"Perfect timing!" Aunt Akiko beamed, gesturing toward the table. "Everything's ready. Leo-kun, help me set the table while our guests wash up."
The domesticity of it all—setting the table while three alphas who had spent the previous night blackmailing me washed up in our kitchen sink—felt surreal, like I'd stumbled into some bizarre alternate reality where predators were welcome at the family table.
By the time we all sat down, Aunt Akiko had arranged place settings with the care of someone hosting honored guests rather than manipulative blackmailers. She'd even put out food bowls for Apollo and Zeus on the back porch, shooing them outside with firm instructions not to beg at the table.
"No dogs inside during meals," she reminded them as they gave her their best sad eyes. "House rules."
I found myself sandwiched between Stefano and Marco, with Matteo directly across from me, his amber eyes cataloging my every movement with that unnerving intensity. Uncle Jiro and Aunt Akiko sat at either end of the table, completely oblivious to the current of tension running beneath the surface of this seemingly pleasant family lunch.
"Your garden is coming along beautifully," Stefano said as Aunt Akiko served the pasta dish Marco had prepared. "Those heirloom tomato varieties are particularly impressive. I've never seen that cultivar before."
"Leo's mother started them," Uncle Jiro explained with obvious pride. "Grace had quite the green thumb. Said plants responded to love and attention just like people do."
"Some things definitely respond well to the right kind of attention," Stefano agreed, his hand landing on my thigh under the table with casual possession. "Proper handling makes all the difference in coaxing out the best response."
I nearly choked on my water, shooting him a glare that should have reduced him to ashes. His fingers squeezed gently, the pressure both warning and promise.
"How's your finger, Leo-kun?" Aunt Akiko asked, noticing my bandaged digit. "Marco-san did a nice job with the bandaging."
"It's fine," I said stiffly, trying to ignore how Stefano's thumb was now tracing small circles on my inner thigh. "Barely a scratch."
"You should have seen how quickly Stefano responded," Uncle Jiro said with admiration. "Like he was expecting it to happen. Very impressive reflexes."
Because he caused it to happen,I thought bitterly.By making me jerk away from his inappropriate touching.
"We're trained to anticipate problems before they arise," Matteo explained, his quiet voice drawing everyone's attention. "Prevention is always preferable to reaction."
Marco nodded in agreement. "Though sometimes reaction is necessary when someone is being particularly stubborn about accepting protection."
The double meaning hung in the air, obvious to me but sailing completely over my guardians' heads.
Uncle Jiro studied the three alphas with newfound interest, his weathered brow furrowing slightly. "You know, for security personnel, you three carry yourselves very differently than I would expect. More like…"
"More like what?" Stefano prompted when he trailed off.
"Well, more like the men I used to see around Yamamoto-san's business associates," Uncle Jiro said carefully. "The ones who didn't need to show their strength because everyone already knew what they were capable of."
A chill ran down my spine at Uncle Jiro's unexpected perceptiveness. He'd spent enough time on the fringes of the yakuza world to recognize predators when he saw them, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what made these three different from normal security personnel.
"Listen to your instincts, Uncle Jiro," I said quietly. "They're not wrong."
Instead of being offended, Stefano actually smiled at my comment, inclining his head slightly as if I'd paid him a compliment. "Jiro has excellent intuition. The mark of someone who has seen much in his lifetime."
"We grew up in that world," Aunt Akiko said with a small sigh. "Not by choice but by birth. Once you're born into it, there's no real escape." She glanced at me with unexpected sadness. "Just like poor Leo-kun. Such a difficult birth, and then to lose his mother so young… Sometimes I think the Yamamoto name brings more burden than blessing."
The sudden reference to my birth—to the circumstances that had shaped my entire existence—hit like a physical blow. The pity in her voice, the way they were all looking at me now, made something hot and painful twist in my chest.
"I'm not feeling well," I announced abruptly, pushing back from the table. "I think I need to lie down."
"Leo-kun—" Aunt Akiko began, concern washing over her features.
"It's fine," I insisted, already backing toward the door. "Just a headache. Too much sun in the garden. I just need some quiet."
I fled before anyone could stop me, retreating to my room like a wounded animal seeking a dark corner to lick its wounds. The quiet of my personal space should have been comforting, but today it felt like just another cage, another illusion of safety that could be violated at any moment.
For hours, I paced my room, alternating between panic, rage, and a bone-deep resignation that made my chest ache. The clock on my bedside table seemed to be racing toward evening, each passing minute bringing me closer to the ten o'clock deadline.
What would happen if I didn't go? The videos would reach my father, certainly. My already limited freedom would be further restricted, or worse—I'd be married off to some yakuza ally who wouldn't care that I came damaged, just that I could cement a business alliance with my body.
