The gun felt heavier than I expected.

My hands trembled as I aimed it at the man standing in front of me.

Karhi or Karheed, whatever his real name was, didn’t flinch. He lifted his hands slowly, palms open, his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my breath stutter.

“Joy,” he said quietly. “Put the gun down.”

“You bought my building,” I whispered, my voice cracking despite my effort to stay steady. “You’ve been lying to me for weeks.”

I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

“Tolu found your files. I know who you are.”

Something flickered across his face: surprise, calculation, regret. It vanished just as quickly.

Behind him, heavy footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs.

Elijah.

He would be on the third floor in seconds.

“How long have you known?” Karhi asked.

“Does it matter?” I tightened my grip. “You’re mafia. You’re here for something, and I’m just collateral damage.”

His jaw clenched. He took a step forward.

“Don’t,” I warned, the gun jerking in my hands. “I swear…”

“You won’t shoot,” he said calmly. “Because you came to me instead of running. And because you’re not a killer.”

Damn him.

He was right.

Elijah’s voice echoed up the stairwell, sharp and irritated as he shouted at Mrs. Maureen about her dogs blocking the way. I had maybe thirty seconds before he turned the corner.

“Talk,” I hissed. “Now.”

Karhi exhaled slowly, like a man bracing for impact.

“Five years ago, the Williams family tortured and murdered my sister. She was sixteen.” His voice darkened, grief sharpening every word. “When she refused to give them what they wanted, they made it look like suicide.”

My chest tightened.

“Vincent ordered it. Elijah carried it out.”

My vision swam.

Elijah?

No. No, Elijah can’t do that.

“I came to New Orleans for revenge,” Karhi continued. “The Dauphine sits above old smuggling tunnels that lead to a warehouse hiding my family’s stolen assets.”

He paused, eyes burning into mine.

“You were supposed to be nothing. A means to an end. But then I saw what Elijah does to you.”

Elijah’s footsteps reached our floor.

My pulse roared in my ears as my mind raced.

The monster I knew or the devil I didn’t.

“Why tell me this?” I whispered.

“Because I’m going to destroy the Williams family,” Karhi said. “And I think you want to help me.”

“Elijah!” His voice boomed down the hallway. “Where the hell are you?”

I made my choice.

I lowered the gun, shoved it into Karhi’s hands, and dragged him into my apartment just as Elijah rounded the corner.

“Bathroom,” I whispered. “Now.”

Karhi didn’t hesitate.

I barely had time to smooth my hair and force a smile before Elijah’s fist pounded on my door.

“Joy. Open up.”

I counted to five, then opened it.

Elijah stood there, expensive cologne barely masking the cruelty beneath. His eyes swept over me with suspicion.

“Why’s your door locked?”

“I was changing,” I said lightly, gesturing at my wrinkled jeans and shirt. “You’re early.”

He pushed past me, scanning my tiny studio apartment. His gaze lingered on the bathroom door.

“You hiding someone?”

My stomach dropped.

“I’m sick,” I blurted. “Stomach issues. Trust me, you don’t want to…”

He reached for the handle.

If he found Karhi and the gun, we were both dead.

The door swung open.

Empty.

Elijah checked behind the curtain, then grunted in satisfaction.

“You’re jumpy tonight.” His fingers closed painfully around my arm, digging into a bruise I hadn’t finished hiding. “We’re going to dinner with my uncle. Smile. Be sweet. Keep your mouth shut.”

I nodded.

As he dragged me into the hallway, movement caught my eye.

The fire escape window was open.

Outside, crouched in shadow, Karhi watched us, Elijah’s gun still in his hand. He pressed a finger to his lips, then smiled slowly.

Dangerous. Promising.

The realization hit me like ice and fire combined.

I had just made a deal with the devil.

As Elijah pulled me down the stairs, his grip never loosening, he spoke casually.

“Uncle Vincent wants to meet you properly,” he said. “Wedding plans.”

My blood ran cold.

“When?” I asked.

His smile was cruel.

“Three weeks.”

Three weeks to escape.

Three weeks to fight.

Or three weeks to die.

And somewhere behind us, a man who had come to New Orleans to burn an empire was already planning how to turn my cage into a battlefield.