He tilts his head, his voice carrying effortlessly as he scans the room, seeming to track and identify each of the brothers in turn. “Word travels fast, my friends. A new Don, an official alliance with the Russians, enough men to reclaim your old dump of a home. How impressive. But some of us remember who you used to be. Bloodthirsty tyrants who can’t play nice—or maybe just never wanted to.”
“Get him out of here,” Miko orders one of the guards, but Kenji only laughs.
“Shoot me, and you’ll start a war you can’t win.” He gestures to the men flanking him. “Did you forget that I didn’t come alone? And if I’m not mistaken, you made your guests leave their weapons at the door, which means… you’re outnumbered.”
Sandro’s grip tightens around my wrist as he keeps me tucked close behind the column. “Stay put,” he whispers.
Immediately, I have to resist the urge to disobey as he takes a stealthy step toward the open doorway. But I know I’ll only get in the way if I follow him.
Inside the ballroom, Raf strides forward. Calm. Regal. Dangerous. “You’ve already started a war, Kenji,” he says. “What did youthinkyou would be doing, walking into my home armed?”
Kenji’s smirk widens. “Then let it be declared.”
For a heartbeat, no one moves. The night holds its breath.
Then Kenji speaks again, his tone shifting from mockery to ice. “Anyone who backs the Chiaroscuros will die. You side with them, and you sign your death warrant.”
I hear the click of a safety disengaging, and my pulse slams against my throat.
Kenji’s one-eyed gaze locks on Raf, the malice in it turning my skin to ice. “Starting with your precious new Don.”
Time slows as I catch the gleam of metal beneath the chandelier light.
His arm rises.
Miko’s eyes widen.
“Raf!” Sandro shouts, lunging forward as he abandons any effort to be subtle.
The world tilts into silence as Kenji Tanaka levels his gun—and pulls the trigger.
27
SANDRO
The gunshot rips through the night like the sky itself is tearing open. The echo of it vibrates through my bones, turning my speed into molasses as I watch Miko launch himself at Raf, tackling him like a linebacker.
But as my twin topples backward, a stunned expression on his face, flecks of blood spray across Anika’s dress like splatter paint. And I know. As quick as his reflexes are, Miko didn’t make it in time. Raf’s been hit.
No.
Instinct slams back in, hard and merciless, and I vault over one of the terrace’s decorative pots and into the ballroom, cutting through the chaos as guests scatter like frightened birds. Glass shatters, chairs topple as a horrified scream pierces the night, turning my blood to ice. Confirming what I don’t want to believe.
Raf’s dead.
My twin is gone. It feels like the larger portion of my soul is ripped from my body, leaving a gaping hollowness that threatensto transform into a black hole and consume every living, breathing thing.
I was too late. Too far away. Too distracted to protect my brother like I vowed I would. Protecting Raf was my job. Protecting all of them—that’s what I’m good at. That’s what I was built for. And I wasn’t where I should’ve been. I was in the shadows, with my wife’s lips on mine, chasing something selfish while my brother stood in the line of fire.
The guilt tastes like blood as it crushes the air from my lungs.
Then fury and violence turn my vision red, burning away all other emotions. Gun in hand, I shift trajectory, changing direction from my beeline toward my brother to the man responsible for his death.
This is no longer a rescue mission.
I’m coming for blood.
I spot Kenji Tanaka instantly—the bastard is impossible to miss. His left eye might be covered with a black patch, his face gaunt and pale, as if his recovery from a bullet to the head was anything but smooth sailing. Still, even across the crowded room, he’s unmistakable. That smirk. That posture. The arrogant tilt of his jaw that marks him as a man who’s walked through hell and made friends with the devil himself.
