“I’m surprised you know the word,” Kenji says lightly as he guides us into the warehouse.
I can feel Miko’s tension behind me, his hand tucked inside his suit jacket, ready to pull his throwing knives at the first sign of trouble. I gesture to him subtly to keep his cool. Not that my adopted brother has ever been anything but level-headed. He’s the most disciplined person I know, cold and calculating even in the direst of circumstances, but he knows how much I hate the Tanaka-kai, and we both know how likely Kenji is to try something he shouldn’t.
“Which word, ‘brothers’?” I tease, knowing full well that’s not the one he’s picking out. “I have four of them already, so I would hope I understand the meaning by now.”
Kenji just huffs, his disdain poorly veiled by his placid expression, and I note with mild interest that his sister is far better at hiding her true feelings. Perhaps she would have made the betterOyabun, if women were allowed such positions of power in our world. But from what I understand, that’s as unlikely in the Japanese syndicate as it is in the Italian Mafia.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Kenji suggests, stopping short of his men who will take possession of the drugs we’re supposed to deliver.
“Considering we’re both here before the scheduled time, you’ll have to find some patience,brother,” I say, smiling to mask the animosity in my tone.
Kenji eyes me, his look haughty as his eyebrows twitch toward his hairline. “Typical. Chiaroscuro brothers coming unprepared and expecting the rest of the world to accommodate them.”
Beside me, Miko bristles, his shoulders tensing as his hackles rise. Again, I gesture for him to stand down and turn to faceKenji fully, tilting my chin as I look down on him from my superior height.
“In case you’ve forgotten, as of yesterday, I’ve come into possession of a very rareJapanese diamond. And I’m not above using her to put you in your place, Tanaka,” I say coolly, failing to maintain the pretense of civility.
Some emotion flickers across Kenji’s face more quickly than I can read, and then it’s gone, replaced by smug indifference. “You wouldn’t dare,” he states confidently.
Shrugging a shoulder, I glance toward the shipping doors where our trucks should be pulling in shortly. And as the silence stretches, I can feel Kenji start to squirm.
“By the way,” I say nonchalantly, “my family will be hosting a dinner for thecapo dei capiin the next month or so. Your sister will be the one planning the event. As part of our family now, you and your parents are invited to attend, of course,” I add. “I’m sure you’ll want to see what I have planned for the evening.”
Kenji’s jaw tenses at the thinly veiled threat, and his nostrils flare as he considers his best countermove. But before he can say a word, the sound of engines rumbles closer, and three semis appear, full of product.
15
SORA
If I had hoped familiarity with the Chiaroscuro family might help break the ice, I was sorely mistaken. During my first week as Leo’s wife, my expectations of my new life have plummeted—which is impressive, considering they were so low to begin with. While I don’t mind the responsibilities Don Augusta has passed on to me about running the household, I’ve never felt lonelier.
The don is a cold, unwelcoming sort who seems to consider women—or at least me—more of a servant who needs to be kept busy than an asset or member of the family. Not that I mind. It’s better than sitting around, waiting for Leo to give me some sign of affection. Which I now realize is never going to happen.
Leo’s brothers are fractionally more welcoming. So far, they ignore me for the most part, and as I sit in the library, where I’ve set up shop to take care of planning Leo’s succession dinner, I give a violent shiver when I think about the alternative. While meals are the only time my path really crosses with the twins, and Leo’s middle brother, Gio, seems inclined to keep to himself, I did have a very brief encounter with Miko on one of thefirst few days of living in my new home, and it still gives me goosebumps when I think about it.
I’d gone looking for Leo to ask him a question about the succession dinner I’ve been tasked with planning. But when I checked in their massive garage, I stumbled upon Miko working on a beautiful classic sports car. Dressed casually in a white wife beater and low-slung jeans, Miko had his tattoos with a devil motif on full display coloring every inch of his exposed arms and chest. He looked half wild, his dark curls in disarray, his muscles shining with sweat and smudged black with motor oil.
Something about Leo’s behemoth of an adopted brother has intimidated me from day one. Maybe it’s the cold calculation in his electric-blue eyes or the fact that he looks as deadly as I’ve heard he is with knives. Maybe it’s just his sheer size, since he towers over everyone, even Leo by several inches.
Whatever the reason for my instinctual intimidation, I hadn’t found the courage to speak to him directly before I saw him in the garage that day. I almost didn’t then, either, though it felt rude to leave without at least acknowledging him—despite the fact that he was doing an impressive job of ignoring me.
Biting my lip, I considered slipping away before he noticed. Then, without warning, he straightened, his hand slipping into the front pocket of his jeans, and with lightning speed, he turned, launching whatever he held in my direction.
I gasped, unable to react in any useful way, and I clapped my hands over my mouth to stop a full-on scream as I stared at the switchblade vibrating in the doorframe less than a foot from my face.
Miko grunted. “You were quiet enough, I thought you were Sandro,” was all he said.
“S–Sorry,” I stuttered, though why I should feel the need to apologize when he just threw a knife at me, I don’t know. “I was just looking for Leo. Do you know where he is?”
Giving me half a glance as he turned back to the inner workings of his car, Miko shook his head. “No.” That seemed to be the only response I would get.
“I’ll just… leave you to it, then,” I said breathlessly, retreating as quickly as I could.
Since that day, I haven’t been brave enough to even look Miko in the eye at breakfast.
Genevieve, Raf’s wife, seems to be the only one who’s willing to acknowledge my presence, and it’s nice to have one friendly female face in the bizarrely hostile house. She offered to help me with planning the dinner party, though she doesn’t seem to know the first thing about hosting such an event. But I’m grateful for the support—and the company.
Even Genevieve, though, seems hesitant to let her guard down completely around me.
