Chapter 15: The Price of Peace
Harlem, Autumn 1995
For the first time in years, Harlem breathed.
It wasn't just the cleaner streets or the humming storefronts. It was the feeling—that under Crown's rule, things worked. No handouts. No preachers. Just order.
And at the heart of it all stood a boy who no longer looked like one.
Eli, twelve now, moved through Crown headquarters with quiet authority. His voice, still soft, carried weight. His ideas—now implemented across entire neighborhoods—reshaped Harlem's underworld into something unrecognizable: a machine that looked like salvation but moved like the mob.
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Celebration at the Brownstone
Tonight wasn't about war or strategy.
It was about family.
Vance manned the grill in the courtyard. Two Crown soldiers stood discreetly near the alley gate, scanning the rooftops. A third watched the street from a blacked-out sedan.
Inside, Rosa glowed. Not metaphorically—her cheeks flushed with laughter, her hand resting absently on her belly.
She hadn't told Silas yet.
He was too busy spinning Maya around the living room like a clumsy dancer, nearly tripping over the rug while she shrieked with joy.
Eli watched from the stairs, arms crossed, a faint smile on his lips. He didn't laugh often anymore—but he savored moments like this.
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Rosa's Quiet Joy
Later, in the kitchen, she pressed her palm to Silas's chest and whispered:
"We might be having another."
Silas blinked. For once, he was speechless.
Then he pulled her close, burying his face in her neck, whispering something soft, something only she heard.
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Vance and Eli – Perimeter Talk
Outside, Eli and Vance made their usual rounds, checking blind spots, watching the way the Crown security rotated posts. Harlem was quieter—but peace never meant stillness.
"You notice anything off?" Vance asked.
Eli nodded slightly. "Car passed the block three times. Didn't stop."
"Handle it?"
"Already flagged to Jerome. If they double back, we box it."
Vance grinned. "You're getting scary."
"I've always been scary. You just liked me better when I didn't know it."
They shared a nod—then gunfire cracked.
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The Attack
Three suppressors popped in rapid rhythm. The perimeter guard near the gate dropped—wounded, not dead. A flashbang hit the yard. People screamed.
The hit squad moved fast—not amateurs. Masks, formation, close-quarter execution.
They slipped through the courtyard like ghosts—until one tripped a motion sensor light. Crown's internal alert system screamed through earpieces.
Return fire answered fast.
Two more Crown men emerged from hidden posts, pinning the attackers behind the hedges.
Eli pulled Maya down behind a bench. Rosa dove for the doorway.
And in the middle of it—Silas turned, saw a scope reflection—
—and threw himself in front of Eli.
The shot struck his side, shattering bone and air.
Then Vance was already moving, firing clean, dropping two men. The third tried to flee, but a Crown soldier clipped his leg. He crumpled.
The chaos was over in less than sixty seconds.
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Aftermath
Blood on tile. Silas groaning, half-conscious.
"Why'd you do that?" Eli asked, kneeling beside him.
Silas tried to laugh. Coughed instead.
"'Cause you're the future, kid…"
"…and I'm just the past trying to make up for it."
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