Angel's Revenge by Teri Woods

the power and respect, a respect he
     knew he had to rep to maintain.
    He walked over to the dresser and picked up a picture of him and Dutch at a Roy Jones fight. World admired Dutch’s finesse.
     The smirk that framed his chocolate face told the world he knew he was that nigga. When Young World first met Dutch, he knew
     he was destined to be a legend and he wanted to be just like him, the way he bopped, his sharp Newark accent, his smooth style.
     But when Dutch peeped it, he checked him quick.
    “I like you, lil’ nigga, word up. You a thoroughbred. You just been misled. I see you wanna be like me, but if you really
     wanna be like me, don’t be like me. That’s why I am who I am because ain’t another muthafucka like Dutch.”
    Dutch wasn’t his mentor. One-eyed Roc was. It was Roc who put him on, but Dutch would often come scoop him off the block and
     sharpen his game. World knew if Roc and Angel hadn’t been locked up, he would’ve never had the opportunity he had now. So
     he looked at it as a fate he was destined to fulfill. But he needed answers, and he knew who had them.
    Roc.
    He needed to go see Roc.
    World cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner, but things were so damned hectic. It was hard enough to catch some sleep,
     let alone think straight.
    Young World slid open the drawer and gazed at its contents. Dutch’s dragon chain.
    He lifted the heavy piece from the drawer and cradled it in his hand. The diamonds and rubies glistened and sparkled on the
     twenty-four-karat gold nugget barrel link. Before Dutch, Kazami had worn the chain. Kazami, the wild African who everyone
     feared until Dutch murdered him and took the chain. Afterward, Dutch locked down the streets. Ever since World had the chain,
     he had worn it only occasionally. Now it was time to rep it to the fullest.
    World kicked off his shoes, lay on the bed fully clothed behind Lana, and cradled her body to his. His touch instantly awoke
     her.
    “Hey, baby. I missed you,” she cooed sleepily.
    “Go back to sleep, boo. It’s late,” World softly replied, his mind a million miles away.
    “You hungry?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.
    “Naw, I’m good.”
    They had been together too long for her not to recognize the troubled tone in his voice. She turned over and faced Young World,
     tucking her right hand under her head.
    “Everything okay?” she questioned with concern.
    He shrugged, “It is what it is.”
    “So, what is it?” She smiled, still probing.
    World looked his love in the eyes, their faces only inches apart, and asked, “Do you think I’ve changed?”
    “Changed?” Lana echoed with a wrinkled brow. “Changed how?”
    “I don’t know, just…”
    “Is this about earlier? If it is, you were right. I trust you,” she assured him, cutting him off from what he was about to
     say.
    “Not like that,” he began. “You think I’m gettin’ soft?”
    “Soft? Baby, you know I keep it all the way gangsta with you, but it’s been so long since I’ve been around you like that to
     know,” Lana replied, then added, “You locked me out of that part of your life.”
    “But you lay with me, therefore you know my weakness,” World answered.
    “Remember before Jazz died, y’all was beefin’ with Chancellor?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I heard you say to him that a gun may get you power but a gun can’t keep you in power,” Lana explained, using the jewel against
     him. He had heard it from Roc and now he better understood the difference between a gangsta and a goon. He had the goon part
     down. He just needed to learn the ways of a true gangsta. He smiled and gently kissed her forehead.
    “I’m sayin’, you my wifey or my godfather?” he joked.
    Lana giggled and replied with the godfather rasp in her voice, “Just call me Vito Corleone.”
    They both laughed. Lana caressed his face.
    “Just do what you have to do to come home to me every night. Shahid, promise me you’ll never let them take you