Chapter 35 Gio
GIO
The night air is heavy with heat and the silty smell of a fish pond as we crouch in the shadows of the Tanaka home.
The earthy ground rustles softly beneath my boots as I watch Miko and Sandro work.
They’re artists, really, as they stealthily sneak up to the two armed men posted near the entrance to the sprawling estate.
They don’t waste time.
The two guards at the front gate never see it coming—one’s throat is cut before he even finishes his cigarette.
The other’s jaw is shattered with a single hook from Sandro’s fist.
They go down fast, but they’re not dead. Not yet.
That’s the point.
Sandro and Miko drag them by their collars like trash bags, dumping their limp, bleeding bodies in front of the security cameras aimed at the main drive.
It’s bait, plain and simple—an invitation for Kenji to come play hero in his own backyard.
Raf stretches out on the ground beside me, as calm as anything, eyes locked on the front of the compound through the scope of his sniper rifle.
He’s already loading a fresh mag, each movement smooth and deliberate as he watches the goings-on without having to pay attention to his hands.
I can hear his voice in my head before he even says it. Wait for the opening. Don’t get sloppy. I want to ignore the advice. Every second I wait could be Stephanie or Jackson’s last.
“It’s a good plan,” Raf promises. “Kenji will come. His pride won’t allow him to let something like this slide.”
My fingers tighten on the grip of my gun. “Good. The sooner he comes out, the sooner I can get her out.”
Raf doesn’t look at me, but I catch the faintest nod.
Floodlights blaze to life above the gate posts, sweeping over the driveway like stage spotlights.
Then I hear it—shouts in Japanese, boots on gravel, a rapid shuffle of movement behind the front gate.
The oxygen vanishes from my lungs, and I don’t dare move a muscle as I stand riveted.
Then Kenji appears. He’s flanked by a half dozen men, all armed, all tense. Even in the dark, I can see the fury carved into their leader’s face.
Raf was right—he’s trying to reassert control, to prove he’s still untouchable after looking weak in front of his men and father by nearly dying at the hands of my brother during the attack on our house.
Raf’s voice drops low, almost a growl. “Now. Go.”
I don’t hesitate. I move, crouched low, melting back into the darkness of the property’s edge.
The moment I break from cover, I hear the rifle crack.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Raf doesn’t miss—he’s the best shot in the family, and every bullet he fires is a message.
Men hit the ground on Kenji’s sides, chaos erupting as shouts turn into screams.
All eyes are on the front gate—exactly as Sandro said they would be.
I slip back into the compound for the second time tonight, moving fast but silent, every muscle tuned for the smallest sound.
I know more about where I’m going this time around, and I make it inside the house with little trouble.
Then I scan the layout, searching for a door that looks like it might lead underground.
It’s a safe assumption that the room they would keep her in would have limited exits, probably a few guards stationed at the door.
But none of the rooms seem to reveal what I’m looking for.
Each space is separated with a sliding door that moves silently across the ground, and the hallway that wraps around the house seems to connect one room to the next—but so do the doors between them.
The decorations are spartan, as are the furnishings, but I can tell it was all done in the most expensive taste.
The tapestries that hang on the walls look rich with meaning and ancient—like Tatsuo Tanaka had them brought over from the Golden Palace of Japan.
I can feel the sand slipping through the hourglass as my search continues, and my frustration mounts when the seemingly simple layout suddenly feels like a maze.
Then, completely by chance, I stumble upon a room with two men stationed outside it.
I nearly turn the corner without thinking and plow right into them, but at the last minute, one of them sneezes, and I freeze, bracing against the wall so I can peek around the wall.
Armed to the teeth and looking anxious but unwilling to leave their post over the commotion outside, they look like the perfect candidates for prisoner guards.
They don’t see me until I’m already moving.
The first gets a knife to the throat, quick and silent.
The second turns just in time for my blade to punch through his chest.
His body hits the wall behind him, then slides to the floor with a soft thud.
I leave them where they fall. I don’t care if someone stumbles across them later, but I needed to make their deaths quick and quiet so no one would come looking while I’m trying to get Stephanie and Jackson out.
Wiping the blade on my black pants, I press my ear to the door. Nothing. Not a sound.
Carefully, I push it open.
But at first glance, it looks like a perfectly ordinary room—ordinary and empty.
Then my eyes land on the trap door in the floor.
It’s still wide open, as if someone came or left in a hurry and chose not to close it—or got distracted before he could.
Perhaps by the conflict at the front gate.
Thanks, Sandro.
I couldn’t have done this without my brothers’ support, and it means a lot that they would back me up on this, even if the odds of success aren’t great.
Without a second’s hesitation, I rush for the trap door.
I’m grateful when I find the stairs down completely abandoned—and at the bottom is a simple wooden door with a deadbolt.
Just to be careful, I take the steps quietly, then ease the deadbolt open and slip inside the room.
The first rock catches me right above the temple.
Pain flares white-hot across my skull, and before I can react, the second one smashes against the side of my head, hard enough to make my ears ring.
“Jesus!” I stumble back, raising my arms to shield my face as warm blood trickles into my left eye.
My pulse spikes—not from the attack itself, but from the voice that follows.
“Gio?”
I lower my arms, blinking away the pain.
Stephanie stands across the room, Jackson beside her like a miniature guard dog, a small pile of rocks and broken bits of wood at their feet.
They’ve barricaded themselves in the far corner of the dimly lit room, backs against the wall, like they were ready to fight to the last breath.
Despite the blood running into my eyebrow, I can’t help it—I grin. “So, this was the plan? You two were going to take Kenji down with a pile of rubble?”
Jackson doesn’t waste a second.
The moment he sees my face, he bolts, racing across the room.
I barely have time to stoop before he’s slamming into me so hard, I grunt from the impact.
His little arms wrap tightly around my neck, his body shaking as I catch him and pull him in against my chest.
“I got you, kid,” I murmur, holding him like I’ll never let go. “You’re alright. I’m here. I’m taking you both somewhere safe.”
He sobs softly, the sound muffled against my shirt, but his grip doesn’t loosen.
If anything, it gets tighter.
My heart aches in a way that’s almost unbearable—because this little boy, this tiny scrap of defiance, was ready to give everything he had to protect his mom.
I keep one arm locked around him and glance up as I straighten, bringing him with me.
Stephanie moves toward us more slowly, her eyes glistening in the dim light.
She’s trying to be strong, but I can see the cracks in her composure.
“You two okay? Are you hurt?” I ask, my eyes scanning every inch of her for injury, watching the way she walks to make sure she’s not limping. As far as I can see, she’s fine, but my eyes flick back to hers for reassurance.
“We aren’t hurt,” she says, picking her words carefully.
I know she means that while they’re not injured, they’re definitely not alright.
How could they be?
They must have been terrified to be ripped from their beds and dragged into this dark cellar of a dungeon.
I swallow hard, giving her a single nod as a fist clenches around my heart.
But when Stephanie reaches us, she doesn’t stop.
She throws her arms around us both, folding herself into the hug until we’re tangled together, a single knot of desperate relief.
Her tears are hot against my neck. “You came,” she breathes.
My chest tightens, and I hold her close as I press a kiss to her temple. “Of course I came,” I say. “I always will. I would go to the ends of the earth for you.”
Stephanie pulls back slightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she smiles sadly up at me. “I just thought…” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.”
“You’re safe,” I promise, even though we’re still in the lion’s den. And I’m grateful when my voice is steady, because it has to be for them. “I’ve got you both. I swear, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Neither of them says anything, but they don’t have to.
I can feel it—the way their bodies press in like they’re trying to anchor themselves to me, the way Jackson’s sobs ease just enough for him to breathe, the way Stephanie’s shaking starts to slow.
And for the first time in days, I believe my own words.
They’re safe.
And I’m not letting go.
“We should get out of here,” I murmur, not wanting to be the one to break the hug. But I can feel our window closing as the sound of gunfire dwindles.
Stephanie nods as she pulls back quickly, as if only just realizing she was still holding on to me.
Then her eyes shift to Jackson. “Maybe I should take him—in case we come across anyone.”
I nod. “Just… let me have him until we get past the first hall.”
I don’t really want to say it, but if I can keep him like this, I’m hoping I can get him past the dead bodies without him seeing such violence.
My father showed me my first dead body when I was nine years old—and even that had been too young.
The image will be permanently burned onto the back of my retinas for the rest of my life.
I want to spare Jackson that experience if I can.