37. Vi
CHAPTER 37
VI
Hours go by. I call Uncle Jay, but it goes straight to voicemail. My throat is dry, and I don’t know what to do.
I check Kenzo’s office again, wondering if there will be a sign I’m doing the right thing, a hint it’s okay to lie to him because he’s the worst kind of criminal. But it’s locked, and that’s another bolt in my chest. Kenzo doesn’t trust me, and I know his judgment is right.
But screw it. Screw the job with our client. Screw our beach house. Screw it all. I just want to leave Vegas and forget any of this happened. I want to go back to researching and not think about how a yakuza man turned my entire life upside down.
I grab the handle to the front door, but it doesn’t budge. The keypad above the doorknob flashes red.
Kenzo locked me inside of his penthouse.
Did I lose my last chance to run?
This time, I scour the nightstand drawers, the shelves, the boxes, digging for an extra phone to unlock the door. I even try my own device, but nothing works.
I’m trapped.
The front door clicks, then swings open, and Kenzo’s singing floats through the air. For a brief second, I’m relieved—he’s in a good, normal mood—but then I notice the differences. The beat is off, a bit too slow to be natural, and his key is higher than usual. It’s like he’s thinking about something that’s troubling him, but he’s pretending like everything is fine. Which means he’s lying to himself.
And that scares me.
He pulls off his white jacket and throws it on the back of the couch. Blood splatters his dress shirt. My skin is clammy, and I’m faint. I know what that means, and god, I don’t want to face what I’m guilty of. Did the owner of Legendary Analysis die because of me?
“What happened?” I whisper.
Kenzo angles away, like he doesn’t want to pay attention to me, and it hurts. Does he know I lied? Is he willing to look the other way, or does he still suspect me? My throat is as dry as a desert, my senses on high alert.
“Business as usual, babe,” he finally answers. “Look, I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, but you need to make it easy for me.”
Babe. He never calls me “babe.” “Baby,” yes, but not “babe.” I’m screwed. He knows I lied.
Anger swells in my chest. No. I don’t deserve this. I didn’t want to be a mafia bride. I didn’t want to do this job against the yakuza. And I never wanted to give up the name of some random company, but I did what I had to in order to protect my family.
“What happened?” I demand, this time with a stronger tone. Instead of dismissing me, Kenzo locks onto my gaze. His brown eyes are level, but haunting. I bite my lip. I can’t back down now.
“Here’s the thing,” Kenzo says. “Legendary Analysis is the least of my problems right now. You, on the other hand, are my problem. So tell me, wife, who hired you?”
“The least of your problems?” I repeat. “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something evil?”
“Jesus,” he mutters. He rubs his head. “Hiding something? What do I have to hide from you?”
My lips part, but everything inside of me is locked up, too shaken up to do anything. “Kenzo, I?—”
“I didn’t kill your fake contact in Legendary Analysis. Happy?” he barks. “You want to know why I didn’t? Because I know you lied. Now, you’re stuck with me. Until death do us part.”
He walks past me, his gait rigid. He unlocks the office and disappears behind the doors, but he leaves the door cracked. He’s not cutting me off completely, but he’s not inviting me in either.
At least no one died because of me.
But Kenzo knows I’m a liar.
My stomach lurches, and I run to the closest bathroom. I turn on the faucet and the shower, minimizing the noise as I vomit again. I splash water on my face, then stand, preparing myself. I may not be as skilled as Patrick or Uncle Jay, but I’m still a Petrus. I can handle this.
I walk to Kenzo’s office. He looks up from his desk and smiles, but he’s showing too much teeth to be genuine. I’m unwelcome here, but he hasn’t kicked me out yet.
“What do you need?” he asks, like I’m an unwanted interruption. Things have changed between us, and I want to go back to before. When I could still tell him the truth.
“Do you want to do something?” I ask, unsure of what to say. I want to feel normal again. I want this place to feel like home, for that safety to return so I can unravel this coiling knot in my heart and breathe easily like before. “I just feel like?—”
“Feel like lying to me again?”
His expression is calm, his shoulders spread out. He has nothing to fear, and that’s terrifying.
I step back, crossing my arms over my chest. I pretend like I’m angry, but inside, I’m scared. I’m full of guilt and shame, and I want to erase this entire marriage and pretend to be someone else. To take an easy target. To never feel these things Kenzo has awoken inside of me. If being numb and complacent means erasing this mess, then I’ll take it.
But I don’t have that option. So I lie again. It’s the only defense I have.
“I’m not lying,” I shout.
He lunges from his seat and grabs my upper arms. His grip is so tight it hurts, and the light from his brown eyes fades. There’s no fire burning for me anymore. Only darkness.
“Say you’re not lying again, and I will cut out your tongue,” he says.
My body jerks impulsively, shocked at those words. My lips tremble, and Kenzo lets go of me. He smooths his shirt, his palm running over the bloodstain, and he returns to his computer.
“If we’re done,” he says with his eyes on the screen. “I’ve got business to take care of.”
My vision blurs. It’s like I mean nothing to him. And I’m the one to blame for that.
I can’t stand this.
I go to the master bedroom and close the door behind me. I dial Uncle Jay for the millionth time and pray to the con gods watching over us he will actually answer this time.
Finally, a click hums over the speaker.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” Uncle Jay mutters. “You’d think there’d been an accident or?—”
“Come here,” I beg. “Please.”
I can hear his clothes shifting on the other end, like he’s straightening up. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
My chest is aching, and I can barely mumble anything. Please. Please. Please, I think. But I can’t speak without crying.
“Be there in a few,” Uncle Jay huffs.
Grunts echo down the hallway. In the office, Kenzo is doing pushups on the floor. His dress shirt is torn to shreds in his office chair, his body laced in sweat. The koi fish swim around the skulls, and what once seemed beautiful, seems ominous now.
“My uncle is visiting,” I say.
Kenzo glances at me, but that’s the only acknowledgement he gives.
“You’ll need to let him in,” I say.
He keeps pumping his arms, grunting as his muscles strain. Still, he doesn’t answer. I throw up my arms and let out a frustrated groan, then I wait in the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Kenzo answers his phone and accepts Uncle Jay’s entry with the front desk. Once Uncle Jay knocks on the front door, Kenzo scans his phone and lets him inside. I bite my lip. This is a stupid idea. What if Kenzo keeps Uncle Jay in the penthouse too? What if he traps us here?
What if this is where Kenzo kills us both?