chapter ⅩⅩⅣ

The Wedding Planner

Giselle's POV

I sat on the floor of the bedroom, surrounded by magazines, fabric swatches, and notebooks full of scribbled-down ideas. My eyes kept drifting toward the mirror, where the corner of my wedding dress bag peeked out from behind the closet door.

I couldn't believe this was really happening.

I was about to become Mrs. Jackson.

A part of me still wondered how we even made it this far. After everything — the secrets, the business, the blood on Michael's hands — I thought the world would've torn us apart by now.

But he was still here.

Still mine.

Solange sat across from me on the bed, flipping through one of the bridal magazines with a bored expression.

"Girl, if I see one more damn white rose, I'm gonna scream."

I giggled, throwing a pillow at her.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Have a wedding with plastic sunflowers like that ugly ass birthday party you had?"

"Bitch!"

We both cracked up laughing, the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt.

It felt good to laugh again after everything that happened with Aaliyah.

Aaliyah was doing better... slowly.

She was still quiet, still jumpy whenever someone knocked on the door too loud. But every day, I could see a little bit of her spark coming back — the same spark that made me fall in love with her friendship in the first place.

I was determined to give her this trip to New York, to the wedding, to life again.

My mind drifted back to my mom.

I hadn't heard from her in weeks.

I knew Solange had been trying to get through to her — trying to convince her to come to the wedding. But Tina Knowles was a stubborn woman.

If she didn't approve of something...

She'd rather cut you off than sit at the table and watch you make your own mistakes.

"You think she gonna come?" I asked quietly, running my fingers over the lace of one of the fabric swatches.

Solange's face softened.

"I don't know, Gigi... but I'm gonna talk to her again."

I nodded, trying to fight the lump building in my throat.

"She always wanted to do our hair for our weddings... I just — I can't imagine walking down the aisle without her there."

Solange slid off the bed and wrapped her arms around me tight.

"She's gonna come... she loves you too much not to."

A knock on the door made us both jump.

Aaliyah peeked her head inside, her voice still soft and fragile.

"Michael's downstairs... he wants to talk to you."

When I got to the living room, he was standing by the window, smoking one of his cigarettes — something he only did when he was stressed.

I walked up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist and pressing my face against his back.

"You okay, baby?"

He sighed, leaning into my touch.

"Yeah... just been thinkin' a lot."

I kissed the back of his neck, letting my lips linger against his skin.

"You always think too much."

He turned around slowly, those dark eyes locking onto mine.

"You know how bad I wanna give you the perfect wedding?"

My heart fluttered.

"You already are."

He cupped my face, his thumbs tracing lazy circles against my cheeks.

"I called your mama today."

My eyes widened.

"You what?"

"I told her... if she don't come to this wedding, she's gonna regret it for the rest of her life."

I felt the tears building again, my throat closing up.

"What did she say?"

Michael smirked that little half-smile he always gave me when he was up to something.

"She said she'll think about it."

I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his chest.

"Thank you, Michael... thank you."

He held me tight, one hand sliding down to the small of my back.

"Anything for you, baby girl... always."

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Michael's POV

I couldn't stand seeing Gigi cry...

Not after everything she'd been through.

She deserved this wedding.

She deserved to be happy.

Even if I had to burn this whole city down to make sure she walked down that aisle in peace...

I'd do it.

I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the soft lavender scent of her curls.

"You got your dress yet?"

Her body stiffened in my arms.

"Maybe."

I smirked.

"You hidin' it from me?"

She looked up at me, her brown eyes shimmering with playful defiance.

"Damn right I am... you ain't gonna see me in that dress till I'm walkin' down the aisle."

I chuckled low in my throat, running my fingers down her spine.

"You know I got eyes everywhere, right?"

Her lips curled into a slow smile.

"Then I guess you'll just have to wait, gangsta."

I kissed her — deep, slow, like I was trying to memorize the taste of her before the streets pulled me back under.

Prince was still out there...

I could feel him watching me... waiting...

But for now, I had her wrapped in my arms.

"You gonna make the most beautiful bride in the world, Gigi."

Her smile softened.

"You really think so?"

I rested my forehead against hers, closing my eyes.

"I know so."

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Michael's POV

Two months.

That's how long I kept him on ice.

Two months of peace — of pretending everything was all good, like the whole city wasn't waiting for me and Prince to tear each other apart.

But the streets don't sleep... and neither does the devil.

I stood in front of the old laundromat on Florence Avenue, smoking a cigarette under the dull glow of the flickering neon sign.

The place used to be mine — one of my first fronts when I started moving weight back in the 80s.

Now it was crawling with Prince's little foot soldiers — young cats barely old enough to buy liquor, walking around strapped with Glocks tucked under their belts like they had shit to prove.

I could smell the fear on them.

They ain't built for this life... not like me.

"Boss... you want me to go in first?"

Cris stood beside me, hand resting on the piece tucked under his jacket.

I shook my head slow, flicking the cigarette to the ground.

"Nah... I got this."

The bell above the door jangled when I stepped inside.

All the machines were still running — quarters clinking, clothes spinning, the whole place smelling like bleach and sweat.

Three of Prince's boys were posted up by the counter, counting money and playing dominoes.

They froze when they saw me.

I didn't say shit.

I just walked up to the counter, slow and steady, like I had all the time in the world.

One of them — skinny kid with a busted lip — reached for his waistband.

I slammed my hand down on the counter hard enough to make the dominoes jump.

"Don't."

His hand froze mid-air.

"Y-you ain't supposed to be here, Mike... Prince said—"

"I don't give a fuck what Prince said."

I leaned in close, dropping my voice low and smooth.

"This is still my city... and you little roaches been crawling in my kitchen too long."

I could feel their fear rising in the air — thick and sour, sticking to the back of my throat.

I smiled.

Good.

"You tell Prince... if he wanna come for me, he better come correct."

I tapped the counter twice.

"Now get the fuck out my laundromat."

They scattered like rats.

By the time I stepped back outside, the sun was setting — bleeding red across the sky.

I lit another cigarette, leaning against the wall as Cris joined me.

"Think he'll get the message?"

I exhaled a long stream of smoke.

"Not yet... but he will."

Cris looked at me sideways.

"You sure about this wedding, boss?"

I didn't answer right away.

I just kept staring out at the horizon, watching the city stretch out beneath me — the whole kingdom I'd built with blood on my hands.

"Giselle don't belong in this world."

Cris nodded slowly.

"But you do."

I flicked the ash off my cigarette.

"Not for long."

I don't know if I was lying to him...

or myself.

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Prince's POV

South Central ain't changed much since I was a kid.

Same cracked sidewalks...Same piss stains on the walls...Same hungry-ass vultures circling the block, waiting on a weak nigga to slip.

I grew up in this warzone — learned how to survive in it before I even learned how to read.

But Michael?

Michael thinks he can walk away from all this like the streets gonna let him go that easy.That nigga been living in a fairytale too long...

Up there playing house with that yellow bitch, like he ain't got bodies buried under every corner of this city.

He forgot the first rule out here.

Ain't no retirement plan for niggas like us.

I watched from the balcony of a shitty motel on Crenshaw, flicking my blunt ash over the railing while one of my runners counted up last night's money on the bed.

$22,000.

Light work.

I took another long pull, letting the smoke sit heavy in my chest.

Michael's name been ringing in the streets again lately...

Him and them little messages he's been sending — snatching up my spots one by one, cleaning house like the king coming back for his throne.

But see... what Michael don't realize?

This ain't his city no more.

He left it in my hands.

I turned to the boy counting money — little short nigga named Kenny, no older than 18.

"You hear from Buster?"

He nodded, not looking up from the stack.

"They said Mike was at the laundromat yesterday... scared the shit out of our boys."

I smirked.

"Good... let him feel like he got the upper hand."

Kenny glanced up finally, licking his fingers to count faster.

"So... what we gon' do about it?"

I leaned back against the wall, flicking the blunt into the ashtray.

"We wait."

Kenny frowned.

"For what?"

I grinned slow.

"For that bitch he been hiding behind."

Michael think I don't know about Giselle...

Think I don't know about that little vacation they took to Neverland — hiding out in the hills like he ain't got no enemies.

But the streets talk...

And I been listening.

I know everything.

I know about the wedding.I know about the baby they wanna have.I know about that little soft spot Michael got for them light-skinned, good girl types.

And I know exactly how to make him bleed.

"You want to kill a king?"

I leaned down close to Kenny's ear, voice low and steady.

"You take his queen first."