ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ Ⅲ

𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅'𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗏

I sit in my office, the club's noise muffled behind the thick walls. A cigarette burns between my fingers, a slow trail of smoke curling toward the ceiling. My mind is on her.

Giselle.

Something about her is different. She isn't like the women who usually come through my club, looking for a good time or trying to get close to me for what I have. No-she was hesitant, cautious, like she didn't belong in a place like this. That only makes me want to know more.

A knock at the door snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Come in."

Chris steps inside, closing the door behind him. He's one of my most reliable guys, always gets the job done without me having to ask twice. He tosses a folder onto my desk.

"That's what I got on your girl and her people," he says, sliding into the chair across from me.

I grab the folder and flip it open.

Giselle knowles. Twenty-five. Lives in Santa Monica. Works with her mom at a hair salon-Tina's Beauty Salon. Little sister named Solange, twenty years old. Solange, from what Chris dug up, is the wild one. Runs with a fast crowd. No dad in the picture.

I scan the page, taking it all in.

"Their mother-Tina-she's real protective," Chris adds, lighting his own cigarette. "Word is, she's been warning them about the streets. About men like us."

I smirk at that. Smart woman.

"They ain't in our world, Mike," Chris continues, watching me. "Girls like that? You sure you wanna go down that road?"

I close the folder and lean back, tapping my cigarette against the ashtray.

"I just wanna know more," I say, my voice even. "That a problem?"

Chris shakes his head. "Not for me. Just don't let it become one for you."

I don't answer. He gets up, nods, and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I sit there for a while before pushing up from my chair. I need to get out of here.

-

At home, I pour myself a drink and sit in the dimly lit living room, the ice clinking in my glass as I swirl the whiskey.

Marlon and Latoya will be here soon. And I need to figure out how the hell I'm going to explain my life to them.

I could lie. Say I got a regular business, some investments. But Marlon ain't stupid. And if I lie now, it's only a matter of time before he finds out the truth.

The truth is, I've built something real out here. I started with nothing, and now I run a business that brings in more money than I ever could've made playing by the rules. I'm not about to apologize for that.

But Marlon? He won't understand.

I take a slow sip, the burn settling in my chest.

I'll tell him. Not everything, but enough. Enough for him to know that I ain't the same Michael he left behind.

And as for Giselle...

I glance at the folder on my coffee table.

I'll deal with that soon enough.

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𝙜𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚'𝙨 𝙥𝙤𝙫

I sit on my bed, legs tucked under me, brushing out my curls while Solange sprawls across my floor, flipping through a fashion magazine she probably stole from the salon and aaliyah sit in my chair by the window. The fan hums softly, barely cooling down the thick summer heat pressing against the walls of our room.

"Mama told me the craziest thing today," I start, glancing at her.

"What now?" Solange asks without looking up, twirling a piece of gum around her finger before popping it back in her mouth.

"You know Mrs. Rodriguez? The one who always comes in for a blowout?"

"The one with the husband that looks like a boiled potato?"

I snort. "Yeah, that one. Well, Mama said she caught her flirting with one of the delivery guys from the beauty supply store. Said she was laughing all hard and touching his arm like a schoolgirl."

Solange finally looks up, grinning. "Ain't no way. That lady's been married forever."

"That's what I said! But Mama was like, 'Some women get tired of cooking the same meal every night.'" I try to imitate our mother's dramatic tone, making Solange burst into laughter.

"Ugh, that's wild." She shakes her head, turning a page in the magazine. "Anyway, speaking of crazy stuff-what the hell was that at dance class today?"

I sigh, setting down my brush. "You mean the whole 'nobody talks about Prince' thing?"

"Yes! What was that?" She sits up now, looking at me.

"I don't know," I say, rubbing my arms like I can shake off the weird feeling. "She straight-up said nobody speaks about him. Like, what kind of dance instructor is that mysterious? You'd think he was some kind of underworld boss instead of a choreographer."

"Maybe he is." aaliyah waggles her brows. "You saw how those girls were whispering and staring at us after that?"

I nod. It was definitely unsettling.

Before I can say anything else, my bedroom phone rings, cutting through the conversation.

We all freeze.

It's late. Too late for a normal call.

I reach for the receiver, hesitating before picking it up. "Hello?"

There's a muffled silence, then a light voice, smooth and confident.

"Hey."

I frown. "Who is this?"

A pause. Then-

"Michael."

My breath catches in my throat.

Michael.

Solange and aaliyah are watching me now, eyes sharp with curiosity. Who the hell is calling you this late? their expression practically screams.

I turn slightly away, gripping the phone tighter. "Uh-" My mind races. Why is he calling me?

"You still there?" Michael asks.

"Y-Yeah," I stammer, heart pounding. I need to end this call before Solange starts asking too many questions.

"Listen, I-"

"I can't talk right now," I interrupt quickly. Then, desperate for an excuse, I add, "Can you call later?"

Solange narrows her eyes at me, mouthing, Who is that?!

Michael is silent for a second, then chuckles. "Alright, I'll call later."

I hang up fast, pressing my lips together, and look at Solange, who is already leaning forward with an eager grin.

"Who the hell was that?" she demands.

I swallow. "Nobody. Just... something about an interview."

She doesn't buy it. Not for a second.

And honestly? I don't know why I'm lying. But something tells me Michael is a secret I should keep-for now.

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ɯıɔɥɐǝן's doʌ

The sun is already beating down hard by the time I pull up to the bus station. I check my watch-ten minutes early. The bud should be pulling in soon.

I lean back against the seat, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, my mind tangled up in thoughts. Marlon and Latoya coming out here feels like a good thing, something familiar in a city that's changing me day by day. But it also means I need to play my cards right. They can't know the truth. Not yet.

A sharp hiss from the air brakes pulls me out of my thoughts, and I spot them stepping off the bus. Marlon's got his usual easy swagger, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, while Latoya adjusts her sunglasses, looking around like she's already judging the place.

I step out of the car, and Marlon grins when he sees me.

"Damn, Mike, you look different."

I smirk. "Different how?"

"I don't know. You just do." He gives me a quick hug, patting my back. "City life changing you already?"

Latoya sighs dramatically. "I swear, it took you long enough to come get us."

"It's hot as hell out here," Marlon adds, wiping his forehead.

"Y'all get in the car before you pass out then," I say, shaking my head.

They throw their bags in the back and climb in. As I start driving toward Encino, I see Marlon glancing around, taking everything in.

"So, what exactly do you do out here, Mike?"

There it is. The question I knew was coming.

I keep my face neutral. "Just business."

"Business doing what?" Latoya presses, crossing her arms.

"A little bit of everything."

Marlon scoffs. "That ain't an answer."

I sigh, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "Look, I'm doing fine. I got a house, money coming in, connections. That's all y'all need to know right now."

Marlon gives me a look but doesn't push. Latoya, on the other hand, mutters something under her breath and turns to look out the window.

The rest of the ride is filled with small talk-how Mother doing, updates on the family, how different California feels from home.

When we finally pull up to Havenhurst, I can see the way their eyes widen slightly. The house is impressive, no doubt, and it's exactly the kind of place I need them to see-clean, put together, a perfect cover.

"Damn, Mike," Marlon mutters, stepping out. "You really out here living good."

I nod, forcing a smile. "Told you."

But as I grab their bags and lead them inside, I know that this visit is just the beginning. The more time they spend here, the harder it'll be to keep my real life a secret. And deep down, I wonder-how long before they start asking questions I can't answer?

As soon as we step inside, I can see the way Latoya's eyes scan the place-high ceilings, polished floors, expensive furniture. Marlon lets out a low whistle.

"Damn, Mike, you really out here living good."

Latoya steps further in, looking around with a smirk. "Mother would love this house. You know what? The whole family should come out here, see how well you're doing."

My stomach tightens. That's the last thing I need-Mother and Joseph sniffing around, asking too many damn questions. I force a chuckle. "Yeah, maybe one day."

Marlon drops his bag by the couch and stretches. "Well, you don't gotta worry about us leaving anytime soon. We're moving in."

I freeze for half a second, but I don't let it show. "Oh yeah?"

Latoya nods, already making herself at home. "Yeah. This place is way better than anything we were gonna find. Plus, you got space." She raises an eyebrow. "Unless there's a reason you don't want us here?"

I shake my head quickly. "Nah, y'all are welcome here." The words come out easy, but inside, my mind is racing.

I gotta come clean. Sooner or later, they're gonna start asking real questions-where my money's coming from, why I don't work a regular nine-to-five. And when they do, I need them on my side.

As they start wandering around, claiming rooms like they already own the place, I take a deep breath.

"Listen," I say, keeping my voice steady. "There's something y'all need to know."

Marlon looks up first, frowning. "What?"

I exhale through my nose. "I ain't exactly working a regular job."

Latoya narrows her eyes. "Meaning?"

"Meaning... I need y'all to help me keep something from Mother and Joseph. If they ask, y'all tell them I'm working in real estate. That's it."

Marlon crosses his arms. "Mike, what the hell are you into?"

"Just trust me," I say, my voice firm. "I'm handling things. But I need y'all to keep quiet. You with me?"

Latoya looks between me and Marlon, her expression unreadable. Marlon hesitates, then sighs, running a hand over his face.

"Man... you better not be into no crazy shit."

I clap him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Just keep the story straight."

They don't look fully convinced, but for now, they don't push.

Good.

Because the last thing I need is them getting in the way of business.

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𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙥𝙨 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡'𝙨 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚

I leaned back in my leather chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the mahogany desk in my office. The sound of muffled music and laughter seeped through the walls from the club below, a constant reminder of the empire he was building. The club wasn't just a business; it was a front-a perfect cover for the real operation running behind the scenes.

Cris had already dropped off the latest numbers from the street deals-profits were up, and demand was steady. The distribution in South Central was smooth, with my top lieutenants handling the movement of product from suppliers down in Mexico through the Los Angeles pipeline. I have a system in place-trusted dealers on the streets, mid-level distributors keeping everything in order, and his inner circle ensuring the money never stopped flowing.

The real challenge wasn't selling the drugs; it was making the money clean.

I reached for the cigarette resting in the crystal ashtray, taking a slow drag before exhaling. I flipped through a ledger-one of many-containing a careful breakdown of transactions disguised as club expenses, event revenues, and high-stakes gambling payouts. Every dollar that passed through the club was filtered, funneled into shell businesses-fake cleaning companies, rental properties, even a bogus real estate development firm i set up under a different name. It all had to look legitimate when the banks saw it.

I have accountants on payroll, people who knew how to make numbers disappear and reappear in ways that no investigator could trace. Some of my money even moved through offshore accounts, bouncing through the Caribbean before coming back stateside as 'foreign investments.'

The door creaked open, and Cris stepped inside, carrying a briefcase.

"We got the latest deposit from the clubs and the streets," he said, setting it down. "That's another hundred grand cleaned through the businesses. Also, the suppliers from Tijuana are expecting an answer by tomorrow about the next shipment."

I nodded, taking another drag. "Tell them it's a go. We move it through the usual channels. And make sure the drivers switch up the routes-we don't need heat on us."

Cris smirked. "You got it, boss. And about the other thing... The girl?"

My jaw tensed slightly, his fingers stilling on the desk. "Yeah?"

"She's clean. Just a regular girl from Santa Monica. Goes to dance classes, helps at her mom's salon, and stays out of trouble. Not the type to get caught up in all this."

I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl in the air. "Good. Keep it that way."

Cris nodded and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I knew better than to mix my business with anything personal. But for the first time in a long while, i had found mu distracted-not by money, not by power, but by a woman who had no idea the kind of world i live in.

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𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚'𝙨 𝙥𝙤𝙫

Prince lounged back in his leather chair, swirling a glass of cognac in his hand. His dimly lit penthouse overlooked the city skyline of San Francisco, neon lights casting flickering shadows across the room. The sound of soft jazz played in the background, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Well, well, well... so Mikey decided to make bigger moves, huh? Right under my damn nose," he murmured, taking a slow sip. His eyes flicked to the man standing before him-one of his informants, a wiry guy named bobby, who had just returned from Los Angeles with news.

"Man's been making a name for himself," bobby confirmed, shifting on his feet. "South Cali's been buzzing. He's got connections now, real ones. Big players. And he's moving weight faster than anyone expected."

Prince scoffed, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "That so? And how the hell did that happen? Last I checked, Mikey wasn't nothing but a washed-up pretty boy with a failed marriage."

"Word is, he got smart. Linked up with some old-school dealers, made the right calls. He's got a whole system now-distribution, laundering, security. And he's got the money to prove it."

Prince leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "And nobody stopped him? Ain't nobody in LA questioning how he went from struggling to stacking cash like that?"

"Not yet. But people are watching. And now that you're asking..." bobby trailed off with a smirk.

Prince chuckled, shaking his head. "Damn. Boy got bold." He drummed his fingers against the desk, thinking. He wasn't mad-yet. If anything, he was intrigued. Michael was moving fast, too fast. And Prince didn't like surprises.

"Find out more," Prince finally said. "Who he's working with, how he's getting his product, who's backing him. And if he's got any weaknesses." He leaned back again, his grin sharp. "Because if Mikey thinks he can build his little empire without me knowing, he's got another thing coming."

Bobby nodded and slipped out of the room. Prince picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquid once more.

"Let's see what you're really made of, Mikey," he muttered before taking another sip.

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look's like prince is getting in michael's case omg and michael dont got a clue

now mikey got three things to work with his sister and brother, giselle and at any moment prince

let me now if should i stick to a pov each chapter o should i keep it like this.

much love- aleska 💞💞💞