But the doors to our apartment are already open when I reach them, and I step inside, frowning. She never leaves them open, and I know I didn’t when I left. The room is quiet, still.
“Sora?” I call, heading into the bedroom.
The bed is empty, the sheets rumpled from our passionate night together, and my chest swells to think of Sora and me wrapped up in each other’s arms, the intimacy after confessing our love.
I can’t wait to start a life with her—a new one, away from all the deception and lies, the blood and violence.
We’ve never talked about something so drastic as leaving Chicago altogether, but I know Sora.
She might be loyal to her family, but she doesn’t want this life any more than I do.
I make a quick sweep of the rooms, just to confirm Sora’s not here, then head toward the breakfast room.
The house is empty, my brothers likely going about their business for the day, the staff invisible as they perform their tasks. Entering the dining area, I find it vacant too.
Where the hell is she?
My impatience is entirely due to the restless energy building inside me as my desire to leave this hellhole behind continues to grow.
Finally, I cross paths with Alfonzo and stop him.
“Have you seen Sora today?”
“The signora left not long ago,” he says, his graying eyebrows rising as he glances toward the front door.
“Left? Where did she go?” Sora rarely leaves the house—and never without telling me.
“I… believe to visit her parents, Signore,” Alfonzo answers, his voice halting. “She called for a car.”
My heart sinks. But I can hardly fault her for wanting to see them.
After yesterday, Sora likely wants to show her family that she’s okay—maybe not Kenji, but her parents.
I was not entirely cordial about the way I sent them away, refusing to let them come into the yacht’s bedroom in case they might wake her.
“Thank you, Alfonzo,” I say, and with a nod, I turn away. I’m surprised by Sora’s spontaneous plans, but I don’t want to get in her way.
I’ll just have to wait.
We can talk about it when she gets home, but I need to tell somebody—and Miko’s the first person who comes to mind.
I take a sharp left and head toward the stairs that lead to Miko’s wing of the house.
I find him halfway down the hallway, wearing his usual crisp black suit, his eyes on his phone as he reads something and walks.
I know tucked beneath his jacket are at least four different knives, another two strapped to his ankles and a gun holstered near his chest.
That’s Miko for you, always ready for a fight—and still, he looks dressed to impress, like our father taught us.
Before I can say anything, Miko’s eyes flash up to meet mine, and his eyebrows lift.
I don’t normally come looking for my brother.
Usually, it’s the other way around—usually because the don has tasked Miko with wrangling me so he can give me a lecture.
“You lost, Brother?” he teases, slipping his phone into his pocket as he closes the distance between us.
I snort. “Hardly. For the first time, I feel like I’ve found myself. But I can’t find Sora, and I needed to tell somebody, so you’re my lucky number two.”
