We might need the strength and numbers the Irish could provide, but they are the same family that helped the Tanakas take us down.
And while I would never have gone so far as to call them our allies before, they had always maintained something of a friendly rivalry with our family—until the day they decided to switch sides.
The Yakuza offered them a bigger slice of the pie, and they took it.
And while the Murrays were more responsible for the destruction to our property than taking Chiaroscuro lives—a slight I might have forgiven if my father and wife hadn’t been murdered because of it—that doesn’t change the fact that they turned the tides on how thoroughly the Tanakas crushed our family that day.
We’ve heard rumors that the Murrays might have started to regret their alliance, that Kenji refused to give them the territory they were promised—and now my brothers and I have been reclaiming it inch by painful inch.
But when we tried to put the past behind us, to offer a white flag of truce even though they’re the ones who wronged us, they all but kicked us to the curb.
Sandro and I have approached the Irish numerous times—on their turf—in an attempt to feel out whether the Murrays might switch sides once more.
But we’d been turned away every time.
Now they’re here? What’s changed?
I roll my shoulders to chase off the tension. “This should be fun.”
Miko shoots me a look. “Don’t.”
“What? I’ll be polite.”
“You’ll provoke them,” he mutters.
He’s not wrong. There’s a fine line between sarcasm and violence, and I walk it daily.
By the time the Murrays’ convoy stops at the gates, our men have lined the perimeter, weapons drawn but restrained.
A few of the guards look to me for orders.
I nod once. “Let them in.”
Miko scowls. “You really think that’s wise?”
“They didn’t come blasting through the gates like last time,” I point out. “That means they want something more than violence. I say we hear them out.” I meet Sandro’s gaze, knowing this is the outcome he’s been banking on for months.
He rewards me with another rare smile.
“Send them to the war room, will you?”
“With pleasure,” he agrees.
I turn to go. I need a few minutes to prepare myself for the conversation that’s to come, but before I do, Miko grasps my shoulder.
“I’ll stay close, ready if they try anything.”
It’s as close as my older brother will get to an open display of affection, but I know his instinct to protect comes from an unshakeable love and loyalty that this year has tested beyond reasonable limits.
And I’m grateful for him.
He might not be my brother by blood, but Miko is the one I’ve always looked up to, always relied on.
And I need his support, his steadfast presence.
With a single nod of gratitude, I cross the grand foyer, or what’s left of it.
Half the room’s been restored—the marble staircase polished, the banisters reattached—but the burn marks on the ceiling are still visible.
