𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |𝐃𝐄

𝟎𝟏𝟗: 𝐗𝐈𝐗

Stepping out of his sleek BMW, Zane made his way into the red warehouse, a hub of illicit activity. Inside, rows of silver racks held boxes of contraband, with plastic-wrapped bundles of cocaine awaiting distribution. Zane gave a subtle nod of approval as he took in the operation, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

Elijah, one of Zane's associates, greeted him with a familiar dap, breaking the silence. "Yoo, wassgood, nigga?" Elijah asked, offering a welcoming handshake.

"What it do, Eli," Zane replied, his gaze shifting from Elijah to the duffel bags packed with tightly wrapped cocaine bundles and an assortment of firearms laid out on a nearby table.

His eyes narrowed as he observed the array of weaponry. Zane's voice took on a serious tone as he directed his question at Elijah, "Fuck is this?"

Elijah shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. "Pablo sent that in and said to start moving 'em around. I don't know if you're tryna do that though, so-"

Zane didn't hesitate. He promptly retrieved his phone from his Amiri jeans, dialed Pablo's number, and put the phone to his ear. As he leaned back in a chair, he dug into his pocket for a blunt, lit it up with his trusty lighter, and took a deep drag.

"Well, Zane, is there a problem?" Pablo's calm and controlled voice resonated through the phone, his strong Italian accent lending an air of authority.

Zane didn't mince words. "I already got niggas watching each step I fuckin' take, and you want me to move more shit for you when I ain't even got my money yet?" His tone was direct and unapologetic.

A faint chuckle came from Pablo over the phone, seemingly undisturbed by Zane's confrontational stance. Zane exhaled a thick plume of smoke before sitting up, attentive.

"No, no, no, you got it fucked up now Z, Now if I'm not mistaken our deal was for you to move the products I supply you around and I would provide you with half a million dollars for two years and that was if I started seeing good sells. Now think about what I just said and put two and two together of why you haven't received your shit and when you realize why you got eight instead of four come speak back to me." Pablo clarified before ending the call.

Pablo was a shrewd operator, and he knew precisely how to manipulate situations to his advantage. He'd engineered this predicament to disrupt Zane's income, using Kyree as a pawn to destabilize the operation and further his clandestine plan.

Clearly irritated by the conversation, Zane pocketed his phone and threw his hand up in exasperation, shaking his head. "Where the fuck is Kyree at!" he shouted, his frustration palpable.

"I put this nigga in charge of two key spots, and all of a sudden, he's nowhere to be fuckin' found. I swear to God, I can't trust nobody in this shit!" Zane vented, his voice laced with frustration and suspicion.

"If you see that nigga, tell him to call me," Zane demanded of Elijah, his tone unwavering. He grabbed his Moncler coat from the table, hood pulled over his cornrows, and swiftly exited the warehouse as he headed back to his BMW.