𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 ⅩⅩ

Giselle's POV

The low hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin as we soared through the clouds, leaving Los Angeles behind. I stared out the window, watching the endless blue sky stretch out before us. It felt strange — like we were running away from everything.

Beside me, Solange flipped through one of those trashy magazines they gave us at the airport, acting like she wasn't still pissed at me for making her leave. Across the aisle, Aaliyah sat by herself, headphones on, staring blankly at the seat in front of her.

I hated seeing her like that...

I hated that I couldn't fix what had been done to her.

I sighed, leaning back in my seat, trying to push the heaviness out of my chest.

"We needed this," I murmured, more to myself than anyone.

Solange glanced up from her magazine, giving me a pointed look.

"We needed this... or Michael needed to get you out of his hair?"

I shot her a warning glare, but she just smirked.

"Don't act like you don't know what he's doing," she whispered, leaning in close so Aaliyah couldn't hear.

I crossed my arms.

"And what exactly is he doing, Solange?"

"He's hiding you."

I clenched my jaw, turning back to the window.

It wasn't a lie...

Michael didn't just send us away for a little vacation — he sent us away to keep us safe. He didn't want me caught up in whatever storm was coming with Prince.

But a part of me didn't care. I would've stayed by his side through all of it.

Still... deep down, I was grateful.

I needed to clear my mind — to breathe again.

About an hour into the flight, the tension started to fade.

Aaliyah finally took her headphones off and leaned across the aisle.

"So... what are we actually gonna do in New York?" Her voice was quiet, like she was testing herself — trying to sound like the girl she used to be.

I forced a smile, trying to keep the mood light.

"We're gonna shop... eat... go see some shows... act like we're rich for a week."

Aaliyah's lips twitched into the smallest smile, but it disappeared just as quickly.

Solange snorted, flipping another page in her magazine.

"Bitch, I am rich."

I rolled my eyes, but it felt good to hear her talking shit again.

"Well, excuse me, Miss Street Girl turned Beverly Hills princess."

Solange smirked, flipping her braids over her shoulder.

"You know it."

We spent the next hour planning out the whole week — writing down places we wanted to see, restaurants we wanted to try.

Aaliyah even started chiming in, talking about wanting to visit the Apollo Theater and maybe taking a dance class if she was feeling up to it.

It felt... normal.

For a little while, we were just three girls going on a trip — no gang wars, no guns, no fear.

But in the back of my mind... I knew the peace wouldn't last.

By the time the plane touched down at JFK, the sun was already setting, casting the whole city in that orange winter glow.

I stared out the window, my heart skipping a little.

New York looked like a whole different world — like a place where maybe, just maybe... we could forget everything that happened back home.

Michael had set us up in a fancy hotel right in the middle of Manhattan.

When we walked into the lobby, the first thing I noticed was how warm it was — all gold lights and plush red carpets. It smelled like fresh flowers and money.

Solange whistled low under her breath.

"Damn... maybe I should get myself a drug lord boyfriend."

I shot her a glare, but I couldn't help the little laugh that slipped out.

"You are so stupid."

We got to our suite — two big rooms with a view of the city skyline.

Aaliyah claimed one of the beds without saying a word, curling up under the blankets like she couldn't wait to disappear again.

My heart ached, but I didn't push her.

Instead, I turned to Solange, forcing a smile.

"You wanna hit the bar downstairs?"

Her eyes lit up instantly.

"Hell yes."

Later that night, after a couple of drinks and way too much girl talk, we stumbled back to our room — giggling and tipsy like nothing bad had ever happened to us.

For the first time in weeks, I saw a little flicker of life come back into Aaliyah's eyes as she watched us from the bed.

"You two are a mess," she mumbled, shaking her head.

Solange flopped down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, well... you're our mess."

Aaliyah's smile was small, but it was real this time.

I climbed onto the bed on the other side, sandwiching her between us.

"We're gonna get through this, mami... all of us."

She didn't say anything... but I felt her lean into me, just a little.

That night, I laid awake long after both of them had fallen asleep — staring at the ceiling, thinking about Michael.

I missed him already.

I missed the way he held me at night — how safe I felt in his arms.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine him beside me... whispering in that soft, low voice how everything was gonna be alright.

But deep down...

I knew he was out there in those streets — still fighting battles I couldn't even begin to understand.

And no matter how far I ran...

He was always gonna be the one thing I could never escape.

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Michael's POV

I leaned back in the leather chair of my office at Havenhurst, swirling the glass of whiskey in my hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light of the desk lamp, casting little flickers against the walls.

It was late — past midnight — but sleep had been a stranger to me these past few nights.

My mind was stuck in New York...

Stuck on her.

I told myself sending Giselle away was the best thing — the only thing. Prince was still lurking in the shadows, waiting for his moment to strike. I couldn't have her caught up in the middle of this mess — not after what happened to Aaliyah.

But the second she got on that plane...

I felt like somebody ripped my damn heart out.

I pulled out my cigarette case and lit one up, letting the smoke curl around my fingers.

I hated being away from her.

Every minute she was out of my sight felt like somebody pressing a knife deeper into my chest.

She was probably out there shopping, laughing with her girls... living her life like she was supposed to.

Not worrying about gang wars or bodyguards or whether some low-life motherfucker was gonna snatch her off the street like they did Aaliyah.

That's what I wanted for her — a life where the only thing she had to worry about was what dress she was gonna wear or what song she was gonna dance to.

Not all this blood and violence.

But she wasn't stupid...

She knew exactly what kind of man she fell in love with.

And deep down... I think she was already starting to accept that this life would always follow us — no matter how far we ran.

I grabbed the phone off my desk and dialed Eddie's number.

It only rang once before he picked up.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Any word on Prince?"

Eddie sighed on the other end of the line.

"Nah... he's still up in the Bay. Layin' low."

I clenched my jaw, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray.

"He's plottin' somethin'... I can feel it."

"Maybe," Eddie muttered. "But the streets are quiet right now."

"Too quiet," I bit out.

I could always feel when the storm was coming — when shit was about to blow up.

And I wasn't about to let that bastard get the upper hand.

I leaned forward, pressing my elbows against the desk.

"Double up security at the warehouse. I want eyes on every shipment... and I want two guys watchin' the house at all times."

"You got it."

I hesitated for a second, lowering my voice.

"And Eddie... keep tabs on Giselle too."

There was a pause on the other end.

"You really think he gonna come after her all the way out there?"

I closed my eyes, exhaling slow.

"I don't know... but if he does—"

"I got it," Eddie cut in. "I'll make sure she's safe."

I hung up without another word, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

I hated this...

I hated not knowing.

The only thing that kept me from losing my damn mind was imagining what she was doing right now.

Maybe she was curled up in bed, wrapped up in one of my sweaters...

Maybe she was out dancing, swaying those hips that drove me crazy...

Maybe she was sitting by the hotel window, looking out at the city lights... thinking about me the way I was thinking about her.

A knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

I glanced up to see Marlon leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest.

"You look like shit," he muttered.

"Thanks."

Marlon stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"You miss her, huh?"

I didn't answer.

He smirked.

"You soft as hell, man."

I shot him a glare, but he just chuckled.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with that, Mike... Just don't let that soft heart get your ass killed."

I tapped my cigarette against the ashtray, watching the little embers flicker.

"She's the only good thing I got left, Marlon."

He went quiet for a second, then nodded slowly.

"Then you better protect her with everything you got."

I already planned to...

Even if it meant burning this whole city to the ground.

That night, I laid in bed alone — staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the city outside.

I could still smell her on my sheets...

Still feel the warmth of her body next to mine.

I closed my eyes, letting her face fill my mind — those big brown eyes, that sweet little smile...

I missed her so damn much it hurt.

If Prince ever touched her...

I'd kill him with my bare hands.