Masaki turned slowly, looking at the man who’d worked beside him for years. Izzy sat in one of two arm chairs facing Masaki’s desk. He was leaning back, legs extended, crossed at the ankles, feet propped up on top of Masaki’s large wooden desk. Izzy was comfortable, too comfortable. A fact that Masaki was noticing with greater frequency over the last few weeks.
Masaki walked over to the desk, sitting next to the spot where Izzy’s feet were resting. He took one long look at Izzy’s feet, and then set his gaze on Izzy. He said nothing, just watched and waited quietly. Masaki noted the moment fear and understanding took root in Izzy’s eyes. The man swallowed deep, as he quickly his feet from Masaki’s desk.
“It’s not your job to worry about how I look, Izzy. Your job is to do what I tell you. Now, do it. Set up the meet.”
Izzy nodded his head quickly and left the room. Masaki was certain an agreed upon time would be in the making. These bastards had better be grateful Oshun had come to him in the middle of this ugliness. Without her, he’d burn every inch of this neighborhood to the ground, and watch all his enemies die with the strike of a match.
Oshun’s presence granted this council leniency. She worked in a club that sat in the middle of where the action was happening. A shift in wind direction, and the club could have been set aflame and reduced to ash like the private homes on Mother Gaston Boulevard.
When he’d seen her at the site of the fire, his body went numb with worry. What if she had been walking by that block on her way to work? What if she’d been visiting with some of the residents over there when the fire began. She could’ve been burned, or worse, killed.
A dark weight sat in his belly, spreading dread throughout his system. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to this woman on his watch.
So, if working out a truce with the Brownsville Council made him seem weak, he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was the woman who’d slept in his bed every night this week
“Y ou sure about this, Oshun? I don’t trust these cats. What if they try something?” Oshun sat in the passenger seat of Aesop’s truck, and tried not to give his words too much weight. He was right. They could be walking into a trap. The Yakuza had demanded there be only four people at the meeting. The two leaders, and their seconds.
She knew agreeing to these terms left her vulnerable, but she couldn’t think about that right now. She’d moved in with a man she couldn’t completely trust until this bullshit was settled.
She’d told herself the best way to find out anything was if she was on the inside. She knew she was lying to herself even as she allowed those words to cross her thoughts. The truth was she could watch Masaki better from her current vantage point as cohabitant, but, if she were honest, she was there because being with him soothed her in a way she hadn’t experienced in quite a long time.
She’d opted out of dating a few years back, realizing there was no room for outsiders in her world. Being with her would only frustrate a man because she couldn’t share her life, or it could place him in danger because he shared ties with her. These decisions were exercises in frustration she just didn’t need, so she’d stuck to one-off hook-ups. A decision she could happily say worked very well for her until she encountered Masaki.
All her instincts told her entangling herself with him was a bad idea. But losing him, losing the way he always made her feel wasn’t something she was ready to do.
Growing up as the daughter of a gangster, being taught from the very beginning that you did what was necessary to get what you needed and wanted, she knew she didn’t deserve the kind of attention and affection Masaki bestowed on her. When your hands were covered in blood, when you had no qualms with taking a life, or indulging in the underworld as a means of survival, you didn’t deserve the kindness Masaki covered her with.
She knew she didn’t deserve it. But, she wasn’t about to let it slip through her fingers either. She was selfish, but that was nothing new. She wouldn’t apologize for it either.
Instead, she’d move forward with this treaty between the two factions. Hopefully, it would bring this pending war to an end, and her people, as well as her heart would be safe from the threat currently looming over their heads.
“I know that, ‘Sop.” She rubbed her hand at the base of her neck, attempting to rid it of the tension building as they neared the meeting spot on Linden Boulevard and Seventy-Eight Street.
“The diner has always been neutral ground, but there’s only one way in and out of it. I don’t know if I like it.”
It was true. The diner at the end of Linden had always been considered a hands-off place. You could eat and drink with your crew, but no hustling could take place on the premises. Most factions adhered to that. Unfortunately, the Yakuza hadn’t been in the area long enough for her to determine if they’d play by the established rules or not.
Aesop slowed down, pulling into the dim parking lot of the diner. She opened her door, and walked around to where Aesop stood on the driver’s side.
“‘Sop, we don’t have time to worry about all that.”
She grabbed the handle of her gun making sure it was secure in the holster attached to the back of her pants. Satisfied it was fastened, she pulled down the loose shirt she wore to cover the metal bulge.
“You got your piece. I got mine. If some shit pops off, we handle it, just like we always do. You and I have tamed this land. Ain’t no way we can’t get this newbie on the scene under control. You wit’ me?”
Aesop nodded his head and lead the way up the few steps to the diner. To anyone on the outside looking in, Aesop appeared to be an inconsiderate fuck walking ahead of his girl. In reality, he was clearing a path for her, making certain no harm met her before it met him.
When he was reasonably certain the walkway didn’t possess an ambush, he opened the door, stepped through it, and then held it open for her to do the same. Once inside, he followed the hostess to the private room in the back, and Oshun kept pace behind him.
Once inside the private dining room, she continued to stand behind Aesop. When he deemed it safe, she’d step from behind him and walk to their target.
An Asian man, a head shorter than Aesop, stood in front of her companion and talked for a brief moment. Aesop turned around, still crowding her in the small doorway and pointed to her.
“Oshun, this is Izzy. Izzy, Oshun.”
The man wore dark shades inside the dimly lit room. She wondered if he could even see out of those sunglasses. He dipped his head in acknowledgement of the introduction before turning his back to them. He beckoned them with a curled finger.
He walked them through another door, toward a table in the back of the room. When they finally came to a halt, the human wall Izzy and Aesop created in front of her parted, and allowed her to lay eyes on the lone man sitting at the table.
