I needed more properties, more revenue streams. The partnership with Leona would hopefully,eventually,work out—but it was too early. I needed to continue to make money by myself.
I needed an escape route if things went wrong.
Things always went wrong.
When I got shot in the stomach by myoyabunfor simply trying to leave the Yakuza. When the third mission I’d ever done with Obi resulted in the scar running down my back. When my first club manager, before Alec, had betrayed me, and I’d had to break his fingers one by one before killing him.
With a sigh, I washed my hands, mind racing. Backup plan. Escape route. I’d had my eye on a property in LA, but I was waiting to hear back from my realtor about arranging an in-person meeting with the seller so I could check it out. Expanding the portfolio was already part of my plan, and this whole shitshow just accelerated things.
I would still put full effort into this partnership, but just in case…
I gritted my teeth against the sting of the disinfectant I sprayed on the stitches. With tender yet practiced fingers, I applied the antibiotic cream.
“That’ll probably leave a scar,” said a voice from the door to my bathroom. My eyes flicked up to find Leona with her arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe.
“Good.” I smirked. “Scars appeal to the ladies. It’ll make me look even sexier.”
She rolled her eyes, but the ghost of a smile pulled at her lip. “Everything feeds your ego, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does, Leona dear.” I wrapped a new, clean piece of gauze around my forehead. The injury was just at my hairline, so depending on my hairstyle, I could either expose it or hide it. I usually preferred to expose my scars—displaying them as proof that I was not to be fucked with. “And my ego is thriving.”
She snorted.
Leona had been distant and reserved since the last conversation about going after Volpe. I had expected her to hide out in her room after stomping off, but she’d gone to the gym to workout instead, and she’d been present in the kitchen at meals. However, Obi was still on the receiving end of her cold shoulder. Sucker.
Despite how much I wanted her to be there to witness Volpe’s death, I agreed that involving her on-site during an active assassination was a recipe for disaster. She was too distracting, too much of a target. When we infiltrated her father’s house to rescue Caspian, I’d ultimately chosen to prioritize her safety rather than kill Volpe.
Maybe I should have just killed him then.
She still watched me from across the bathroom with a frown marring her beautiful features.
I locked eyes with her in the mirror. “You okay?”
“No,” she huffed. “But whatever.”
Not a surprise. But why did she come to me instead of Caspian? Or even Wynn?
“Did you come here so I could take your mind off things?” I teased.
That pulled another tiny smile at the corner of her mouth. “No. I just…I don’t know. I was listening to them finalizing the plans, and then I walked away, and my feet just took me here.”
We’d spent the latter half of yesterday afternoon and this morning reviewing the plans. Obi, Wynn, and Ciel were still running things over with Caspian. The four of us were a well-oiled machine, but inserting another person into our mix would be interesting.
I could no longer stand his fucking piss-poor attitude, so I left to come change my bandage. Yet to hear her feet brought her here? Now that did something to that traitor organ inside my chest.
That organ that always seemed to leap whenever I laid eyes on her now.
I turned around to face her and tilted my head. She still drove me crazy, but things had been different between us since we talked that night in my room. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. “Not really.”
“Hmm,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
She cleared her throat. Her eyebrows furrowed in that cute way that made her look like a pissed off hamster. All squeaks and the teensiest bite. Maybe one day she’d bite me. “Tell me I’m crazy.”
“Crazy?”
“Obi is not turning you guys against me, right? He’s not making you lose faith in me?”
