A chill rolled through Reiko at his words.Nasty part.
How did that not verify all on its own that her father had tried tricking her into walking into a death trap? A literal assassination plot.
She still didn’t understand why. Why the silence wasn’t good enough anymore. Why he couldn’t forget what he claimed to despise so deeply.
“Be efficient,” Santino said, his grip tightening.
“This is ludicrous!” Osamu finally bellowed. “A phone call proves nothing!”
Sticky Fingers laughed, the sound almost cackling through the line. “Oh, shit. Is the old samurai-wannabe dude there with you?” He took a breath. “Okay, so, Monday, like,late, I met up with these two guys—Japanese, I guess. The old one dressed like some warlord from one of those D-Grade movies. Anyway, Old Guy barely made a sound. Just stared me down the whole time like he wassomebodyand made his son do all the talkin’. Handed me half the cash up-front, with extra so I could pay for what they were askin’. Like props. I had to fuckin’ rent aTown Car, wear a goddamn monkey suit like somebody’s already dead, and act like I drove it for a living. They gave me a burner and promised to text instructions once I got the shit.
“So, this mornin’, I got the shit, and I was told to come pick up the target. Some lady who looks kinda like them, but what thefuck do I know? My job was to drive her out east, make it like I was some hosier tryin’ ta get back at my boss, and put one in her head. He wanted pics, you know, for proof. Then I was to toss her in the river with whatever she’d brought with her. Return the car clean, get paid, walk off. That was it, I fuckin’ swear.”
Reiko’s head was spinning by the time Sticky Fingers finally stopped talking.
It was true. Her weird, inexplicable fear had been valid. Her father had taken an actual hit out on her … the very day she’d lost her job. The anniversary of her mother’s death.
Santino’s hand dragged down to her hip—her scarred hip—as his voice broke the resulting silence. “Marco. Put our sticky-fingered friend in touch with Freddie, make sure Freddie knows I expect my promise to be honored.”
“Yes, Boss,” Marco’s voice replied.
Santino dropped his phone into his pocket and let out a heavy exhale. “Well, Pops—”
Osamu punched the side of his fist against his desktop. “Your insolence goes too far, Guerra! This is my office. How dare you speak to me in such a manner, accuse me of such a crime, or bringthat”—his fist swung outward, one finger extended, toward Reiko—“into my presence!”
The harsh words spurred Reiko like the bite of a switch across her flesh. She broke from Santino’s strong and comforting embrace, marched entirely around the desk, and smacked her open palm across her wide-eyed father’s face with all the pent-up fury in her broken heart.
Chapter twelve
Another Man’s Treasure
It was the slapthat killed him. Gutted him like a fucking fish on a board.
Because it told Santino all he needed to know about the emotions coursing like poison beneath her skin. The fact that she’d reacted with outward aggression, when it was so againsther nature that she’d once taken a knife to her own body instead, screamed loud and clear how much Osamu’s and Hiroto’s actions had hurt her.
For a brief moment, Santino regretted having made that call and giving the gangster a platform to speak from. He hated that she’d heard it. But that had been the most expedient way to learn what he needed, and like it or not, the punk was too invested in his own self-interest to make a stand against the Guerras. Which meant Santino believed his tale.
Reiko took a half-step back, her arm retracted and held defensively in front of her chest. “Why?” Her question was barely a whisper, but it landed all the same.
Like an anvil.
Osamu lowered the arm he’d raised to his face, his hand clenching into a shaking fist. He opened his mouth, spewing something in Japanese that Santino needed no translator to understand. There was only hate in that voice.
Santino moved forward, his chest burning.
Reiko’s arm lowered to curve around her middle, but she held her head steady. “Tell me why!”
Hiroto opened his mouth, the outrage in his eyes assuring he was prepared to tell her off, but he hadn’t been paying attention. All he managed to do choke out a half-formed syllable as Santino’s hand closed tightly around his throat.
There was a desk between Santino and Osamu, Santino and Reiko, but not between Santino and Hiroto. And Reiko had been absolutely right. Hiroto was Osamu’s pride and fucking joy. His weakness.
Santino squeezed until he could feel Hiroto’s Adam’s Apple straining against his fingers, the muscles in Hiroto’s throat desperately fighting for relief. He didn’t have it in him to bother with the fake grin when Osamu’s head whipped around and theireyes clashed. “Answer her question, Pops. She asks much nicer than I do.”
Osamu’s nostrils flared, his stare snapping rapidly between Hiroto and Santino.
So fucking predictable.Santino looked past him. “Back to me, beautiful.” Her show of backbone had been splendid, if not devastating, but leaving her in harm’s way was not an option.
Reiko, thankfully, didn’t seem inclined to linger in her father’s bubble. She moved almost before the command was past his lips and long before Osamu had spun to try and grab hold of her. When she noticed his intent, she picked up the pace.
