Chapter 2 Leo
LEO
The momentary crack in Sora Tanaka’s pristine veneer fills my veins with vindication.
She might be one of the most striking women I’ve ever laid eyes on, a picture-perfect bride, but that momentary glimpse of emotion told me everything I needed to know.
She doesn’t want this union any more than I do, and I intend to use that to my advantage.
Still, I’m impressed at how quickly she smooths her features back into a look of peaceful complacency.
Her full, glossy pink lips are the last to resume her impassive mask, pressing together in a dissatisfied pout for half a breath before they relax and she falls into silence—just like I asked.
She most certainly lives up to her reputation.
She’s rumored to be the crown jewel of Chicago, a woman of grace, poise, and beauty who has been molded since birth to be the perfect Yakuza wife—a woman coveted by all the powerful men who run the city’s underbelly along with a good number of politicians and business tycoons.
As a bride, she’s an invaluable asset to the Tanaka family.
In other words, just another mindless commodity to be sold in exchange for an alliance, which is what we’re supposed to be forming between my family and hers when we get married.
Not that I believe this contract has a chance in hell of achieving such a thing.
But my father refuses to see reason, even though I think he’s making a huge mistake to consider a ceasefire with the Tanaka-kai.
Too much bad blood has been spilled between us.
They have countless reasons to go back on their word.
And if we lower our defenses, that will give them an opportunity to stab us in the back when we least expect it.
In my eyes, this union will only set me up for failure when I’m supposed to be taking over my father’s legacy.
But who asked me?
No one.
I don’t even want to be Don.
Who in their right mind would choose to inherit a kingdom of sewers and rats?
But ‘no’ is not a word in my father’s vocabulary, and there’s no easy way out of this world that is my birthright.
It doesn’t matter if I’m Don Augusta’s oldest legitimate son.
He would kill me without hesitation if I tried to leave this life behind, so my only option is to inherit his empire.
That means I will grudgingly rule as he sees fit for as long as he lives.
Maybe Sora’s not the only mindless commodity in this negotiation.
Clenching my jaw, I shove the bitter thoughts to the back of my mind.
I might not have the liberty to openly defy the don, but I’ll be damned if I just sit back, shut up, and let my father strap me with a wife I don’t want.
I’m half convinced he’s doing this to teach me a lesson.
I know he hates how I’ve smeared my family name, earning a reputation as a playboy with no ambition.
But staying single is the only way I’ve managed to postpone my birthright for this long.
The gravel crunches beneath our feet once more as Sora and I make it to the far side of the bridge and start to wind past trees along the garden path.
Even in the early spring, the space is full of serene greenery, and I wonder how much it must cost to maintain this little Japanese paradise that Oyabun Tatsuo Tanaka has cultivated in the middle of Chicago’s bustling cityscape.
It, along with the koi pond that he must have to heat throughout the winter to keep the fish alive, is just another example of the Tanaka family’s spectacular facade.
They exude wealth and power.
They hide behind the integrity of their Japanese lineage, the deep-rooted traditions of honor that the Yakuza was built upon, but I don’t trust the Tanakas.
Their morals are paper thin, their word as flimsy as a moth’s wing. And their Zen garden doesn’t make them any less treacherous.
“Do you hold such disdain for all arranged marriages, Chiaroscuro-san, or just this one?” Sora’s unexpected question shatters my spiraling thoughts, catching me off guard.
It’s more direct than I thought she would dare to be and has enough bite to prove she has venom.
“Does it matter?” I ask.
Sora stops, forcing me to do the same, and I turn to face her on instinct.
As soon as I meet her eyes, I know I’ve made a mistake—because they captivate me instantly.
Their rare color is closer to onyx than brown, the deep hue drawing me in like a black mirror until I can’t seem to look away.
The gleam of mercury in them hints at a higher intelligence than I gave her credit for, and though she’s considerably younger than me at just eighteen, with one glance, I can tell her head is far from empty.
“It matters to me,” she says. “You might not care to know who I am, but I would rather enter this arrangement knowing the kind of man I’m supposed to live with for the rest of my life.”
Her chin lifts slightly, just a hint of defiance, though her tone is carefully schooled into polite respect.
I can’t deny that Sora is the picture of feminine beauty, her sky-blue silk wrap dress modest but flattering to her slim figure, her long, dark hair pulled softly away from her face in a knot that dares me to undo it.
Until now, her glances were demure, even shy.
But as she drops the small talk, I suddenly get the sense that beneath her mask of gentility is an iron will.
And despite my determination not to let my guard down, a surge of interest ignites low in my belly.
Yes, she’s gorgeous—and most likely untouched, which most men in my position would lose their mind over the opportunity to claim for themselves.
If her last name were anything but Tanaka, I might even be tempted.
But I told myself I wouldn’t let a pretty face fool me into dropping my guard. I just hadn’t expected Sora to be willful too—a far greater temptation for me to guard against.
I’ll have to get more aggressive if I’m going to end this before it goes too far.
“I suppose both,” I state, taking a half step closer to put our height difference to better use.
Sora has to crane her neck to look up at me now, and her eyes narrow, her lids sinking almost seductively as she works to shield her eyes from the sun without backing down. “Why?” she demands.
“I don’t need a wife,” I state coldly. “Plenty of women are more than willing to warm my bed. I have a full staff to manage my house, four brothers to entertain me when I want it, and an empire to keep me busy. I see no benefit to letting a viper into my home. I’m of the opinion that when you see a snake where it doesn’t belong, you cut off its head before it can bite someone. ”
Sora swallows visibly, drawing my eyes down, and I glance at her delicate neck, catching the way her pulse jumps beneath her pale skin. It makes my cock throb with unexpected anticipation.
A woman’s throat shouldn’t be so sensual.
Not when I’ve seen as many naked women as I have, when I’ve had them bent and tied into all kinds of compromising positions, spread wide for my pleasure and stuffed full of my cock.
But for some reason, knowing that I can make Sora’s pulse race makes me hard.
“I would hate to remove your head from that pretty little neck,” I purr, leaning closer. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and break off the engagement?”
My eyes flick up to catch her pink tongue as it darts out to wet her lips, then I force myself to meet her dark eyes framed by impossibly thick, long lashes.
“And what makes you think I could do that even if I wanted to?” she murmurs, her soft voice sensual in its breathlessness.
A hint of peach and jasmine tinges the air as I inhale deeply, and I wonder if she’s the source of the intoxicating scent.
It’s too early in the year for flowers to be in bloom, so I think she must be, and I straighten, giving myself enough space to keep a clear head as I work to intimidate her.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Signorina Tanaka. I’m sure your father would honor your wishes if you felt strongly about them, and I promise you that if you don’t back out of this little arrangement, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
If I can get Sora to end it, then it won’t matter if my father’s deal would put our family at risk.
And if the Tanakas are the ones to pull out, they can’t lash out either.
It’s the safest way to defuse the situation before I end up with a knife between my shoulder blades or my throat slit in my sleep.
“If you don’t want to get married, then you call it off,” Sora says, her lips curving into a sweet smile. “But I promise you, I’ll do no such thing.”
With a flutter of her lashes, she turns to start walking again, and I grit my teeth as I follow, doing my best to keep my temper in check as she gets under my skin.
We still have time before the wedding, and I fully intend to change her mind.
Because one way or another, this alliance won’t last.
I’m sure of that.
“Ah, the king has returned!” Rafael quips, straightening from the pool table with a cheeky smile as Michelangelo—more affectionately known as Miko—and I step through the doorway into the billiards room.
We spent the better part of the afternoon at the Tanaka estate.
By the time we arrived home, the sun was just starting to set beyond the tree line surrounding our sprawling property on the outskirts of the city.
“Leave him alone, Raf,” Giovanni warns as Miko closes the door behind us.
After the day I’ve had, I’m ready to blow off steam with my brothers—probably the only people in this world I can truly trust—and our father is the last person I need overhearing what I’m ready to get off my chest.
I’m almost grateful Miko was there to witness the whole thing so he knows how close I am to snapping.
“How’d it go?” Gio asks before lining up his shot and sending a striped ball into a side pocket.
Heading straight to the wet bar, I serve myself a healthy glass of whiskey and knock it back in one gulp before pouring myself another.
“That good, huh?” Gio observes mildly, straightening after missing his second shot.
I catch the look my middle brother shares with Miko as Raf leans in to make a combo shot.
Too irritable to care about their game, I slump into the tufted red-leather Chesterfield near the bar and sip my second drink.
Abandoning the game he’s clearly winning to take the couch across from me, Raf gives me a crooked grin. “Was she that ugly?” he teases to lighten my mood as I move over to make room for Miko on the sofa next to me.
“Definitely not ugly,” our adopted brother confirms in his deep baritone.
“I just don’t see why I have to get married at all,” I grumble, staring into my tumbler of whiskey.
“Of course not,” Gio chides, patting my shoulder as he passes behind the sofa to pour himself a drink as well. “It’s not like Mafia bosses need heirs or anything.”
“Raf’s married. Why can’t I just make his kid my heir whenever he and Genevieve get around to it?” I demand, gesturing to my baby brother.
“I think I’m already half a step from being disowned for marrying a woman Father didn’t approve of,” Raf says, his grin turning dry. “I doubt he or any of the more traditional families who pay tribute to us would consider that a legitimate heir.”
“I think that has more to do with your marrying a whore and less to do with your eloping,” Miko observes flatly, the lack of emotion in his tone softening the blow just slightly.
If anyone else had called Genevieve a whore, I have no doubt Raf would kill them on the spot—even me—but Miko doesn’t mean it as an insult. He just says things as he sees them.
“Hey, she was not a whore,” Raf says. “I met her at Portentia’s.”
“Prostitutes do work at the sex club,” I point out.
“Screw you guys. My wife is not a prostitute.” Grabbing a fistful of pistachios from the bowl on the side table, Raf launches them at me and Miko, making me laugh.
“Calm down. We know she isn’t…” I say, flashing him a grin. “Anymore.”
“I’m going to knock out your teeth,” Raf snarls, rising from the couch.
“Easy, Raf,” Gio says, stepping in to be the peacemaker, as usual. “Leo’s just giving you a hard time because he’s jealous you got to pick the woman you married.”
“I mean, he’s not wrong,” I concede, downing the rest of my drink and setting the tumbler on the table beside me. “Though I’d rather not pick anyone at all.”
“You’re such a manwhore.” Gio grins as he shakes his head.
Snorting, Raf drops back onto the couch, Gio taking the spot beside him now that the situation is defused.
“Hey, variety is the spice of life,” I say nonchalantly. “I see nothing wrong with sampling all the options as long as they’re offering themselves up so willingly.”
“It doesn’t count when you have to pay them,” Raf quips, trying to get under my skin.
But even if the razzing sounds harsh, this is exactly what I needed.
A bit of verbal sparring to remind me that misery loves company, and my brothers are the only people in the world who could understand the cross I bear.
This is what we do—we give each other a hard time because it reminds us that we’re not in this alone.
“Is that why you married Genevieve?” I ask. “So you wouldn’t have to keep paying her?”
“That’s it. You’re done,” Raf snaps, launching off the couch a second time.
Again, Gio hauls him back down.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I warn my youngest brother. “Especially when your fighting half is AWOL.”
“Speaking of which, where is Sandro?” Miko asks, glancing around the room for Rafael’s twin as if only just noticing there aren’t two of them present.
“Where do you think?” Raf asks, shaking off Gio’s grip and slouching back into his seat.
Sighing heavily, I rest my elbows on my knees and drop my head to rub my temples with my thumbs.
No doubt he’s slumming it in Irish Mafia territory, going a few rounds in the Murrays’ bare-knuckle fighting pits. “We'd better go get him before things get out of hand. The last thing I need is a second family to make peace with.”