“So the Russians attacking the Italians, forcing them to retreat into our protected spaces, helps you narrow it down?” My father always kept me carefully away from the details of the business, but that would not happen again. I needed to understand how everything connected, how each Family would react, and who our enemies were. Wynn taught me to expect my opponent’s next move, and I would try to do just that.
“Yes, it’ll give us a better list of where to look,” Ciel replied. “If we can track the comings and goings of the Italians as they respond, see where they retreat or where they hit next, I think they’ll lead us to him.”
There had to be something that I could do. Some knowledge that Dad gave me, even subconsciously, that I could use to track Cas down. The Vero Family infrastructure was extensive. I’d seen much of it, even if I didn’t know all the details.
“Let me help you,” I said, lifting my chin. Max might have pulled the wool over my eyes for years, and I might have been treated like a spoiled princess even longer, but I still had eyes. I still had ears. I had seen and heard plenty in my life as the Don’s daughter. There had to besomethingI knew that could help.
He looked between me and Wynn. A strange look passed over his face as he took a measured breath. “Come upstairs, and I’ll catch you up on what I need.”
28
RYUJI
The scotch burned so good on the way down.
The accommodations might be smaller than I preferred, but the chartered flight from Tokyo to New York could have been worse.
I leaned back in my chair, holding the glass between both hands and crossing my feet at the ankles.
Going backhomewas always bittersweet. I loved Japan. The buzz of Tokyo. The beaches of Okinawa. The mountains of Hokkaido. The land of the sun had everything one could need—but it would never be my true home again.
My oldoyabunhad made sure of that.
New York was home now. It had been a few weeks since I’d been back, and I was slightly surprised that I missed it. I had some…thingsto take care of at the behest of the Yakuza. But Obi ensured we got paid well, and eighty percent landed directly in my bank account.
I absentmindedly ran my hand over the scars on my stomach, hidden beneath two layers of designer suit.
Japan was the prison of my past. New York was my future. The Shadows were my freedom.
I got to choose my jobs. I got paid well. I got to invest my money where I saw fit. It was enough. For now.
Speaking of which, my thumb flicked up on the screen of my phone, and I navigated to the custom and highly secure app Ciel had made to check on the status of all my nightclubs. I owned four across New York so far, but I had my eyes on two more properties in Los Angeles I should be able to add to my portfolio by the end of the year.
All the numbers were up. Nightly sales were increasing. The average order value was high. Expenses rose slightly, but that was to be expected if we were selling more. Each general manager had sent daily reports, and I quickly skimmed through them. One note from the GM of my favorite club caught my eye.
We’re noticing an increase in the number of Italians.Two nights ago, there was a scuffle with a small group of Russians. No bloodshed but plenty of promises of violence. Will keep you posted.
I took another sip of my drink, resolving to nip that mess in the bud as soon as I got home. None of the New York underworld knew Ryuji of the Shadows owned that club, but it was known to be neutral ground. It belonged to no one’s territory—well, besides mine—so it was viewed as a safe space for all number of criminals. I couldn’t have some underlings fucking that up and makingmyclub a battleground. Bloodshed was terrible for business.
I shot off a quick message to Ciel to ask him to start tracking any troublemakers coming to or from the club. They might need a morepersonaltouch to settle down and keep their shit out of my club.
Besides that, everything looked fine since I had last checked in, with a hefty deposit landing in my account just the day before. Business was good.
Oh, it would feel good to get back to my bed and sleep without one eye open. Plus, the gym and I had a date. Wynn owed me a rematch for that last sparring match where the dickhead had pulled one over on me and used a dirty move to take me down.
Wynn always had the upper hand on the mat in any grappling. But he could never beat me with a sniper rifle or a throwing knife. Just like I could never outmaneuver Ciel on a computer, or Ciel couldn’t outthink Obi with ammunition or strategy. We all had our strengths, our specialties. Maybe next time, I’d challenge Wynn to meet me at the range instead of the gym. Get him back for that last match.
My phone chimed with a message from Ciel.
Ciel: There’s war between Italians and Russians. Keep the clubs on high alert.
He included a quick explanation of what happened with their drugs.
I frowned. Looks like the scuffles had escalated. What made things go south?
I texted Konstantin Makarov, the head of the Bratva and one of my closest personal friends.
Ryuji: Scores to settle?
