He’s supposed to be dead.
Raf shot him months ago. I saw it myself—Kenji bleeding out, his men dragging his body into the night. But of course, a cockroach like Kenji doesn’t die that easy. Of course not. We’ve tried to kill him twice now. This time, I’m going to do it with mybare hands. I want to see the life leave his eyes as I wring his neck.
I hardly notice the chaos around me.
The remaining Chiaroscuro guards were slow to react at first, caught off guard by the sudden violence in a night that had been filled with revelry mere moments ago. But now they jump into action, drawing their weapons as they flood in from the terrace and the far corners of the house to engage the enemy.
Kenji’s Yakuza foot soldiers spread out in response, forming a rough half circle around their leader. And positioning themselves perfectly for me to pick them off. I don’t bother slowing as I raise my gun, pulling the trigger as soon as a target falls into my sights.
The crowd shrieks. Somewhere, heavy glass comes crashing down—a chandelier maybe—shattering with a jarring sound. And I keep shooting, dropping the bastards who will pay for what I’ve lost.
Breath burning, rage clawing its way up my throat, I fire until I’m out of bullets. Then I toss my gun aside as my eyes narrow on my final target. Kenji lowers his gun again, aiming—too casual, too confident—and something inside me snaps. There’s no strategy left. No hesitation. Just murderous, animalistic rage driven by instinct.
“Kenji!” I roar his name, the sound torn out of my chest, and I lunge forward.
He turns, startled, but his remaining men move to intercept me.
I don’t think. I don’t need to.
Years of training, of street fights and back-alley brawls, flood my body like muscle memory.
The first one swings, and I catch his wrist, twist hard, and hear the weapon drop. The next rushes me, and I drive my shoulder into his chest. The rest is a blur of motion and sound—fists meeting flesh, grunts, the heavy thud of bodies hitting marble. I don’t see faces anymore. Only threats.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Evi shout my name, but I shut it out.She better bloody well be hiding still.I can’t afford distraction. Not when Kenji’s still standing.
He watches me cut through his men, expression flickering from amusement to something that almost looks like disbelief. Then fear.
Good.
One of his guards drops a weapon—not a gun, but a ceremonial blade, the kind the Yakuza carry like a second soul. It skitters across the floor, and I grab it without breaking stride. The handle is smooth, carved bone. The blade sings when it slices the air—and buries itself in the chest of Kenji’s last remaining guard that stands between us.
Kenji takes a step back as his guard drops like a stone.
“You always were the wild one, Sandro,” he says, his accent curling the words like smoke. “No sense of discipline.”
“Discipline’s overrated.”
He smirks, but it’s weaker now as his gaze darts around the room, gauging distance, options, exits.
The crowd’s scattering in every direction, guests ducking for cover and fleeing for the door as our security finally breaks through Kenji’s line, gaining the upper hand. Somewhere, I hear Leo shouting orders, Gio barking for the guards to seal the gate.
But all I see is Kenji.
“You came to the wrong house,” I tell him, voice low and lethal.
“I came to remind your family that alliances have consequences.”
“Funny. When you’re the one who broke our alliance in the first place.”
For a split second, our gazes lock—the unspoken promise of what comes next—then one of Kenji’s men yells something in Japanese, and his composure cracks. He must realize he’s outnumbered. Or maybe he just realizes that I won’t stop until one of us is gone.
Cursing under his breath, he backs toward the entryway. “We’re done here.”
“Not until you’re dead.”
But my approach is cut short as he gives a sharp gesture, barking a retreat, and my clear path is flooded with fleeing Yakuza. His men move fast, grabbing the wounded as they cover Kenji’s exit. The air fills with the sound of running feet, shouts, the grind of tires outside as their vehicles pull away.
And just like that, they’re gone.
