Tyriq Ibrahim, the Godfather of the Midwest Bloods, was a big man. A wall of a man dressed in a three-piece Armani suit with a scarlet necktie. He had to represent, after all. His crew looked more like bankers than street thugs. But Damien had learned over the years the appearances were deceptive, and you couldn't judge a guy by the cut of his suit.
Damien welcomed them in his downtown office, and they surrendered their pieces at the door, as it was customary in a parlay. Damien and his men also had to show that they were not armed. His backup consisted of Robbie, Akiko, and Nemiah. They were in his corporate office, after all, and his people were bankers and accountants.
Damien greeted Tyriq with a handshake that turned into a hug. The hug, Damien knew, was a test of strength. The man w
