Usually, by noon, the shop was packed. Music bumping, tea spilling, boosters offloading their latest to her clients. But today was slow. Real fucking slow.Just like last Wednesday, and the Wednesday before that.Kormia sat outside her shop, acrylics tapping against her phone screen as she scrolled. Half working. Half watching the block.That’s when she saw him.“P.”Or “Newdy,” depending on who you asked. The newflorist.Kormia wasn’t stupid. She knew that nigga was selling more than flowers. Especially with the way he’d been pulling up to the shop. He wastoo lowkey. Too clean. Too… something.
He moved like a ghost. He wasn’t on socials. Ain’t ever seen him in nobody’s background, not even a reflection in a damn story post. But he was at Syxe’s wedding. And every time Monty came to the city, he was always in that flower shop. With Cash and Cal. So yeah. She knew he was a stepper.
Still, she hadn’t gotten any real tea on him, but she knew there was some to be spilled. Because no man that fine, that quiet, and that connected was just pruning roses. They had had their little run-in weeks ago, when he politely told her tomove the fuck around.She was over there being a brat, complaining about his renovations messing with her business. When she tried to call Miss Loretta, who she thought still owned her building, Kormia found out real quick he wasn’t justanother business owner. He was her landlord. And everybody else’s on the block too. After that, she steered clear of him.Until yesterday. Her ex, Wheezy, pulled up to drop off some money, and she could tell right away that this “Newdy” nigga was pressure. ’Cause Wheezy, who barely got out the car for his own mama, made it his business to step out, dap that man up, and exchange a few quiet words like they knew each other. That told her everything she needed to know. Still, Kormia wasn’t impressed. Especially not by no fine-ass, strict-ass nigga. She didn’t care if he had nice teeth and a car for every day of the week. Kormia liked to run amuck when she felt like it. That’s what made her, her.
Which was exactly why she still gave her cheating-ass ex, Wheezy, the time of day. They’d been on and off for the last year. Mostly off. But he stayed trying to spin the block. He wanted her back bad. But she only dealt with him when she felt like it. When it was convenient. When she was bored. Or when she needed a self-esteem boost. Truth was, Wheezy had done her dirty. But at least she knew what to expect from him. By noon, Kormia had accepted today wasn’t gonna be one of those days she ran the bag up. Still, she had to at least make her quota. So she opened her DMs and took a few appointments from there. Something she hated doing. She even took a few walk-ins off the street. In her downtime, she cleaned the shop, listened to music, played a few rounds of Mancala. That’s when one of her day-one clients came in and dropped the tea behind all her recent cancellations.Medina.The Dominican bitch two doors down. Who Kormia had been cool with for years. Apparently, Medina had been whispering to her hair clients, most of whom were also Kormia’s nail clients, telling them to slide across the street to the new Spanish nail tech who had just opened shop. Acting like Kormia wasn’t the one who’d kept her hands laced, free of charge, every two weeks for the last six years.
Kormia was more hurt than anything.
She looked at Medina like a big sister. Which explained why Medina hadn’t been in her chair lately. But it was cool.Real cool.Because if a bitch wanted to play with her money?
Kormia decided that shit could go both ways.
By six, Kormia was finishing her last full set of the day. She still had three manis and a Pedi left before closing, and she was dragging.But determined.The plan was simple: wrap up by eight, grab some wine, and stop by Jackie’s.Her cousin had been going through it heavy lately, and since Fat Daddy was spending the night with Syxe, Kormia figured she’d bring her nail kit and foot tub over and give Jackie a little TLC.She was just about to call her next client when the shop door flew open, the bell jingling loud.Medina.She stepped inside with a small crowd forming behind her. Hair tied, gold hoops in hand, face greased with Vaseline in full fight mode.Kormia looked up, deadpan, then leaned back in her chair like she’d been expecting it.Medina’s voice sliced through the chatter.
“I heard you been running your dick-suckers,” she said, loud enough for the whole shop to hear. “Talking like I put perm in my conditioner. You serious, mami?”Kormia slid her work glasses down just enough to glare over the rims.“If the shoe fit, bitch… lace it up.”Gasps shot through the salon. Every client froze. Phones were already out.“I knew that keratin treatment was relaxer,”somebody whispered.This was about to be content.Medina stormed forward, wagging a polished finger. “You jealous. That is what it is. You mad ’cause my girls don’t want their nails looking like cheap press-ons no more.” Kormia stood so fast she almost knocked her LED light over.“Bitch don’t play with me. Ain’t nobody ever complained about Kormia’s work. Ever. Including your snake ass.”She steppedcloser. “Anytime you needed promo, who you run to? Me. When they were boycotting non-Black businesses during the pandemic and your ass almost had to close, who ran a half-off deal to get your clients back?” She tapped her chest. “Me. That’s who.” Her voice sharpened. “Now you wanna throw dirt on my business to give your girl motion like it ain’t enough money for everybody to eat?” Medina smirked. Mean and slow. “Your clients left ’cause they wanted quality. You messy. Everybody know it.” Her lip curled. “That’s why you still in this raggedy-ass shop. And you got nobody to thank but your jailbird ass da—”Crack.
The word never even made it out. Kormia’s hand flew before her brain caught up, connecting square across Medina’s face. The sound echoed off the salon walls. Sharp. Final. Unforgiving. Every drill went silent. Even the Bluetooth speaker cut mid-song, like the shop itself was holding its breath.
Kormia had told that bitch, in confidence. About thebreak-in.About thesafe.And that was her first mistake. She knew better than to trust these bitches. And just like that, the shop erupted. Medina stumbled back, one hand clutching her cheek, the other already flying. Nails sharp as tacks, screaming in Spanish, she lunged. “You crazy, puta!” Kormia sidestepped her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked so hard you could hear the tape-ins ripping from her scalp like Velcro. The crowd gasped. Half shocked. Half entertained. Medina’s hand caught Kormia’s neck, claws digging into her skin. “Oh, bitch, you done lost your mind!” Kormia shouted, body-slamming her back against the floor. She climbed on top, banging Medina’s head against the tile while people screamed around them. They went down together, rolling, cursing in two different languages, limbs tangling, nails flying.
Kormia managed to get to her feet first. She grabbed Medina by her hair again and dragged her clean out the shop, heelsscraping against the floor, the bell going crazy as the door flew open.
Outside, the air was cooler, damp from the rain—but it didn’t slow her down. Kormia started to kick that bitch, but Medina was already leaking from her mouth and nose. Stomping would’ve been overkill. Kormia turned to walk back inside, but Medina grabbed her leg. And just like that, Kormia was back on top of her again. This time, she didn’t hold back. “Kormia! Medina! Y’all wilding!” somebody yelled, trying to pull them apart. But it didn’t matter because the damage was already done. Tape-ins were scattered across the concrete, acrylics broken, and pride splattered all over the sidewalk. Then— A shadow fell over them. “Enough.” The voice was calm, deep and controlled.Newdy.
The second he grabbed Kormia, the fight was over.He scooped her up like she didn’t weigh a thing, arms locked tight around her waist, dragging her clean off Medina’s back.“Let me go!” Kormia thrashed, nails swinging wild.“Put me the fuck down!”That’s when Medina jumped to her feet—lip bleeding, tracks hanging—and pulled a razor straight from her mouth. The block went still.
Newdy didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “Ayo… don’t be stupid,” he said, tone low but lethal. “Take your L and go.” Nobody moved. Just rain tapping against the pavement and cars flying past. Medina kept her eyes on Kormia, chest heaving. “That bitch hit me first,” she hissed, voice breaking. Newdy stepped forward. Just one step. That was enough. She backed down. He took the razor from her hand without hesitation and tossed it into the street like it was nothing.
“Go back to your salon,” he said calmly.
“Y’all got y’all shit off? Good. Now walk away.”
Medina hesitated. Muttered something Spanish under her breath. Then finally turned and stormed off, her girls trailingbehind her. The block came back to life instantly, with voices, whispers, and phones still recording. But Newdy didn’t engage or even look around. He just turned,still holding Kormia—and carried her straight into his shop. The noise cut off the second the door shut behind them. Kormia blinked, taking it all in. The last time she saw this place, it had been nothing but drywall, buckets of plaster, and drop cloths. Now? It looked like luxury. Street luxury.
The vibe inside there felt exclusive and rich. She could look at the interior and see he spent some coin on the renovation. The shop had concrete-gray walls. Clean black shelving. Gold track lighting catching the edges of glass vases. Everything was monochrome, stone, steel and shadow. Except the flowers. That’s where the color lived. Deep crimson roses, Plum orchid and White calla lilies. Arranged with surgical precision, like installations, not bouquets. The space smelled like eucalyptus and cedar. Even the air felt different, cooler, slower and less amped up. The place felt elevated, but not pretentious. Still, something about the space demanded respect. Newdy set her down on the marble counter like she weighed nothing. The surface was cool under her palms. Grounding and safe. Kormia didn’t say it out loud— But it hit her all at once. This wasn’t no regular flower shop. This was something else entirely.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PARRISH “NEWDY” TOUSSAINT
Parrish knew from the moment he laid eyes on her she was going to be a fucking problem.
Not because she was pretty, petite, with that soft waist and fat ass. But because she wasmessy.Their first conversation told him everything he needed to know about her.She came into his shop uninvited, opened the box of donuts he’d bought for his crew, took a bite, and told his general contractor to wrap construction by noon because she had clients coming. She didn’t introduce herself. Didn’t ask permission. Just ran her mouth like she owned the block. That day, he’d been too caught off guard by her audacity to really take in how beautiful she was. Kormia Brown was about five-foot-three with a golden mocha complexion that always looked warm under any light. Kormia wasfine shit. And she knew it. She had almond-shaped brown eyes that shifted in the sun, sandy-brown freckles scattered across her cheeks like stardust. Her lips were full and pillowy, usually set like she was about to pop some shit and didn’t care who heard her. She was slim-thick in that effortless way. Not a gym girl, but you could tell she did enough to keep it tight. Miss Loretta had warned him about Kormia when he first came home. Said she was a good girl, just a little misunderstood. That was four weeks ago. And he’d been back on 52nd Street ever since, taking the helm of the properties his grandfather left behind. But since his brother’s murder, everything had gone toshit. Truth was, Paris hadn’t been the most vigilant when it came to business, even when he was alive. He wasn’t built for the responsibility he’d been entrusted with. Paris just wanted to ride dirt bikes, fuck bitches, and live.
Now it was on Newdy to fix what got left broken. And the last thing he needed was some loud, messy-ass nail tech adding to his list of problems. But somehow, that’s exactly what she was doing. When his grandfather ran the Deuce, it was thriving. Clean. Respected. Considered a historical district before the city let it rot. Back then, every storefront stayed open. Every stoop was swept. Kids could ride their bikes down 52nd street without dodging needles and potholes. Newdy loved coming down here as a kid with his twin, watching his grandfather handle business, and be out and about in the community. He ran the flower shop like it was a command center. Lucien Toussaint was a Philly legend.A pillar. Nothing happened in the city without his grandfather’s blessing. Toussaint Flowers was more than a business. It was an institution. The heart of West Philly. Any event worth mentioning, from city council banquets to homegoing services, Toussaint’s supplied the flowers. What started as a way to wash the family’s dirty money turned into something real, clean and profitable. Everybody knew Lucien Toussaint. But most people just called himthe florist. Newdy could still remember the smell of the shop when he was little. Wet stems. Soil. A hint of bleach from the floors. His grandfather’s hands were always rough, stained green from trimming roses—even when he was counting money. That man built an empire out of petals and discipline. And now it was on him to keep it alive.
Looking at her now, he couldn’t front.Her little ass could fight.
Usually, the messy chicks couldn’t throw hands to save their lives. But Kormia?
She was different. Medina had height, weight, and reach on her. But none of it mattered once they got in that field.Kormia still put belt to ass.Newdy didn’t see the whole fight. But what he saw was brutal. By the time Medina got up, she looked like she’d gone ten rounds with Gervonta Davis. Meanwhile, aside from her hair being all over her head and a few nasty scratches, Kormia didn’t even look like she’d been fighting. She still had that same spark in her eyes and fire in chest. Kormia carried an aura. It was bright and impossible to ignore. And that was exactly why he needed to. She reminded him too much of his twin brother.Reckless, impulsive, and always moving off emotion.
Paris lived like the rules didn’t apply.And it got him killed. Newdy prided himself on discipline. It was the way he governed his life. In his line of work, being sloppy wasn’t just unacceptable—it was dangerous. He couldn’t avoid it when Paris was alive. His brother was chaos in human form, and Newdy stood ten toes down behind him, right, wrong, or indifferent. But now? Now his brother was gone. And Newdy vowed to never let chaos feel like home again But looking at Kormia now, breathing hard, lip trembling, hands still shaking—he felt that familiar pull creeping back in. The kind that never led nowhere good.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KORMIA