Grinding my teeth, I shove the doors open to my suite, imagining they’re my father, who I desperately wanted to lash out at in that moment. But I didn’t, and now I have to live with the consequences.
I can feel the constraints of my family obligations tightening around me, steering me down my path in life once more. For one blissful night, I could pretend I was someone else, a man who had just claimed the most precious prize in the world.
But in the cold light of day, Sora is just one more puppet on a string—and I’m the puppeteer who’s expected to make her dance.
Sora hasn’t returned to our apartments by the time I’m ready to leave fifteen minutes later. I don’t particularly want to stick around to gauge her reaction to my earlier statement. So I head down to the home gym where I know I’ll find Miko and Sandro sparring. It’s part of their daily routine—and the reason Sandro has become one of the most lethal fighters in the Irish bare-knuckle fighting pits. Miko knows his stuff when it comes to close combat.
“Miko,” I bark as I shove the doors open, stalking into the open gym that occupies a good three thousand square feet of the basement.
The wrestling mats squeak under my dress shoes as I tread across them on my way toward the ring. Miko stops the session immediately, dropping his guard because he’s been trained to follow every command I give, but Sandro’s a violent bastard whodoesn’t know how to hold back, and before Miko can get his hands back up, Sandro’s fist connects with our brother’s jaw.
“Sandro!” I snap, a twinge of remorse twisting inside me because I know it’s my fault, even if I wasn’t expecting that to happen.
But Miko’s laughing as he wipes the split in his lip. “Solid hit,” he commends, fist bumping Sandro as our younger brother lowers his hands.
“Suit up. We’re heading out,” I command Miko.
“Already? I thought you said you were making it a late morning.”
“I changed my mind. Now, get out of the ring and let’s go.”
Sandro goes for a towel, wiping the sweat from his brow as Miko spreads the ropes and drops to the ground.
“Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’ll be ready in ten.”
“I’ll be in the car. We’re taking the Corvette.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” Miko says with a smirk because he knows it drives me crazy when he calls me that.
It’s fifteen minutes by the time he opens the passenger side door and grudgingly folds his massive frame into the seat beside me. He hates it when he doesn’t get to drive, but I need to let off some steam.
“You said ten,” I gripe, throwing the car into gear and spraying gravel across the front steps of our home as I fishtail on our way up the drive.
“What the hell did the don say to you?” Miko asks. “You’ve been a total dick since you came into breakfast.”
“If you were supposed to know, he would have let you stay for it,” I state flatly, glaring down the stretch of road as we head toward the abandoned warehouse district at the south end of Chicago’s city limits.
A long pause stretches between us before Miko speaks again. “Fine. What’s the plan with Kenji? You banking on him actually cooperating today?”
“Not a chance, but let me handle it. Until he starts something, we’re going to pretend this alliance is miraculously going to solve the problem.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Miko’s nod, and again we fall silent as I glance in the rearview mirror. Three of our cars tail me, ensuring we won’t be on our own if things go south. Which they shouldn’t. Today is all about testing out our new chain of communication in a trade route that’s supposed to run drugs from our connections to the south with Tanaka-kai allies in New York. If things go smoothly, my father anticipates a lucrative source of revenue, considering those allies to the north have a solid connection across the Canadian border as well.
Of course, that depends on whether Kenji is willing to play nice, and while my father harbors the delusion that Tatsuo still has a grip on his son, I’m fairly confident Kenji is of the mind that he can do whatever he damn well pleases.
Today, we’ll find out who’s right.
Of course, after our conversation this morning, I’m hoping my father might be for once. Because if he’s not, then the clear expectation is that I’ll leverage Kenji’s cooperation using Sora if I have to. And after last night, I’m less inclined to do that than I ever have been.
“Kenji,” I greet as soon as I step out of the car—because he’s already here waiting, even though we’re nearly a half hour ahead of the agreed-upon delivery time. After closing the top button of my suit jacket, I spread my arms in a gesture of welcome and look around at the bland front to the warehouse he picked out for the delivery. “I’m honored you would show up personally for our first run.”
“Chiaroscuro-san,” he says, rubbing the more formal address in my face like I don’t know that he’s implying I’m disrespectful for not doing the same to him. “I only wanted to make sure you’re treated like theesteemedbusiness partner you are to us,” he says, his eyes narrowing as his lips curve into a mocking smile.
“Please, call me Leo. We’re brothers now, after all,” I say, taking his hand and slapping his shoulder. “I’ll be offended if you don’t.”
Our world is a game of chess, with layers upon layers of code and unspoken communication that means more to us than it would to the everyday world. An insult in the Mafia world could end a man’s life in an instant. A simple miscommunication could spark a war. And with Kenji, I know he’s just looking for an excuse to take me on. He’s been looking for one since the day he took his throne. It’s how he intends to cut his teeth and prove his grip on Chicago is as powerful as ours. Only, I have a family backing my hold, a claim we’ve had on the city for generations.
His father made the Yakuza name known in Chicago, but Kenji’s too cocky to recognize what he’s up against, too thirsty for blood to see he’s in over his head. I suspect that’s why Tatsuo stepped in to broker an alliance with us using Sora.
