Chapter 17
Khiron pulled up to Amore, and he couldn't help but to be impressed with the establishment. It was nothing he'd expected. The restaurant was two stories, and the entire look of it exuded class. The parking lot was completely packed. From where he was parked, he had a clear view of the inside of the restaurant. The lower lever consisted of filled dinner tables surrounding a large dance floor with couples swaying together slowly. Everyone inside that Khiron could see was in dress attire, and he knew then that his black Armani suit was a good choice. He fixed his collar slightly before stepping out of his vehicle and making his way to the entrance.
Inside Amore, Ray was on the top level of the restaurant in the large, secluded VIP balcony section. There were five huge men that surrounded him, ready to take bullets from all sides and not letting anyone get too close. But by the look on Ray's face, nobody would be bold enough to come his way. He was infuriated with the news he'd just received. Not one but two of his businesses had been hit in one day. It couldn't have been a coincidence. He'd be a fool to think that.
“Fuck that shit. I want niggas on every block looking for the nigga that set that shit up!” Ray barked into the phone.
“A'ight, fam, but check this shit. Them niggas busted in here and never went for the money,” Amann told him.
“What they want then?” Ray asked. “If it wasn't the money, what the fuck them niggas want?”
“We don't know,” Amann told him.
“Find out. Drop what was at Lace off here.”
“A'ight, fam.”
Ray disconnected the call with Amann and waited patiently for Khiron to arrive. He was angry at what Amann had told him, but even when a war was waging, business had to continue. Ray watched as a light-skinned kid with curly hair and an impressive designer suit made his way toward where he was sitting. Before he could make it completely to the table, he was stiff-armed and stopped.
“Raise 'em,” one of Ray's personal bodyguards demanded, preparing to check Khiron and strip him of any weapons.
Ray watched Khiron silently to see his reaction. The kid looked at the guards, and then at Ray.
“This is your city. I respect that. But if this Fat Albert muhfucka don't move his arm in two seconds, he won't have one to extend,” the kid's voice was low but icy. “I'm here to conduct business, but I don't know you, and personally, I think it would be better if this thing stayed on my hip.”
Ray chuckled, shaking his head slightly and waved at his guard to let the kid through. He motioned for Khiron to sit down, which he did, and offered him a drink, which he declined.
“You got something for me?” Ray said, cutting right to the chase.
“I wouldn't be here wasting your time if I didn't,” Khiron told him.
Ray looked different from the last time he'd seen him. The last time Khiron met him, he thought he was in charge. Now he knew.
“Five minutes,” Ray said.
While Khiron was busy studying him, Ray patiently gathered his thoughts. In a day's time, he found out all he needed to know about Khiron. He knew everything from where he lived all the way to which hand he wiped his ass with. He also knew that the reason Khiron was there seated in front of him in the first place was because he needed a connect. From the information Ray gathered, Atlanta was a hungry city, and Khiron was losing it. Tyler had overexaggerated the moves of the kid. Whereas he knew how to play the game, he didn't know how to own it. You could only rule with an iron fist for so long before it turned on you.
“No need for a time stamp, fam,” Khiron said to Ray, leaning in on the table. “You know why I'm here. If you know why I'm here, that means you already have an answer for me.”
Ray wanted to laugh at the boldness of the kid. But he didn't speak; he just stared at the young buck before him. Fear was nonexistent in his eyes as he stared back at Ray awaiting an answer. There was something about Khiron that didn't sit right with Ray, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. They hadn't been in each other's presence but five minutes, but it was true, Ray had an answer ready for him before he even had entered his restaurant. Khiron sat before Ray young and cocky, which meant he already had two strikes against him. The only reason he decided to humor him was because he came through Tyler. But unfortunately for Khiron, the chair he sat in was as close as he would get to Ray's operation. Atlanta was a big market, but losing Khiron's business would be but a small loss. He wouldn't ever make the mistake of allowing his product to be pushed through a place if he didn't approve of the man in charge. That's how the game got fucked-up and how people got over. Ray took his time to speak, but when he did, the meaning of his words was clear.
“I would ask you how you heard about me,” Ray started while pouring himself a glass of Hennessey, “but I honestly don't give a fuck. You had it right, though; this is my city.” Ray raised his arms up halfway with his palms facing upward. “My establishment, my table . . . my chair,” he motioned to Khiron's chair. “I'll give you a pass just because you're new in town, but had you been anyone else snapping, ya' brains would be falling from the sky like fuckin' confetti, feel me?”
Ray looked at the diamond Rolex shining on his wrist and decided to speed up the process. It was like he was holding a job interview, and he just wanted the nigga out of his office.
“You walked in here and made two mistakes. When my man says arms up, you don't speak. You do it. If he wants your gun
s
,” Ray insinuated that he knew Khiron was strapped heavy, “you drop 'em on the table. I don't like that sassy shit. That's a trait of a bitch.”
Ray saw Khiron's jaw clench and unclench and a vein pulsated on his right temple, but he didn't say anything, so Ray continued.
“Understand this, my man.” Ray took a gulp of his drink before staring so coldly into Khiron's eyes, Khiron felt a chill slither down his back. “My answer isn't just no. It's . . .
fuck
no. You obviously didn't know shit about me when you made contact with my right hand but let me peep you on game. You never conduct business blinded. You hopped, skipped, and took a leap of faith to my city on hope. The fuck did you think was going to happen here? You thought you were going to leave here a satisfied customer because what? What the fuck do you have to offer me? Money?” Ray scoffed.
“That's what this is about, right?” Khiron asked through clenched teeth. Bottling his anger inside was getting harder by the second. Ray's words cut into him like spikes. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that since his father was alive, and Ray wasn't his father.
“That's where you're wrong, kid,” Ray shook his head at the naïvety. “Money can easily be spent, but in order for it to be made, there has to be a strong foundation. Before I make any business moves, I make it my business to know exactly who I'm dealing with. This shit is more than a sale to me. I don't give work to niggas just because they can afford it. My product will only be connected to success. Unlike you, I did my research on the man I was meeting. The little operation you have going in ya' city is too shaky to hold my shit.”
Before Khiron could open his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by a hand being placed on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a middle-aged Italian man standing over but not looking at him.
“That's your cue to leave,” the Italian man said in a dismissive way. “We have actual business to conduct.”
He studied the man's face and felt the blood rush from his. Khiron was looking dead into the face of the man who'd ordered the hit on his father. The notorious Vinny Mancini. Anger pulsated through his veins, and his hand twitched for the gun on his waist, but when he saw one of the guards raise his eyebrow at him, he decided to chill. Instead, he stood up trying to remain professional and smirked at Ray.
“I'll be seeing you, Ray,” was all he said before he made his exit. “Real soon.”
Bitch nigga
, he thought walking away from the table.
He passed the entourage of Italian goons the Italian man brought with him. They all gave him looks as if to say he was beneath them. The meeting didn't go as he planned at all, but Ray was wrong. Khiron would never go somewhere without knowing about his surroundings. Khiron knew more than what he would ever let on. Ray had no idea who he was fucking with. The one thing Khiron hadn't known was that he was working with the Italians, but now that he knew, he would be sure to tread lightly.
Almost to the exit Khiron noticed a portrait hanging from one of the walls that caught his attention. It was of two women, and one he recognized right away. He was more than astonished to see Mocha hanging from the wall in front of him in the restaurant. The cream dress she wore brought out the mocha color of her skin, and the smile on her flawless face held a secret. How did she know Ray? Why was her photo in his restaurant? He guessed there were a few things about her that he didn't know. The woman standing beside her had her arm linked in Mocha's and the word
beautiful
didn't do her justice. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders and her sharp brown eyes pierced the camera. Her red lips were turned in what was supposed to be a smirk. In the picture, she wore a sophisticated form-fitting red dress, and although she faced forward, he could see her ass from the front of her. There was something familiar about the girl, but Khiron knew he'd never met her. A server was passing him, and he stopped the young Italian woman before she went by.
“Who is this?” he asked, not caring that he sounded rude. “Does she work here?”
The woman looked at him like he was crazy and laughed.
“Work here?” She shook her head. “That's Sadie. She runs this place.”
Before Khiron could say another word she was gone, leaving him to stare at the picture for a few more moments.
“Sadie?” he said to himself and exited the restaurant.
There was something eating away at him while he stared at the photo. Then he remembered. She'd changed, a lot, but he could never forget her face. Fury engulfed him, and he knew he had to get out of the restaurant before he left a trail of dead bodies behind him. Enraged, he pulled out his phone and dialed out once he was safe inside his vehicle.
“What the fuck happened, Los?” he said once he heard “Hello.”
“They all dead,” the husky voice of one of his soldiers said.
Khiron knew that sending his men to Lace would be a suicide mission if the stories of The Last Kings preceded them. He knew it would be enough to throw Ray off of his A-game for their meeting. In the time it took Ray to pour his drink, Khiron had already scoped out the men wearing chef coats and hats going through a door that said
“Authorized Personnel Only.”
That would have seemed normal . . . had it not been for the fact that he scoped out the designer pants and shoes that poked out from under the chef coats. From where Khiron had been seated, he had the perfect view of the lower level.
“But, fam, there's something else you need to know,” Los said.
“What's that?”
“Ya' girl, Mocha, she was there. She's one of them, fam. She was one of the muhfuckas popping our people, nigga.”
The realization hit Khiron thenâhard. It was like a punch in the face. He thought he was a good liar, keeping his business dealings away from her keen nose, but Mocha, in fact, took the cake. He was hurting in his city, while that bitch was living like a fucking queen in hers. He never once questioned the designer that forever laced her body or how she could easily afford to hop on a plane to come see him whenever. When he thought about it, out of all the bitches he'd fucked with, Mocha was the only one he didn't have to give a stack of bills to go shopping. She carried herself like a bad bitch, but in all reality, she was a boss. She was a part of the expanding underground drug cartel that was obviously blossoming with the help of the Italians. He should have known the Italians were a factor when he realized Ray owned Amore. The Italians were the enemy, and Ray and the Italians were business partners. Ray was the enemy. Ray was the leader of The Last Kings. Mocha was a Last King . . .
Mocha was the enemy
. With that knowledge, Khiron also knew one other thing. He'd had the key all along; the person who would open the door to the downfall of Detroit's underground kings.
“A'ight,” was all Khiron said, trying to swim through his ocean of thoughts. “What's going on now?”
“They moved it,” Los said, referring to the money that had been at Lace.
“Where?” he asked, but before he got an answer, he watched a Corvette pull up to the valet parking of the restaurant.
Two men exited the vehicle, each holding a fat suitcase, and Khiron couldn't help the smile coming to his face. He disconnected the call and gave himself a silent praise. Way before Khiron made his trip into Detroit, he sent a handful of niggas before him to watch the movements of Ray's operation. After a few weeks of surveillance, Khiron had to admit that Ray was smooth. His operation was flawless, and he'd never seen another like it. The Last Kings was a force not many could fuck with, but still, the men Khiron sent were able to figure out when the drop-off days and times were. The point of the run-ins that he'd formulated wasn't ever to rob Ray at that time. He knew Ray ran a handful of businesses and hitting them all would be too much work. But what Khiron did know was that with the thought of potentially getting robbed came a sense of security. Ray would want all of his money on lockdown and in one place. Seeing the Corvette pull up, Khiron knew his theory had been correct. The theory being that Ray would move all of the money to the safest place he could think of until it was ready to be placed. As a hustler himself, he knew how risky depositing large amounts of drug money in the bank was. Ray needed to clean it first. Khiron's original plan was to conduct business and obtain a connect . . . while robbing him blind. But after the way Ray spoke to him and seeing the portrait in the restaurant, his plans had changed. A sick smile came to his face. He wasn't going to rob Ray of the money sitting inside of Amore, but now he knew where the heart of the whole operation was located.