14. Kenzo
CHAPTER 14
KENZO
The garden promenade swims in greenery. You’d never guess an oyabun of a major yakuza designed a place this beautiful and peaceful, but that’s our boss for you. The bright red leaves of Japanese maples line the edges, interspersed with dense zelkova trees. Peace lilies and azaleas spread throughout the space, showing off their bright textures. Art galleries, artisan cocktail bars, and boutique shops border the garden, but today, it’s cleared out for us.
I take my wife’s hand and scan the room. The tables are bundled in elegant cloths, and big sashes are tied around the chairs. Everyone mingles, and my wife stands by my side.
Tomo approaches us, bowing his head slightly. I return the gesture, making sure my bow is deeper than his. Then, with a firm grip, we shake hands again. He’s gritting his teeth, holding his emotions in, but a smile rips through his face, and he pulls me in for the seventh hug so far today.
“My kid got married,” he says again. Tears blur his eyes as he pats my shoulder. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the first, Kenzo?”
I chuckle. “Come on, Oyaji. Have faith!” He laughs heartily when I call him by the nickname, Pops.
“But it’s you, Kenzo!” he shouts. “My wild child. And how are you treating your beautiful bride?”
Tomo faces my wife. She lowers her eyes, flinching away from an authority figure, but I’ve had an eye on her all day, and she likes to stare. No—it’s not that. She studies. Watches people like they’re part of an experiment. Lowering her eyes is a way of pretending to be a demure virgin, but I don’t buy it.
“You all right, Vivian ? ” Tomo asks. Apparently, he doesn’t buy it either.
She bows her head, keeping her eyes on the ground. Tomo and I exchange looks. He lifts his shoulders.
“Guests of honor,” he says, nodding towards the head table. “You belong there. Let’s celebrate!”
A variety of Japanese cuisine and other treats are served. I grab the tuna sashimi and get my wife a tray of mixed rolls. “Come Sail Away” by Styx plays faintly on the speakers, and even for a last-minute wedding, it’s perfect. The guests chatter with me, always talking business, but when they realize Tomo is here and willing to talk for once, they lose interest in me and find him. I’m fine with that.
Vi eats a California roll, giving a practiced smile as she scans the room. Again. What is she after? Is she working for her uncle, her cousin, or herself?
But now isn’t the time to pry. I’ll save that for later, when she’s more…preoccupied.
Niko, our wakagashira, comes by . As the underboss, he makes sure things run according to Tomo’s plans, though he sometimes gets the end results in unexpected—or undesirable —ways. He’s tall with broad shoulders, crew-cut hair, and black eyes with patches of blue, a rarity prevalent in Northern Japan. He immigrated with Tomo to the United States when he was seven years old. But unlike Dice and me, Niko refuses to get the traditional irezumi tattoos, claiming it’s old-fashioned for the yakuza.
I overheard Tomo once say he slept with a sex worker from Aomori and out came Niko, but I never asked for details. My guess is Tomo doesn’t even know if Niko is actually his biological kid.
“ Kanpai, ” Niko says, bringing me a glass of whisky. I take it, and we clink our glasses together. Niko can be an argumentative asshole, so I take the pleasantries when I can get them.
“Cheers, brother!” I say.
And just like that, he disappears again. Vi taps my arm.
“I thought there’s supposed to be a tea ceremony,” Vi says. “That’s the Japanese tradition, right?”
I quirk my head to the side, impressed she actually knows about that. My wife is curious about our culture? How interesting.
And suspicious.
“Not tea. Sake,” I say.
“Oh?”
“Declined it,” I add. “I suffered through a sakazuki ceremony for my initiation?—”
“ Sakazuki? ”
I wave a hand in front of me. “It’s the formal sake-sharing ceremony. Anyway, I don’t want to suffer through something that long and tedious again unless I have to.” Tomo didn’t pressure me to go through with it this time, so we stuck to the western traditions. I continue: “You did your research, then?”
“I like to be prepared.”
I like that. Thinking ahead is one of my weaker traits. The wind takes me, and I follow it, just like with this marriage. I needed a wife to pretend to be the typical corporate face, and the wind brought me Vi.
The doors marked Employees Only swing open, and two of our soldiers enter, escorting a man in a suit with crew-cut black hair, black eyes, and an angular jaw. The entire promenade falls silent. Tomo is already on his feet, and Cherry and I are immediately standing on either side of him, staring coldly as the stranger approaches us. Niko crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing us from afar, and Dice speaks quietly into an earpiece from the corner of the room.
“ Tomo-san, ” the stranger says as he bows his head. “My name is Ronin.”
“I know who you are,” Tomo says.
The rest of us scrutinize Ronin. How do we know him? The sharp features of his jaw seem familiar, but I’m not sure why.
Niko steps forward, his bluish-black eyes narrowing in on Ronin.
“How the fuck did you get through security?” Niko asks, his tone pure ice.
“I’m Tomo-san’s first-born son,” Ronin says.
Niko’s brow subtly creases, then he rubs his bottom lip. He steps between Tomo and Ronin, creating a physical barrier. If Ronin is claiming he’s Tomo’s first-born son, then that means Ronin may be our next oyabun, instead of Niko.
Sometimes, I swear Niko only tolerates the yakuza because he knows one day he will be our boss. Ronin is threatening that.
“Bullshit,” Niko says. “I remember you: you’re Akio’s kid.”
“Akio raised me, but you can test my blood,” Ronin says. “I am Tomo’s son.”
“So you admit it, then?” Niko asks. “No one from the Ito-gumi gets through our security without?—”
“I cleared it,” Tomo interrupts. “My son has always had clearance here.”
Niko glances at Tomo. Tomo has such a big heart when it comes to family, especially his kids.
But Ronin is an outsider. We don’t know him.
Why is he at my wedding?
As wakagashira, this is Niko’s territory. Niko and Ronin lock each other in a staring contest, a samurai-level battle of patience, and it’s almost funny.
“You’re a spy,” Niko says. “You are from the Ito-gumi.”
“Not anymore,” Ronin says. He lifts his hand, and there it is—his missing pinky, cut off at the knuckle. The edge of his finger is blunt, with red and pink blood crusting over the blackened skin. A low murmur curls through the room.
“ Tsumetaka, ” Tomo says in awe. You cut it off.
In yakuza tradition, to leave a gang, the member must cut off his finger, wrap it in a cloth, and present it to the oyabun.
So Ronin cut off his own finger and presented it to the leader of Ito-gumi, just so he could come here?
“I don’t give a fuck about your pinky. For all we know, you’re still a spy,” Niko says.
Tomo steps out from behind Niko and puts his arm around Ronin’s shoulder. “He’s your brother. Not your enemy.”
“He came from the Ito-gumi,” Niko argues.
“And we have a good working relationship with the Ito-gumi, even if we have our differences, don’t we, Niko?” Tomo says. “And Ronin is here. Perhaps he’s the motivation you need to properly step into your role as second-in-command.”
Niko scowls, muttering Japanese curse words under his breath, and he’s off, his phone to his ear, disappearing behind a thick row of zelkova trees.
I wave to Ronin. If Tomo accepts him, then I will too.
For now.
“The more, the merrier,” I say. I pull up a chair to our table, and he scans me and my wife cautiously, unsure whether to accept the offer or to find his gun. I urge him again: “We’ve got plenty of food. You’re more than welcome to join us.”
Finally, Ronin bows and takes the seat. He reminds me of my parents—always polite and respectful. They immigrated to the United States before I was born, but after I ran away to Las Vegas and took up with Tomo, I forgot about the constant bowing. Most of the time, Tomo seems to skip it as a way to assimilate into the hustler culture of Sin City.
Ronin scans the room. He’s older than me by a handful of years, but around the same age as Niko. Damn… Niko, Cherry, and now Ronin? All three of Tomo’s biological kids are with different women. He’s obviously got super sperm.
Jay waves at Vi, and she wipes her mouth with her napkin.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she says. She goes off with her uncle, and I’m left alone with the new guy.
“You hungry?” I ask.
Ronin shakes his head. “No. Thank you, though.”
I chuckle to myself. Refusing offers like that may be a part of the culture too. Don’t accept anything the first time; otherwise, you’ll be seen as rude. I see what’s going on, but it makes more work for me. He needs to relax so we can talk like regular people.
“You must’ve been traveling for a while,” I say. “Tokyo. What’s that? Eleven hours by plane? Twelve?”
He nods again, and I wait for him to clarify the length of the plane ride, but he says nothing. I can’t tell if he’s not a talker, or if he doesn’t give a shit about establishing a connection with me.
“Your wife,” he says. “What arrangement was made?”
I scrunch my nose. “Her uncle touched one of our kanbu’s wives.”
“Did you know her before this?”
“I met her a week ago. I needed a wife for the corporate events, and she fits the bill.”
“Convenient, isn’t it?”
I furrow my brows. What is he talking about?
“What’s that, buddy?” I ask.
“You need a wife, and she emerges,” he says, as if it explains his accusations. His eyes follow Vi and her uncle. “Interesting, isn’t it? What is she after?”
I tilt my head, wondering why an ex-gangster from the Ito-gumi would cut off his finger, skip town, and come here, just to tell me my wife is hunting us. My neck stiffens, because I had suspicions she was up to something too, but I dismissed it because?—
Because—
Well, because she fucking distracted me.
But I study Ronin. There’s a chance he’s saying this out of respect or honor, something noble like that, but my shoulders are rigid with irritation.
She’s my wife. At the end of the day, Ronin is an outsider, and our marriage is none of his business. Even if it’s an arranged marriage, he should keep his damn mouth shut.
Rather than ask more questions, like a smart yakuza would, I’ve got stubborn blood boiling inside of me. I have to prove him wrong.
“If you do anything to my wife, I’ll cut off more than your finger,” I warn.
This time, there’s no bowing from Ronin. He keeps his black eyes level with mine. I don’t know what he’s used to in Japan, if it’s true what they say—that the yakuza don’t always resort to violence over there—but out here, it’s a different ball game. I happen to like using my knives, guns, and fists. And this isn’t about Vi, but about respect. You don’t come barging into the Endo-kai saying shit like that.
Niko returns to the garden promenade and corners Tomo. Tomo’s eyes widen, then Niko disappears again. Tomo speaks privately to Cherry and Dice, then calls me over. I’m glad to leave Ronin by himself.
“Golden Honor Firearms has accepted our request for negotiation. Niko just confirmed it,” Tomo says privately to me.
We’ve been working on getting a deal with this major company for months now, and this is the first sign of any traction. With a direct deal with a firearms manufacturer, it will make smuggling a lot easier and a lot more lucrative for everyone involved. A greedy hunger grows in my stomach.
“Make the meeting,” Tomo commands.
Part of my job is to be the charming face everyone fears and respects. Honestly, being the face of the Endo-kai should be Niko’s job, but he’s got his own mind set on what his position is, which means these kinds of public jobs fall to me.
“Done,” I say.
Tomo laughs warmly, then smacks me on the back. “After you enjoy your honeymoon, of course.”
I glance at my wife. As much as I’d like to steal my bride off for a honeymoon, duty calls, and since our marriage is based on business, I didn’t make any arrangements for a vacation like that.
Once we finish up our private conversation, I head back to the table. Vi’s nose is stuck in her phone. I lean over her shoulder, scanning the screen; she’s reading something about different candles. It looks like she’s deciding whether or not to buy something. Based on her uncle and the motel, she may not have the money for it.
Guilt sits on my chest, but I shake it away. Those feelings can’t control me.
“What are you looking at?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says defensively.
I down my glass of whisky, then examine her. The candle tattoo behind her ear shimmers with glitter. It’s a container candle; I looked it up last night after leaving her suite. She’s got an attachment to candles, and her attachment is real, even if her virginity is a lie. I want to ask her about her candle infatuation, but if I learn the story, I’m liable to be sympathetic toward her, and that will give her too much power.
Ronin’s words echo in my mind: Convenient, isn’t it?
The bastard is getting into my brain already.
But she’s my wife now; she can afford anything she wants. Her uncle may have done a shit job of nurturing those aromatic interests, but I always take care of the people in my circle.
I smirk. “Send me a shopping list,” I say.
Then I leave her alone.