38. Vi
CHAPTER 38
VI
As soon as the front door shuts behind Uncle Jay, Kenzo exits out onto the balcony. He stares at Suncoast Casino. The sun burns above him, his tattoos shimmering in the sweaty heat. My heart rams in my throat.
“What’s going on?” Uncle Jay asks, his blue eyes full of worry. “Are you hurt? Did you?—”
I wrap my arms around myself, a tear falling down my cheek. I can’t even bring myself to say it. I’ve screwed up for both of them. I didn’t give Uncle Jay the information he needs, and I lied to Kenzo. I’m a fucking joke.
“Did he hurt you?” Uncle Jay growls.
I shake my head. “He almost killed someone.”
A puff of air escapes Uncle Jay’s nostrils. I blink at him. He smirks at me.
“I mean, he already killed my son. What’s one more?” he asks. “That’s why you called me here? Because he almost killed someone?”
“He almost killed someone because of me, ” I retort. “Do you not get how messed up this is?”
I bury my head in my hands. Uncle Jay pats my back as if I’ve just told him I got cut from the basketball team, not like I told him about an attempted murder I instigated.
“Who?” he asks, changing his tone. “Tell me, sweetheart. What happened exactly?”
I don’t want Uncle Jay to be mad at Kenzo, so I don’t tell him about the interrogation in the dark room. Instead, I jump to what’s important.
“He wanted to know who we were working for, so I used this random company. One of the ones I told you about,” I explain. “And he almost killed them.”
Uncle Jay squeezes my shoulders, then he lifts his arms like he’s stretching. His lips pull up like he’s happy. Guilt weighs on my shoulders. Why is he so pleased?
“Uncle Jay, please,” I whisper. “Say something.”
“What do you want me to say? You saved us, Vi. We’re still alive because of you.” He pinches my cheek like he used to do when I was six. “Why do you care so much about those strangers anyway?”
My stomach aches. “Why don’t you care?” I ask, but I know the answer. He’s always said the three of us are the only people who matter, that it’s okay to con people out of their money because they don’t deserve it. He probably thinks the owner of the company deserves to die too.
“There are worse things to worry about,” he says as he pats me on the shoulder.
“Do you love me?” I blurt. Uncle Jay raises a brow. “You used to say you loved me like a daughter. You used to say you loved me all the time when I was a kid.”
“Kids need the extra boost.” He shrugs. “Adults just know.”
Pain lodges in my throat like a crumpled newspaper, and I have to know. I need to know. And he’s avoiding the question.
“But do you still love me like a daughter, Uncle Jay?”
He runs a hand over the top of his gray and brown hair, looking at Kenzo through the balcony windows.
“Of course I do, Vi. I love you kids.”
You kids. That’s what he used to call Patrick and me. But now, it’s just me.
“Then how come you didn’t quit this job when they killed Patrick?” I ask.
He scowls, shooting bullets full of lead with his expression. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“What if they killed me? Would you do anything about it? Would you find out who did it? Would you?—”
“Vivy,” he says, cutting me off and using a nickname I haven’t heard in a long, long time. My neck and shoulders tighten. I swallow my anxiety. He continues: “You should understand the nature of our work by now. This is business.”
Business as usual, babe, Kenzo had said. If we’re done, I’ve got business to take care of. It’s just work for both of them. Death means nothing. Business always prevails.
Uncle Jay pats my shoulder. “We’ve been lucky so far, but when we took this job, we knew the risks.”
The truth is I told Uncle Jay and Patrick the risks. I told them I didn’t want anything to do with the yakuza, but they told me it was worth it. We could get our dream house on the beach. We could retire. We’d never have to worry again. They told me we’d finally have the stability, the freedom, the protection I always wanted, if I just gave them the chance to do this.
Maybe that was a lie to get me to play along.
“Did the client specifically say we might die?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Come on, Vi,” Uncle Jay says. “When you mess with an organized crime group like the yakuza, things are going to get messy. Everyone knows that.”
Minutes pass, and the whole time, I gawk at him. Uncle Jay fidgets, uncomfortable in the silence. His scarred hand taps his legs; the truth of our situation is always simmering under the surface, no matter how well Uncle Jay plays it cool. Outside, Kenzo is on a phone call with someone, and his skin is gleaming with sweat. If I wasn’t so anxious, I’d be salivating. He looks like a god capable of destroying the world.
And soon, he’s going to destroy us.
“What if it were me?” I ask, the tears finally breaking loose and streaming down my cheeks. “Would you even care?”
“Patrick would do the same thing in our shoes,” Uncle Jay says, his nostrils flaring. The concern and sweetness is gone, replaced by malice. “You can’t let hypothetical situations hold you back. I thought I taught you that a long time ago.”
When my biological parents died, I often cried myself to sleep, saying it was my fault. I was the one who liked candles. I was the one who risked their lives to go on that dumb candle shopping trip. But Uncle Jay would stroke my hair and shush me. It’s okay to be sad, sweetheart, but you can’t do anything about it anymore, he had said. No amount of tears or what-ifs will bring them back. You’ve got to move on. Besides, we’re your family now.
“Patrick is dead,” I say.
It’s hard to breathe, but I force myself to stay strong. Patrick may have raped me when we were growing up, but I’m still responsible for his death.
No. No. No, I yell at myself. Patrick raped me. Kenzo killed him for that. I didn’t tell Kenzo to do anything. It’s not my fault.
But the tears don’t stop. I may not be responsible for Patrick’s death, but I am completely responsible for whatever comes next.
“I’ve gotta go,” Uncle Jay mutters. He fixes his shirt and stands up. “If I had known you wanted to grill me about Patrick, then I wouldn’t have come.” He angles toward the door. “Bottom line: Patrick is dead, and we’re alive. If we don’t make this job work, then his death means nothing. And I refuse to let that happen.”
His eyes are cold, and at that moment, there’s nothing about him I recognize anymore. The man who protected me growing up, who saved me from my messed-up situation, sees me as an obstacle right now.
“They can kill us,” I say. “Both of us.”
“I know.”
“We’re too deep.”
“I’m not quitting.”
Deep down, I know I’ll never win this argument.
“If we have to finish the job, then we have to do it quickly,” I say. “I can’t keep pretending to be some mafia wife anymore.”
“Once we get the info about Golden Honor Firearms, we can leave this place behind,” Uncle Jay says. “So get to work.”
He tries to open the front door, but it’s locked. He sighs. “For fuck’s sake, he’s locking me in here too?”
I swallow down bile, then knock on the balcony door, hoping my worst fear isn’t about to unfold.
Kenzo unlocks the front door, letting Uncle Jay out without a word. A tingling sensation rolls through me, my eyes widening. Kenzo knows Uncle Jay and I are working together, but if he’s willing to let Uncle Jay go free, then that means there’s hope.
But once Uncle Jay leaves, Kenzo returns to the balcony and makes another phone call while keeping his eyes on the parking lot. He must be watching Uncle Jay walk to his car. And that may mean he’s walking into another trap.
A sour taste lingers on my tongue. Kenzo and Uncle Jay are the same. It doesn’t matter if someone lives or dies, as long as they finish their business. Business as usual. Nothing changes. Life goes on.
And we still die.