July 23, 2021 – Tivoli Gardens, Kingston

The alleys of Tivoli were alive with a rhythm Kyle had never felt before. Reggae thumped from distant speakers, kids darted past like shadows, but the silence around him was deafening. Every corner they turned, more eyes followed.

The guide in the faded polo led them deeper, weaving through narrow passageways lined with zinc fences and graffiti. Bullet holes dotted walls like constellations. Murals of fallen dons watched over them, saints of a kingdom built on survival.

Omar muttered under his breath. "This don't feel right, Kyle. Every man out here sizing us up. They ain't looking at you like a champion—they looking at you like prey."

Kyle stayed silent. The photo of Derrick burned in his pocket.

The CompoundThey stopped before a battered metal gate. Two armed men stood there, rifles slung casually like they were just another accessory. The guide exchanged a glance with them, then nodded toward Kyle.

"This the boy."

The guards looked him up and down. One chuckled, shaking his head. "NBA star in Tivoli. Boy, you mad brave or mad stupid."

Kyle's jaw tightened. "Where's Derrick?"

The men didn't answer. Instead, they pushed the gate open.

Inside was a yard—half courtyard, half fortress. Old cars stripped for parts. Smoke rising from jerk pans. Men drinking, gambling, watching. The air reeked of sweat, gun oil, and ganja.

And in the far corner, beneath a sagging veranda, sat a man at a domino table.

The First LookKyle froze.

The beard was grayer. The shoulders more slouched. But the eyes—those same sharp eyes—lifted from the dominoes and locked onto him.

For a second, Kyle couldn't breathe. His chest seized, as if the world had stopped.

Derrick Wilson.

Alive.

The man leaned back slowly, a ghost come to life. The players at his table stood and cleared away without a word, leaving Derrick in silence.

"Kyle." His voice was hoarse, deep, carrying both disbelief and weight. "So the rumors true."

Kyle's fists clenched at his sides. "You're supposed to be dead."

Derrick cracked a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Supposed to. But the world had other plans."

The ClashOmar stepped forward, his tone biting. "You abandoned us. Left your son, left Nichola to raise him alone. Left her to die while you hid in the shadows."

Derrick's gaze hardened, his jaw tightening at Nichola's name. For a moment, regret flickered—but only for a moment.

"You think it was easy, boy? You think I wanted to disappear?" Derrick leaned forward, eyes on Kyle now. "There's things you don't understand. Deals I made, enemies I crossed. I stayed alive so you could have a life."

Kyle's voice trembled with fury. "A life without a father. A life where Mom died thinking you were in the ground. You don't get to rewrite that."

The yard grew quiet. Men leaned in, sensing the storm brewing.

Derrick exhaled slowly, then leaned back in his chair. "If you here, it mean you ready. Ready to know the truth about me… about why everything happened the way it did. But once you step through that door, Kyle, there's no going back. You'll carry my sins same way you carry my blood."

Kyle's heartbeat thundered in his ears. He glanced at Omar, then back at Derrick.

"Then tell me," Kyle said, his voice low but steady. "Tell me everything."

Derrick's lips curved into a grim smile.

"Good. 'Cause it's time you learned what kind of man your father really is."

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