From the look in his eyes, he’s thinking the same thing I am.
It’s the perfect chance for him to make me love him.
I’m so fucked.
“Father, this is Nikko.” I sigh. Yuki is already taking his bags upstairs, but my dad was waiting in the foyer.
His face is cold as he runs his eyes over Nikko. “You have a job, yes?”
“Yes, sir. I’m a boxer aiming for the championship,” Nikko responds respectfully.
“And you have no hidden wives, girlfriends, husbands, or children?” my dad asks.
“No, sir.” Nikko smiles. “Only your son.”
My dad crosses his arms. “Father—” I begin, but he holds up his hand, and I swallow my words. He doesn’t want me to question him in front of his guards. I know it bothers him when they look to me for answers anyway.
“You love my son?”
“Yes, sir,” Nikko answers without hesitation.
The atmosphere is tense for a moment, and then a wide smile stretches across his face. “Good boy, come here.” He drags Nikko into a hug and slaps his back. “Then welcome home. My house is yours. Welcome to the family, Nikko.”
“Father,” I admonish.
“I like him. He’s strong.” My dad looks at me. “Better than Faiz.”
“You loved Faiz,” I scoff.
“No, I was nice to him. Come on, Nikko. Do you play chess?” He leads him away as I gape.
I have a really bad feeling about this.
THIRTY-FOUR
“Zia, enough work!” his father yells from the head of the dining table. “Come eat.”
I spent most of my afternoon with his father, who, despite his imposing appearance and name, is so kind. We played chess, and then he told me stories of Zia’s childhood. He definitely interrogated me, but it was fun. He cares a lot about Zia.
“Father,” Zia greets before turning to his phone as he strides into the room. “Keep me updated.”
“Everything okay?” his father asks as Zia sits on his other side.
“Of course.” Zia places a napkin on his lap, so I copy him as I look at the multiple knives and forks in confusion. Why are there so many?
“Liar,” his father scoffs. “Son, I ran this business for?—”
“Forty years, I know.” Zia smiles as he takes his father’s wine away and pours him water, pushing that at him instead. “Now let me run it for you. This isn’t anything I can’t handle, but I promise if I get stuck, I will discuss it with you. Let’s eat. You were waiting for me, correct?”
His father reluctantly agrees, and Zia’s eyes land on me. “Did you take your medication?”
“I don’t need pain meds,” I grumble as I glance from the forks to him.
His eyes narrow and he lifts his hand, a guard hurrying his way. “Yes, sir?”
“Please bring me Nikko’s medication.”
“Yes, sir.” He rushes away.
