No sound comes from the phone.
This isn’t a two-way call.
I whip my gaze back to the television where Jarod Cross is sitting stiffly, shoulders hiked to his ears and his fingers clenched around his utensils.
“A king raised as a commoner will rule like a commoner. I do not blame my son for his lack of training. He is simply a king who does not know he is royalty yet.” Kurosaki points to his temple with a hand. “But I made myself clear. I am the one who will teach my son the truth.”
On the screen, Dutch and Zane are taking seats across from Jarod. They have no idea what’s going on.
“How dare you take him to that place of death before he was ready? How dare you teachmyson to find joy in torture as if these things are what make a leader. Do you think I lack the men to train him in these matters? You must have forgotten how capable my people are with knives.”
I shudder, remembering Grey’s best friend Sloane. Her death was so horrific that her family couldn’t identify her remains without DNA testing.
“The things a leader must learn are things you can never teach him. Self-restraint. Strategy. He must be equally strong and flexible. He must learn to bide his time. Perhaps if you hadattemptedto teach him these things, but no…” His voice climbs. “You are so shortsighted and impatient…”
Kurosaki blows out an aggravated breath and collects himself. In a lower voice, he says, “You believed you could train him better than I could. This is what disappoints me. I am here now. I told you this. He ismyson.”
My throat thickens to the point that I can’t swallow.
On the screen, Jarod Cross is becoming visibly red.
Kurosaki shakes his head. “Finn.”
I look across the table, my lips pressed tightly together.
He speaks in Japanese and then translates. “An eye for an eye. He took my son and taught him a lesson… without mypermission. I should take his sons”—Kurosaki lifts a hand when I open my mouth to protest—“but, I will have him pay back in front ofhissons.”
One of Kurosaki’s men takes the phone from him and brings it to the other side of the table where I’m sitting.
I want to skate away from the phone like it’s radioactive, but Kurosaki is watching me closely. Forcing myself to stay still, I take the device.
“You had no control that day.” Kurosaki picks up a knife and digs into his meal. “He will listen to everything you say until you are satisfied.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“The wine at his right hand is poisoned.” He selects a cut of kiwi. “At any moment, he can decide to drink it.”
I suddenly can’t swallow.
My eyes move to the television. Jarod Cross is still facing Dutch and Zane, but his eyes are on the camera. Shining. Defiant.
He’s waiting for me.
This moment doesn’t feel real. I’m in a sick and twisted reality. A bizzarro world.
“And ifIdon’t want to?”
“Then I will shoot him the way he shot at you. Perhaps a bullet will stray to someone else in the room. They would not be the target, but accidents happen.”
Bile rises in my throat.
“But I do not believe my son will waste this opportunity,” Kurosaki says with a confident grin. “I know of what Jarod Cross has done to your brothers. He has manipulated and used you all for his own selfish ambitions. I was an absent father, but he… he was not a good one.”
He’s not wrong.
“Go ahead.” Kurosaki gestures to me. “If you tell him to stab his own hand with a knife, he will do it.”
My heart thunders, but Kurosaki eats calmly, and it reminds me of how uncaring he was the day his lieutenants sent me to the hospital.
