wide open if you let him.”
Aurelia’s hands stopped mid-brush.
“You think DJ’s protectin’ you by stayin’ away, huh?” Maybelle said. “But the man’s got a target on his back and now you do too.”
Aurelia swallowed, her voice hoarse. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Maybelle softened. “I know, baby. I know. But you gotta be smart. Wyatt ain’t just some cocky rich boy. He’s dangerous. Real dangerous.”
Aurelia nodded slightly. “What if… what if he’s planning something?”
Maybelle’s eyes narrowed. “Then we stay two steps ahead.”
---
Meanwhile, Wyatt sat in his private study, cigarette burning in the ashtray, maps and notes scattered on the desk. Red pins marked every one of DJ’s recent hits.
“He’s crippling our numbers,” his advisor muttered.
Wyatt leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. His blue eyes were cold. Calculating.
“He won’t stop,” Wyatt said. “But now I got leverage.”
He picked up a photo—Aurelia at the club, laughing, beautiful, radiant.
“If he even breathes in her direction again,” Wyatt said darkly, “we’ll put her on a leash. Use her like bait. And when he comes running…”
He crushed the cigarette under his palm, unfazed by the pain.
“I’ll rip out his f*****g heart.”
---
The war table was cluttered—maps of the city, ledgers, coded notes, photos, and red markings circling every known piece of Wyatt’s empire.
DJ leaned over it, eyes scanning a route between a warehouse near the docks and an illegal gambling den in the West End.
Aron stood beside him, arms crossed, chewing on a toothpick. “We hit this shipment tonight, the one comin’ through the docks. It’ll cut off his weapons for a week, maybe more.”
DJ didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, his mind elsewhere.
Aron eyed him. “You ain’t here.”
DJ finally muttered, “I’m here.”
“No, you’re not,” Aron said bluntly. “You’re thinking about her.”
DJ glanced up sharply.
“You made the right call, pulling back,” Aron continued. “But you can’t halfway do this. Either your head’s in this game, or it’s not.”
DJ ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “I know. I just—”
“You just not built like the rest of us,” Aron said. “You care too damn much. That’s what makes you dangerous, but also what’ll get you killed.”
DJ’s eyes narrowed at the map. “I’m fine. Let’s move on the docks tonight.”
Aron nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
---
Meanwhile, across town, Aurelia stood in front of her mirror adjusting the buttons of her fitted pale lavender blouse. Her hair was perfectly curled, makeup subtle but flawless, her lipstick soft pink.
She looked like a dream. But she didn’t feel like one.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up a bottle of perfume and dabbed a small amount behind her ears. Her reflection stared back at her—haunted eyes hidden behind a practiced smile.
She didn’t tell Maybelle where she was going. She knew she’d try to stop her. Hell, even Aurelia thought this was reckless.
But if DJ wouldn’t let her help openly… then she’d find another way.
She was going to get close to Wyatt—play his game—and gather anything that could help DJ.
Even if it meant pretending to be the delicate doll Wyatt thought she was.
She stepped out of her front door as the sun dipped behind the horizon, the sky stained orange and crimson. The car Wyatt sent was waiting, long and black, with a suited man holding the door open.
She climbed in, her hands clenched in her lap, and tried to steady her breathing.
I can do this. I have to do this.
Her chest ached.
For him.
---
Back at the compound, DJ stepped out onto the balcony, letting the night air cool his skin. From the third floor, he could see the twinkling lights of the city—the same city he once called home. The same city that had stolen and shaped him.
He closed his eyes and saw her face.
That laugh.
That smile.
The way her fingers curled into his jacket when they danced.
He told her they couldn’t be together. Told her it was impossible.
So why did it feel like every breath he took without her was killing him slowly?
Aron stepped out behind him. “We move in two hours.”
DJ nodded, but he didn’t say anything.
Because his heart… was across town in a car, heading straight into the lion’s den.
And he didn’t even know it.
- Writer
