It had been five hours since Ramses had stormed out of the house.

Milan was scared shitless about what he'd look like when he came home, if he came home.

He wasn't answering his phone and oddly enough, Chrisanto had yet to message her again either.

Because she was a nervous eater, Milan had finished her second party sized bag of Doritos. Mindlessly eating as her mind wandered to all the trouble she knew Ramses could get himself in with a gun or with guns being used against him.

She was reaching for her third bag of chips when a booming knock rattled the front door of the house. Milan's blood curdled in her veins and her chips fell to the ground as she sprang up from the couch.

When she looked out the small window of the door, she saw two men. They both had on ski masks and also kept looking around them as they stood at the door. 

What in God's name did you do, Ramses?

Milan sighed in her head and stepped away from the entrance. She wasn't going to open the door.

"We can see you, Milan." 

One of the men spoke gruffly to the door.

Squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment, Milan turned her back to the door and huffed. 

"Then why the hell are you just standing there being fucking menaces to society?!" Milan angrily shot back.

"Pharaoh sent us to protect you. Shit is bouta get hectic, g." The man answered.

This caused Milan's eyes to spring open. She peeked through the window again. The men with ski masks met her eyes and she narrowed them. "Why couldn't even come protect me himself?"

"Let us in and we'll explain."

"Now why the hell—"

"Tell Milan that shit finna get hectic. Tell her I did some real hothead ass shit. She not gonna believe you and y'all damn near get y'all brains blown out on my porch, but tell her ass she need to let you in or all of y'all gon' wake up dead." 

The second masked man had pulled out his phone and seemed to have read a text message straight from Ramses himself. 

Fair enough.

Milan thought to herself. She hurriedly unlocked the door and ushered the men in, locking it abruptly behind them. As soon as they were in, they unmasked themselves. It was the same men that had accompanied Ramses to the hospital when he'd gotten shot. 

The wore all black clothing. They had dark red stains on them, but neither of them seemed to be hurt. One of them was shuffling from foot to foot while the other was standing completely still.

She definitely remembered the one who had offered her the ride home. He was still looking at her the same way, like he had never seen a woman before and he couldn't wait to do everything for the first time. That's why he was so still, too busy checking her out.

Milan looked down at her appearance and yes, she still had on Ramses' underwear, but she had put on a hoodie. She pulled the hood over her head to feel more covered in front of them.

"Okay, y'all done made it inside. What the fuck is going on?" Milan demanded, making both of them snap to attention. 

"Pharaoh done sprayed all of the low-end damn near. Starting from the hair shop on 57th all the way up to 79th. There's a fucking war going on right now."

The same fucking hair shop I was supposed to deliver him too.

Milan's mind was racing. He had just made Chicago the nation's bloodiest city for the next five years minimum.

"Do you know who's dead?" Was Milan's next question.

She had to prepare herself. She knew Ramses would never gun for her brother, but knowing her brother and what a loose screw he was...Devon would probably be the one to shoot first. 

"Diamanté."

Milan's eyes widened, but she wasn't surprised. It was coming to him. He'd struck first and he was running his mouth about it.

Immediately she had the mind to call Daya, but the man speaking wasn't finished. She waited with bated breath.

"Chrisanto."

Thinking her ears weren't working all of a sudden Milan had to ask him again who he'd just said. "You said who? Who's dead?" 

The two men looked at each other, their faces graver than before.

"We have good reason to believe that Chrisanto is dead. Word right now is... Pharaoh pulled up and blasted the fuck outta that hair salon. Chrisanto was waiting out there for some reason today and for that same reason, Ramses knew how to get his ass."

He was waiting for me. 

Milan knew she was going to be sick. She ran to the bathroom and began to dry heave. Her whole body now in a cold sweat as the realization set in that she was now an accessory to Chrisanto's murder. 

She didn't know how Ramses knew to go over there, but she knew how it all looked. Whoever knew Chrisanto was over there, knew that he was waiting on Ramses to be delivered to him and instead, Ramses delivered Chrisanto to the motherfuckin' morgue. 

Shakily rising from the toilet, Milan ran the bathroom faucet and began to scoop sink water into her mouth. The cool water from the tap making her shiver while goosebumps sprang up over her body. 

"Are you good?" 

One of the men asked from the hallway. He seemed scared to come near the doorway. Milan mumbled a yes, still drinking water from the tap.

When she was done she came back out of the bathroom and sat on the couch where she was before. The two men just looked at her. 

She sighed and sunk deeper into the couch.

"And where the hell is Ramses?" Milan finally got the courage to ask. 

The men paused for a beat. Almost like they thought it was a stupid question for her to ask. She waited still, wanting know where Mr.Murder-On-My-Mind was now. 

"Milan... you really think a n*gga can blow through 57th to 79th... and not get picked up by the feds?"

Once again, Milan felt like like throwing up. She prayed to God to just swallow her up into the ground at that point.

However, at the same time she was relieved. 

If Ramses was in custody, that means he was off of the street. It meant he was still alive.

She digested the information slowly and finally, she looked at the two guys again. "And, how long does he expect you all to stay here? Til he finally find some money to bail out or...? I don't even know y'all's names!" Milan exclaimed, a bit too loud for the stillness of the house.

The two men looked at each other, amusement in their eyes before looking back at her. "Well, for starters I'm CJ. This right here is my pat'na Malcolm, but he goes by--"

"X." The man finished, winking at her.

CJ and Malcolm weren't bad looking at all. CJ was a very light brown. Almost the color of a pistachio shell with red hair. He reminded her of his brother with his kind eyes and freckles smattered across his nose.

Malcolm, the one who was flirting his way to an early grave, was a rich brown. His skin was the color of red clay. He had a black hair that was loc'd, the tips of them dyed blonde.

"Nice to meet y'all, but again, how long do you think the block is gon' be hot like this?" Milan repeated her initial question. CJ shrugged and sat on the couch with her. "Man ain't your brother the runner up of them wack ass VDs? Call him and ask him." 

That was the last person she wanted to call.

If her gut feeling was right, they'd need to stay with her for the rest of the whole year if something didn't give sooner. It was just like the conversation she and Ramses had, had earlier.

Somebody had to drop for Chrisanto on this side. Somebody had to drop for whoever paid the price for Chrisanto's death. And another. And another. And another.

The calm before the storm had left and they were now all transported into the eye of the hurricane. Milan could also not forget that a bounty could be placed on her head by either side now, even more than before!

To the Vice Disciples, she was a traitor. She was her brother's blood and she was now literally sleeping with the enemy. The enemy that should've died a long time ago.

To the Blood Lords, she was never their own to begin with and now two of their own are locked up or in the grave. 

Both gangs were without leadership and anybody who wanted to up their standing and grab some power while they could... definitely were on the prowl. Milan was appreciative for Ramses sending his friends, but the three of them against two warring sides of Chicago?

They didn't stand a chance.