Nearly 15 years into his career, Hussle appeared to be on the cusp of crossover stardom. He had a GQ spread, and with management from Jay-Z’s Roc Nation, he released his first official studio album, “Victory Lap,” on Atlantic Records, a major label, last year. It was a modest success, debuting at No. 4 on the Billboard chart and earning a Grammy nomination, though his numbers still paled in comparison to rap stars like Drake or J. Cole, who regularly top 100 million Spotify plays on a track.

Hussle, who never had a breakout hit, was earning about a tenth of that, though his reputation was outpacing his commercial impact. But rather than use his success as a one-way ticket to the gated communities of Calabasas, he rarely strayed from the blocks where he came up as a member of the Rollin’ 60s Crips gang.

Wack 100, a prominent rap manager and a self-described Piru Blood from Los Angeles, noted that despite Hussle’s background, his killing did not conjure the East Coast vs. West Coast war of 1990s gangster rap, which saw the shooting deaths of the Notorious B.I.G. and Tupac Shakur. “It wasn’t an outsider that came over here and did that” to Hussle, he said.

Bloods and Crips frequently work together in music, and violence in hip-hop rarely stems from those affiliations these days, Wack said. He credited that to the formation more than a decade ago of a council of elders — regional gang leaders who were involved in rap and wanted to prevent bloodshed that could undermine big business, while also uniting communities. “We knew we made mistakes and we were part of the problem of laying the foundation of the negativity,” he said.

Hussle had reinvested his earnings back into Crenshaw, maintaining street-level ties even as his star grew. And like many in his situation, Hussle’s comfort in the neighborhood that treated him like a king resulted in a casual presence. When he was shot on Sunday afternoon in front of his Marathon Clothing store, Hussle was with only two friends, and taking photos with fans.