Masaki slammed the front door and ran back up to his bedroom. He paced quickly back and forth across the large room, trying his best to quiet the rage bubbling in his head.

He'd tried hard to keep his other life away from Oshun, but Masaki couldn't allow himself to be pushed around by anyone, not even the soulful beauty who'd captivated him these last three months.

He knew he couldn't force Oshun to be with him if she didn't want to be, but he could damn sure get answers as to why. Answers he'd been seeking since he'd first connected with Oshun three months ago.

He could remember that first night so clearly in his mind. He'd seen the vixen with locs or rather he'd seen the treacherous way she'd swayed her hips to the vibrant rhythms of Erykah Badu’s, “Danger,” blasting through the club's speakers. He watched the intricate sensual way she’d danced, and his cock chubbed up at first glance.

He remembered listening to that song, thinking how sexy she was, and how complicated trying to be with a man like him would be for someone so full of life. Three months later, irony had thrown in an unexpected twist. Although he was the one with the “complex occupation,” his waitress lover was the one who seemed to pose the relationship complications.

Masaki had known from the first a relationship between them wouldn’t be wise, or easy. In his line of work, it never was. He’d been in this scenario before, seen a beautiful woman, and wanted her. Usually, that brief blip of interest waned, and he continued with his day as planned. But, Oshun had been different from the start.

Not one to be driven by his physical desires, yet Masaki took notice of Oshun, and set about securing her company for the evening. He'd watched her travel back to her seat at a booth in the VIP section once she'd finished dancing.

He'd stood at the bar, then asked the bartender to send her whatever she was drinking and put it on his tab. When she had the drink in hand, she held the glass up to him in salute, and motioned for him to come join her behind the velvet rope.

Sitting there talking to her had been an exercise in patience. He'd wanted nothing more than to find somewhere they could get naked for a few hours, there he could skeet off a nut or two and then be on his way. But, chatting for just those few minutes with the thirty-two-year-old young woman kept him enchanted long enough to remain seated next to her. Her chocolate brown eyes cued him into her keen wit, something even sexier than her cinnamon brown skin, high round tits, and ample ass.

“I love your dreadlocks,” were the first words he'd spoken to her. She smiled, leaning into him as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Honey, there’s nothing dreadful about my locs. They’re locs, not dreadlocks. And they’re beautiful, just like me.”

The fire he’d felt when she’d educated him about the state of her hair, made him burn with need. Her confidence wasn’t an act or a game. It was refreshing, just one more thing about her entire package that kept him seated next to her.

They'd both known from that first drink, hell, from the first few words they’d spoken, that they would end up fucking before the night was through. She'd been game with his plan, made no qualms about it, asked for no pretenses to be offered. She wanted to fuck, and she was all-in for allowing him to spend the night pleasing her. When they'd arrived at the hotel, she'd made it clear she wasn't looking for anything but some fun. She didn't want to exchange numbers, didn't want to know anything about him other than if he had enough condoms to last the night. Hearing her stipulations, he'd been certain he'd found the perfect companion for the evening.

It wasn't until the morning when he'd awoken to an empty bed, his dick damn-near raw from all the fucking they'd done, that he realized he'd made a terrible mistake. Letting that woman go without being able to contact her quickly became a regret he couldn’t live with.

It had taken him a month of showing up at the club under the cover of having a good time to, “accidently” run into her again. She was serving customers drinks in the same VIP lounge he’d met her in. It didn’t matter to him that she was a waitress. He wasn’t interested in what she did for a living, only that she’d allow him to spend time with her. The memory of what it felt like to be buried so deeply inside her made him determined she wasn't getting away. He wouldn’t relent until he'd convinced her a friends-with-benefits scenario was a workable way for them to enjoy each other and avoid the entanglements of being in a committed relationship.

He'd thought he was so smart in convincing her to go along with his plan. Too bad he hadn't calculated the fact he would become attached to more than just the sex, but to the woman as well.

Until this moment, they'd kept their lives separate, living in the now. But knowing she was holding back on him, especially when he suspected it was because of another man, didn't sit well with him.

If she wanted to run game, she'd chosen the wrong man to do it with. The power and connections he possessed always swayed things in Masaki's favor. Crossing him wasn't a smart thing to do. So, as much as he cared for her, if she wanted to act like a trick, he'd treat her like any other toy he'd possessed. He'd stake his claim, letting her and everyone else know there was a hefty penalty for touching what belonged to him.

He went looking for his phone when he heard it chirping on his nightstand. He picked it up, waiting for the caller to speak.

“Boss, we've got a problem.”

Every time Masaki heard the word “Boss” his brain shifted gears, and the transformation began. Most days, Masaki wore the face of a clean cut real estate developer. He wore crisp button-down shirts, silk ties knotted to perfection with creased suits sharply tailored to fit only him. It was all a persona developed to prevent anyone who watched him too carefully from seeing the truth of who he really was; the head of the Canarsie Yakuza family.

Could this night fuck with my nerves anymore?

His second, Izumitani “Izzy” Hisato, was supposed to be in the middle of a high-priority job Mas had delegated to him. This call instantly pulled Mas from the day-to-day facade he wore for the public and Oshun, and made him sink into the ruthless gangster his organization demanded he be.

“Where are you?” Mas tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, picking up the shorn clothes Oshun had pulled off him a few hours ago.

“Mother Gaston & Hegeman.”

Masaki ran down the stairs and slipped his feet into his shoes.

“On my way now.”

Masaki opened his door, and took the few steps to the driveway. A few moments ago, he was making love to his woman and asking her to move in with him. Knowing Oshun would balk at being called his woman, his mood soured more. Her skittish ass might be afraid of commitment, but he wasn't. She was his, and he was hers. In his mind, there was no other alternative than for them to be together. All that remained was for him to convince her of that.

But first, he had to deal with whatever this shit was that Izzy was calling him about.

“One problem at a time, Masaki,” he whispered to himself. “One at a time.”

* * *

Oshun shifted carefully through the massive crowd behind the NYFD barricade as she looked for one face in particular. At six-feet-two, Aesop Jenkins stood above most people in the crowd by at least a head. When she spotted his signature light Caesar haircut, cedar complexion, and the faithful toothpick he kept trapped between his full lips, she made her way toward him.

She said nothing when she found him. There were too many people around for her to express her thoughts openly. Not to mention, with all the emergency vehicles and their wailing sirens, there wasn’t much chance of being heard anyway.

Her lips tightened into a flattened line as she squinted and assessed the blackened destruction of the now-extinguished fire. The row of attached two family houses on Mother Gaston Boulevard were now gaping holes of charred brick and steel. An entire block of buildings was gone in an instant.

She wasn’t angry that AAM Developing had suffered such a loss. She knew by their track record those houses were going to be used as drug dens. But, on the other side of those houses were properties owned by members of her community. People she’d promised to protect if they followed her and adhered to the rules put forth by her council. Now those people would suffer along with AAM, and she couldn't have that.

“Club, now,” was all she said before turning around to begin the two-block walk between the site of the fire and Heaven’s Gate.

She didn’t need to look behind her to know Aesop was following her. She didn't even need to hear the heavy footfalls of his workman’s boots crunching hard against the concrete sidewalk. She knew he followed her, because it was his job to follow her, explicitly and implicitly.

She keyed in the alarm code and entered the doors of the darkened venue. Heaven’s Gate usually brought calm to her restless soul. It was strange that a place usually filled with loud music and boisterous patrons dancing wall to wall could make her feel calm, but it did.

When she was just a club owner, her soul was at rest. It was rare when she didn't have to worry about making certain her community was protected from all threats, that her people were thriving in a system that set them up for failure from birth. But tonight, even inside these hallowed walls, there was no peace.

She headed for the basement, not surprised to see the lights were already on when she opened the door. She took purposeful steps down the staircase, and catalogued each face sitting at the rectangular table in the center of the room.

Big Craig, Chelly, and Uncle Pete ran the prostitution, the gambling, and chop shop rackets on the north side of Brownsville. Oshun controlled the money laundering and protection rings on the south side. With more money from her enterprise, and a larger piece of the territory under her control, Oshun sat at the head of the council. A fact that hadn’t been easily accepted at first, especially by their eldest member, Uncle Pete. However, over time, they each saw her as a worthy leader who kept them paid, and paid people made happy subordinates.

Oshun taught them the way to remain successful was to engage community support. If they did things that placed the community at risk, they would always have to worry about some do-gooder trying to bring them down. They needed to take care of the community, and the community would take care of them.

The first thing she implemented was a community outreach of sorts. No crime was to be perpetrated against members of the community, only against entities that would take from the community. Her council members had to protect Brownsville, and they had to put an agreed-upon percentage of their profits back into the community.

Before Oshun instituted the restricting of how hustles were run in Brownsville, it was a wasteland of death, drug addiction, and crime. Now, the community was beginning to thrive, and if it were up to Oshun, it would remain that way.

The key was organization. The community balked at prostitutes walking the streets, or women sacrificing their health as sex workers, and pimps beating and killing the girls they victimized. Oshun helped Big Craig set up brothels near the business district that only opened when the businesses closed for the day. All Big Craig’s girls received regular healthcare at no cost to them, as well as took a favorable seventy-thirty split in earnings. Craig had balked about the changes in the beginning, but then the cops stopped busting his girls, and he saw his revenue increase rapidly. It was hard to argue with that logic.

When Chelly’s gambling ring kept getting raided because nosey neighbors reported the undesirables hanging out on the block, Oshun formulated a plan. She turned Chelly’s brick and mortar business into a virtual casino whose IP codes were damn near impossible to track. With the cost of overhead going down and the profits pouring in, Chelly happily conformed to Oshun’s business model.

When legislation produced heftier penalties for grand theft auto, Oshun stepped in to help Uncle Pete restructure his hustle. Instead of stealing the cars himself, she had him contract out the work. She also had him taking on more insurance fraud cases than before. Stealing cars brought unwanted attention. Frankly, there were too many people who wanted to cash in on the insurance money when payments became too much to handle. So now, Pete didn’t have to worry about breaking into and stealing cars himself. He simply designated a drop off spot with the owners, picked up the unwanted vehicles, and broke them down for parts.

Each one of her council members leveled-up when Oshun gave them a plan to run their businesses more efficiently, as well as in ways that didn’t put them in opposition with the community.

Her plans always focused on minimizing risk and maximizing profit. The only thing the members had to sacrifice was violence and drugs.

It had been difficult to get them to give up their interests in guns and drugs. Getting them to police their people and penalize them for breaking council rules had been damn near impossible. But over time, these three learned times were good when they followed Oshun, and not so good when they went against her wishes.

Oshun quietly took her seat at the table, and waited for Aesop to close the door and take his place standing behind her seat.

“Someone want to tell me what happened?”

She watched the three council members gathered around the table, each directing their eyes to anywhere but where they needed to be, on her.

“Don’t all speak at once,” she said to the still-quiet room.

When no one spoke, she stood up, placing spread palms against the table as she braced herself. These three people had helped her bring Brownsville up out of the dark hardships that plagued communities of lower socioeconomic status.

No, it wasn’t a wealthy haven overflowing with milk and honey. But, with hard work, Brownsville had become a working-class neighborhood. The council initiated programs geared to teach skills to the unemployed and undereducated. They’d sponsored grants designed to place competitive tools in their schools, and provided opportunities for residents to attend college, and start businesses within the community. They were doing good work. Brownsville was still on the come-up, but at least they were moving in the right direction. Tonight was the first time in her ten-year reign she worried all her work could be undone.

“What the fuck happened? As far as I understand it, the plan was for us to sneak in and fuck up their shit enough to cause code violations for the inspectors coming in a few days. How the fuck did we jump from that to burning down their fucking buildings, along with the neighboring houses owned by our damn people?”

Uncle Pete, an older man who was an original gangster from when her father was running Brownsville, finally turned his gaze to hers. He still wore wool fedoras or Bermuda hats wherever he went. He took a pull from the cigar resting between the thick pointer and ring finger of his right hand.

“It wasn’t part of the plan, Oshun. Shelly, Craig, and me put some of our best people on the job. Aesop oversaw it all. Them damn Yakuza was waiting on them when they got there.”

She turned to Aesop, her right hand, for confirmation of the old man’s version of events.

“They ambushed us,” Aesop said as he nodded his head. Just as we were finishing up, they caught us. There was a struggle between one of them and Craig’s people while he was messing with the wiring. A light broke, and the fire started. We barely made it out alive.”

She digested Aesop’s comments, turning them over repeatedly in her mind. There was something picking at the back of her mind that didn’t sit right with her. They’d watched this site for more than a month to get AAM’s pattern down. They’d known everything about their security and had planned this job accordingly. Oshun wasn’t sloppy, and she didn't allow her people to be either. Something was wrong here.

“How the fuck did they know we were coming?”

Again, everyone sitting at the table remained quiet.

“Someone talked,” she answered her own question. “That’s the only way they could’ve found out about our plan. Find out who the fuck is telling tales. We reconvene in two days. By then, y’all silent asses better have answers for me.”

She stepped away from the table, walked up the stairs and out of the club. Her anger turned to breathtaking pain when she glanced at the burned ruins marking her failure to keep her promise to her people.

The sadness cloaking her soul weighed heavily on her, pulling her into a sinking pit of despair and disappointment as she stood there trying to figure out how she was going to fix this. The easy fix was to help her neighbors rebuild. That would take some of the burden off, but she knew it wouldn’t repair the parts of their spirits that were destroyed with their mementoes, and memories that often colored the places a person called home.

“Oshun?”

She turned around at the familiar voice calling her name. It was out of place, somehow not fitting properly into her surroundings.

“Masaki? What are you doing here?”

It seemed like hours since she’d left him standing pissed off at his front door. A quick glance at her watch told her only forty-five minutes had elapsed. Did he follow her? Did he track her down to this site? She shook her head, trying to loosen the discomfort those thoughts brought to her.

He couldn't have followed you. You would’ve noticed a tail. But how and why was he here?

“One of my employees called to alert me of the fire. What about you?”

“I know many of the people who live in this area. I needed to come down and see how bad it was. Needed to see if there was any way I could help.”

It wasn't a complete lie. It was mostly true. Yes, she did know the people who’d lost their homes. But Masaki didn't know about the true nature of her ties to the club. He didn’t know she was the owner, and he damn sure didn’t know about her connection to the underground council that, until tonight, protected Brownsville from all threats.

She replayed his words in her mind on a loop until something clicked in her head. “Did you say one of your employees called you?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why would a real estate agent need to know about a fire that ravaged houses that weren't for sale?”

“Because my development company owns the properties on the other side where the fire began.”

“You work at AAM Development?”

He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I own it.”

Little more than an hour ago she was laying in his bed, quivering with need, falling victim to the pleasure he expertly doled out. Now, she was standing in the wake of the destruction she’d helped unleash on her own people. And worse yet, the man she’d been so captivated by for the last three months was part of what had led her down this dark path.

Dear God, I’m sleeping with the enemy.