Mecca’s eyes followed the man as he approached the front of the church. “Fuck is that?” he hissed.

“The nigga looks just like Poppa,” Money commented in amazement.

“Mommy?” Breeze looked at her mother.

But Taryn needed no explanation. She knew exactly who the young man was. He was Carter Jones, her husband’s illegitimate son.

Polo leaned into her and whispered, “Taryn, I have something to tell you. Carter didn’t mean to-”

Without taking her eyes off the young man, she said, “Don’t worry about it, Polo. No need for you to explain. I know who he is.”

Carter felt the questioning glares of the people surrounding him. He stopped in the middle of the church and stared at the casket up front. His heartbeat was so rapid that he felt sick to his stomach. I shouldn’t be here, he thought.

Just as he turned to leave, four men with long dreadlocks entered the room. They were the only ones wearing black. Carter frowned at their blatant disrespect. They bumped him violently as they walked past, but Carter let it ride as he turned his head and watched them continue down the aisle.

Mecca’s temper immediately flared. He reached in his waistline for a pistol that wasn’t there. “Fuck!” he whispered as he began to stand.

Polo grabbed his arm to halt him. “Wait a minute,” he stated. “This is a part of the game.” Polo didn’t expect the Haitians to make their presence felt at the funeral. He had underestimated their coldness.

The church was silent as everyone waited to see how things would play out. It was no secret that the Haitians were responsible for Carter’s death. The dreadheads walked up to the casket and stood silently with their heads down, as if they were in prayer.

Taryn gripped her sons’ hands and let out a sigh of relief.