“Oh yea, we gotta hit ‘em with the beat drop,” Bre said. “I want them to feel us in theysoul. No smiling. Just a sexy attitude and footwork.”
“You think we should record the plan now?” Nuri asked, already pulling out her phone. “So we ain’t gotta repeat all this at the meeting?”
Bre cleared her throat like she was prepping for aTED Talk.
Nuri hit a record.
“Hey, Veta sisters! What's up? It’s Nuri and Brielle. We just locked in part of the vision for the block party and trust—this year, we ain’t comin’ to play with nobody. It’s been all gas, no breaks, all year. Let’s keep that same energy flowing.”
“Color scheme is crimson and black with gold accents. We comin’ through with elegance, appeal, and we finna be the flyest sorority on the block.”
“Custom-cropped jackets with our line numbers. Black lace bodysuits underneath, and black jeans. Faces must be beat tothe gods’. Tight formation, and the step will start slow and build. We’re performing with purpose.”
“Zaria, the Kappas, and anybody who moved funny last spring? They’re not invited. Energy is everything, and we’re not bringing old vibes into a new season.”
“We’re still meeting next week, same place, same time. We’ll finalize everything then. But lock this in… VETA OVA EVERYTHING!”
Nuri ended the call, tossed her phone on the table, then raised her glass for a toast.
“They gon’ eat that shit up.”
“They better,” Bre said. “We feedin’ ‘em nothing but royalty this year.”
Silas was neverloud about his power.Silence is a language too. Silence wasn’t just golden to Silas Sullivan. It was sacred. It was a part of his strategy, and it was the one thing that never turned on him. He’d made peace with silence years ago—learnedhow to hear his breath amid chaos. How to think five steps ahead while everybody else was caught up in the noise and nonsense. He was always watching. Always learning. Always a man in control.
The warehouse wasn’t a rundown spot with rats and creaky floors. It was immaculate. The room was cold, but not uncomfortable. The walls were bare, concrete polished to perfection, lit by recessed lighting that cast everything in a subtle golden glow. Cameras embedded in the corners, steel vaults tucked behind mirrored doors, and not a single fingerprint out of place. This wasn’t your average warehouse. This was headquarters. Silas Sullivan ran it like a Fortune 500. Silas sat back in the leather chair at the head of the long glass table, his fingertips pressed together in that familiar pose—like he was praying, but for strategy, not salvation.
Professor Sullivan b.k.a. Silas… He’d mastered the ability to live two lives. Never mixing one with the other. Giving each one hundred and ten percent. Silence filled the room, and he didn’t rush to break it. Silas didn’t speak much unless he was in the classroom—and even then, he rationed them out like gold. He understood the power in stillness, and the control found in quietness. Most times people found ways to talk too much, but Silas mastered the art of listening, learning, and burying muthafuckas with the same words they offered so freely. That’s not only how he survived. It’s how he thrived.
On the surface, Silas Sullivan wasBlake University’shead and most respected professor in the psychology department. Thirty-five, clean-cut, well-dressed, and articulate. A two-time alumnus ofBlake Uhimself, still an active member ofPhi Rho b.k.a ‘The Phi’s, a man who shook hands with deans, the mayor, and other public figures by day, and sent quiet orders across state lines by night. This was a secret no one knew… a close-keptfact thatno one would ever find out unless Silas wanted them to—he was the ghost behindSullivan Cartel.
Silas was so smooth with his operation, and did it so clean, the streets didn’t even speak his name without whispering it. He didn’t sell women, and didn’t traffic children. That part of the game had never been a part of his hustle. Granted, it was prevalent in his late teens and early twenties, and before Silas refined his methods, tightened his circle, and built an empire rooted in leverage, and loyalty. These days, extortion moved cleaner. Quieter. He made million-dollar deals without ever raising his blood pressure. There was No Blood unless it was necessary, and No Noise unless it was useful. Every dollar laundered was cleaned throughBlake University.
Across the table,Memphis, one of Silas’soldiers, sat with his hoodie down and his watch glinting under the dim lights. He kept checking the time like it had disrespected him.
“You know this nigga late, right?” Memphis said flatly.
Silas glanced at the clock and then back down at the leather duffle bag in front of him.
“Patience… That nigga comin’, ” Silas corrected, his voice low, composed.
“Fear make people stall, and stallin’ make ‘em weak.”
Silas wasn’t concerned because he had leverage. Superintendent Boyd had no choice but to fall in line with the program because his hands were just as dirty as Silas’. The difference was that it’d cost Superintendent Boyd his life if he didn’t adhere to their agreement. Beyond that, Boyd had dipped into the University’s funds to cover personal debts, and when it caught up with him, Silas had been there—offering a solution wrapped in numbers and sealed with a smile. Now, he owned him. The meeting was just a formality.
Silas leaned forward and brushed invisible lint from his charcoal slacks, then smoothed his hand over the deep-set oceanwaves resting on top of his head. His fade was always fresh, and his edge stayed razor-sharp. He was always groomed, always ready. He was the type of man women noticed but couldn’t quite read. Smooth voice, fitted suit, and mystery rested behind his alluring orbs. He didn’t need to be loud as long as he was effective.
His mind drifted for a second to earlier that night at Copeland’s.
Nuri Sinclair.
Brown skin, soft edges, and that quiet fire tucked behind her smile. She was all together complicated, tempting, and dangerous. He had no business wanting her, and even less reason to let himselffeelanything. But the thought of her had lingered—longer than it should’ve. The respect, attraction, and curiosity was all present, but she was theSuperintendent’s daughter and his top student.Yet, something about her made him dare to indulge in what he knew was forbidden.
Suddenly, the elevator at the far end of the room slid open with a soft chime. It was none other than Blake University’s Superintendent Boyd.
“Silas,” Boyd greeted with treachery dripping from his tone.
Silas nodded, without bothering to stand. “Director.”
