Seeing Sho and the two foreign guards have also been shot, shock shudders through me. Somehow, I manage to dial the emergency number and give them the address for the club. With a growing sadness in my heart, I take one last look at the couple who were so incredibly happy before Kentaro ruined it all.
Running in the direction of the bar, I dart down a hallway before shoving the door open to the manager’s office. I shoot inside, and when I shut it behind me, I suck in deep breaths of air.
“Mr. Tanaka?” the manager asks as he quickly rises to his feet to bow to me. “What can I–”
I point to the door. “Fight. People are injured.”
“Kuzo,” he curses, immediately rushing out of the office and leaving me alone.
I can’t believe that just happened.
Kentaro, you stupid bastard!
Chapter 4
Augusto
With rage burning in my veins, I stalk into the hospital in Tokyo, and while Enzo makes a beeline for Gianna, who bursts out in tears as she slams into his chest, I ask, “Where is Riccardo?”
“This way,” Gianna says, looking shaken up as she leads us to an elevator. “I’m so relieved you’re here.”
Enzo places his arm around his sister and presses a kiss to her temple as we climb into the elevator. Christiano couldn’t come and sent Enzo, who’s also his underboss, in his stead.
Raffaele and a team of guards stay out front so they can keep an eye on who comes and goes, while Lorenzo and two of his best men accompany us.
We step out on the fourth floor, and by the time we reach the private room Riccardo is in, I’m struggling to control my destructive emotions.
Every muscle in my body is coiled tightly, ready to attack. Stepping inside the room, my eyes instantly lock on my brother, where he’s lying in a bed with machines hooked up to him.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
A fresh wave of rage skyrockets through me, morphing into a monstrous need for revenge.
It took fifteen hours to get to Tokyo, during which I easily lost ten years of my life.
As I stop beside the bed, my baby brother opens his eyes, and seeing how weak he is from the gunshot he suffered to his chest has me seething with anger.
I clench my jaw as I lean over him, resting my one hand beside his head while I brush my other palm over his hair.
“Hey, Ricky.” I haven’t called him by his nickname since he finished school. I take in every inch of his face, his skin ghostly pale. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit,” he answers weakly, and it takes a brutal swing at my heart. “But I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
Knowing our parents are worried out of their minds, I take out my phone from the breast pocket of my suit jacket and FaceTime Mom.
The screen fills with our parents' faces, and Dad asks, “Are you with Riccardo?”
“Yes.” I turn the device so they can see him and hear Mom gasp before she bursts into tears.
“How are you doing, son?” Dad asks, his voice hoarse.
“I’m okay,” Riccardo replies, sounding a little stronger. “Don’t worry so much. Gianna is spoiling me with attention.”
“Augusto, you’ll deal with the Yakuza,” Dad orders.
I turn the screen so they can see me as I vow, “I’ll make them pay.”
“You do that.” Dad’s eyes lock with mine, and I read the unspoken words.
