Talk about being sold off like chattel.
Today, I’ve become little more than livestock, only good for breeding or slaughter.
A token of goodwill meant to pacify their bloodlust.
When Kenji turned eighteen, he was gifted my father’s legacy—his entire Yakuza empire along with all the men and territory that fall under it.
A week after my eighteenth birthday, I was informed I would be marrying Leonardo Chiaroscuro, a renowned playboy who is not only fourteen years older than me but who just so happens to be heir to the most brutal, cut-throat Mafia in Chicago.
I’m being sold to the family we’ve been feuding with for longer than I’ve been alive.
What could possibly go wrong? It’s not like my father is knowingly sending me into the lion’s den, right? No doubt, he’s only looking out for my best interests.
I have to bite back a snort at the cynical thoughts that flood my head as we enter my bedroom.
Slumping into my vanity chair, I release a heavy sigh, allowing my maid to drag the long needle from my tresses and start over.
“Don’t pout, Sora,” my mother says as she looks in the mirror to double-check her own flawless updo.
“I don’t see why I can’t wallow until they get here,” I state crisply. “If I’m going to marry against my will, shouldn’t I at least have the freedom to express my feelings behind closed doors?”
“You’re being selfish. This is for the good of the family. Your father and I don’t like it any better than you do, but you need to trust that he has the bigger picture in mind. You should be grateful for the opportunity to support your family’s survival in such a critical way.”
Pressing my lips together, I glance up to meet my mother’s gaze in the mirror.
She’s stunning, even in her forties, her skin flawless, her dark eyes clear and framed by thick lashes.
Her midnight-black hair falls nearly to her waist when she lets it down, and even if she didn’t paint her face, she would be a natural beauty, but her makeup is a work of art in and of itself.
People tell me I’ve been blessed with my mother’s good looks, but I can’t say I agree.
They feel more like a curse to me.
If I were more common, I doubt my father could sell me off so easily.
Shifting my gaze back to my own face, I feel a ball of lead sinking in my stomach.
They did a beautiful job on my makeup, with a dewy foundation and peach-hewed shimmer eyeshadow, a dramatic cat-eye liner, and soft pink blush to match my lip gloss.
All to make me look naturally radiant and call attention to my assets.
But my lips feel sticky with the shiny gloss, and the fake lashes make my eyes burn, so I have to fight the urge to blink repetitively.
My maid switches out mykanzashifor a more decorative comb.
She leaves a few strands loose near my temples before pulling the rest into a thick braided bun that she rolls into a knot at the back of my head and pins in place with the floral red-and-gold ornament.
Then she curls the wisps around my face, taming them with enough product that they’ll last for longer than an hour.
“The barbarians—excuse me—I mean, your future husband and our honored guests have arrived,” Kenji says from the doorway,his subtle smirk silently saying that he thinks I have as good a chance of surviving this union as I do.
One point we can actually agree upon, though my brother would never speak up in my defense or try to persuade my father to change his mind, even so.
“You both had better behave yourselves today,” our mother warns, looking sharply between us. “We need this alliance to ensure the Tanaka name survives. With our numbers waning, we can’t continue to sit by and do nothing. That’s why we have to go through with this. Understood?”
It’s the first time my mother has spoken so openly about our situation.
I knew my father was struggling to recruit enough men to compensate for the losses we’ve been sustaining.
