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The air was tense as the men gathered in the room, clamored to their feet, and filed out. Cassius waited until he and Mars were the only ones left before speaking again. “What you think?”

“I think you’re wild as fuck for embarrassing the lil’ homie like that,” he snickered.

“Fuck that,” Cassius waved him off. “Niggas want to walk around hollering about traditions, legacies, initiations, and shit, but ain’t teaching the ropes. That’s why half the crew is running around wild now.”

He looked up to see Mars staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Mars shrugged. “It’s just wild watching how easily you transitioned into the role you never wanted. As much as you might not want to hear it, you were for sure built for this shit.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cassius groaned. “But while I get started on our Korr problem, I need you to start looking into the team, specifically for any suspicious connections to anyone with a motive to come for my family. Cavataio and his family included.”

Mars rubbed his hands together. “I got you. You want me to handle whatever I find off rip, or give you a chance to feel shit out first?”

“Let me know before you take action. A couple of threads might be connected, and if that’s the case, I want to wipe out all the snakes at one time.”

“Heard you. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Cool. In the meantime, I’m on Korr’s ass,” Cassius declared, heading for the steps with Mars trailing.

“Whatever you have planned, make sure you execute it before the Feds decide to try to protect him. If that happens, shit will only get ten times harder.”

Cassius knew Mars was right. Despite wanting to take his time to minimize any mistakes, Korr was the biggest issue on his plate, and Cassius needed to eliminate him immediately.

Rubbing her temples, Aella groaned, wishing she could force her eyes away from the spread of documents plastered across her desk. Vendor breakdowns, projected attendance, and décor decisions swam before her in a blur. The public release event for Frostfire was approaching more rapidly than she liked. While she could have easily passed off or delegated the work to make her vision come together, this event was just as important to her as the private one had been, especially now that her father had publicly named her as his successor to the brand.

Now there was even more pressure on her shoulders to prove that she deserved it.

“Let me guess,” her assistant’s voice was smooth and measured as he entered the room. “You skipped lunch again today?”

“Why bother eating when bad nerves will have me throwing everything back up?”

“You sure it’s just nerves and not a mini Torrisi on the way?” he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” Aella rolled her eyes. “There isn’t enough time in the day for me to work and entertain a man. Not that one can hold my attention for longer than five minutes anyway.”

“Well, it does pay the cost to be the boss,” he chuckled. “But I brought you a salad. I figured you hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, and despite what you think, pausing to consume food does help with productivity.”

“I will in a second,” Aella said as he placed the bag on her desk. “I just need a second to—Tristan!” she fussed as he planted a large hand over the papers she’d been poring over and pulled them toward himself.

“You’ll get the folders back after you eat. All the work you’re doing for Aged Creek won’t matter if you’re in the ground.”

“Now why would you say something morbid like that?” she frowned, snatching the handle of the bag to pull out the plastic container.

“Because it’s the truth,” Tristan shrugged, sinking into a chair across from her. “You’re going to burn yourself out before you even get a chance to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Relax and enjoy your win.”

“That’s a little hard to do when damn near everyone around you is rooting for you to fail.”

“Fuck them,” Tristan shrugged. “Who cares what they have to say? They work for you. If they can’t get the fuck over themselves to realize they never had a chance at your position in the first place, then…”

Tristan trailed off as a menacing figure stalked through Aella’s door. She stood immediately, annoyed at Calder’s smug smile.

Tristan instinctively moved in front of her.

“Can I help you with something?”

“You can’t,” Calder sneered. “But she can.” His eyes moved to Aella as he tossed a thick, folded paper onto her desk. “That’s a warrant demanding that you hand over financial records for the past five years.”