The next night, Darius was summoned.


Not asked. Summoned.


He pulled up to the back of a Jamaican restaurant off 71st—one of Malik’s fronts. The place looked closed, but the back lot was full. Three luxury cars. Two unmarked black vans. And one white Lincoln that only showed up when decisions were being made.


He adjusted his hoodie and walked inside.


The back room smelled like curry and sweat. Thick with tension and low voices.


Malik sat at the center table, his rings tapping a beat against a Styrofoam cup. Around him were three other men: Kordell from the South End, Big Lenny from K-Town, and Deuce, the one with too many bodies and not enough patience.


Darius took the seat they left open for him.


No one said a word for a full minute.


Then Malik leaned forward.


“You still loyal?”


Darius nodded once. “Always.”


Malik's eyes didn’t blink. “Even when the street don’t love you back?”


“Especially then.”


Deuce chuckled darkly. “That’s what I like to hear.”


Malik raised a single brow. “They coming for me. You know that.”


“I heard.”


“They think this falls apart when I go. I want you to show ‘em different.”


Darius kept his face still.


“You want me to run it?”


“You already do,” Malik said. “You just didn’t know it yet.”


That crown Darius used to fantasize about as a kid?


It didn’t shine the way he thought it would.


It came heavy. Covered in blood and silence. And now it sat at his feet.


Later that night, Darius stood on the rooftop of Mo’s building.


City lights stretching into forever. Sirens in the distance. He took a deep breath, pulled out a cigarette, lit it—and then felt a buzz in his hoodie.


Maya:

Zaire got a fever. I gave him meds, but if you know anything that helps, let me know.


No pictures. No heart emojis. No warmth.


Just motherhood.


Still, it was the first message she’d sent in weeks.


Darius typed back:


Darius:

Cool him down with a cloth. Half Tylenol, half ginger tea. Let me know if it gets worse.


He stared at the screen.


Wanted to say more.


Didn’t.


Didn’t have the right anymore.


Below him, the block moved like it always had.


But Darius was no longer watching it.


He was becoming it.


And this time, he wasn’t answering to anybody.