Chapter Twenty-One
Raya
DINNER WITH THE KOREANS—two animated brothers and one stone-faced uncle—is long, loud, and fun.
At least, for me.
The brothers’ passionate love for food reels me in like a fish on a line. They’re expressive, joyful, and endlessly entertaining, which only seems to further irritate both Stefano and the openly unimpressed Uncle Kim Hwan.
The brothers and I hit it off immediately, gabbing about restaurants we’ve visited and exotic dishes we’ve tried on our travels.
They pull out their phones to show me photos and videos of extravagant meals.
One even pulls up a clip of himself weeping over the perfection of a truffle ramen in Tokyo.
We laugh until we wheeze, then go on to order nearly everything on the menu.
Each dish is treated like an episode of a food competition show, with us pretending to be stern, pompous, cutthroat judges and assigning ridiculous scores for flavor, plating, and “mouth feel.”
Stefano is sparing with his words all throughout, observing with a cool, unreadable expression. While the uncle emanates pure negative “I hate being here” energy.
But I’m having a blast.
By the time we’re exiting the restaurant two hours later, the brothers and I are pleasantly stuffed and bubbling with post-meal bliss.
“As long as your lovely adviser is around, I think we will get along very well,” one of the brothers says to Stefano, flashing a grin. “She’s a delight!”
Stefano’s smile is polite, distant. “Ah, that she is. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
My head whips in his direction, brows lifting. Oh?
The other brother chuckles. “Appa is going to love her. This was good. We will meet again in a few days and get the ball rolling.”
“Looking forward to it,” Stefano replies, firm and diplomatic.
Strange. Given the reason for tonight’s dinner, he’s unusually reserved.
Stefano Castello is many things, but reticent in business isn’t one of them.
He’s a closer. Extremely sociable when it comes to business.
Warm when he needs to be, smooth with a joke and a glass of whiskey.
An expert at sealing strong business relationships.
Is he just not vibing with these men? Or is there something else?
Each of the brothers bow slightly, placing gentlemanly kisses on the back of my hand. I return the gesture with a courteous half-bow.
They amble toward their luxury town car idling at the curb. All three men stop outside the vehicle, no one getting in. Just waiting.
That’s…
Noticing something off about the alignment of the car, I walk up beside them. “Is everything alright? Is this your vehicle?”
“Ah, yes,” one of the brothers replies with a tipsy chuckle. “Our driver must have fallen asleep. Though that would be very unlike him…”
Kim Hwan silently pulls out his phone. “Let me call him. He might have stepped away for a little. It is Vegas, after all.”
“The door might be open,” the other brother says, moving toward the passenger side. “I will just wait inside while you find him.”
Something clicks. Instinct. Alignment. Detail.
I grab his wrist before his fingers reach the handle. “Don’t.”
All three men swing their attention to me, confused.
“The stability is off.” I point to the underside of the vehicle. “I think…there’s a trembler switch.”
“A what?” the brothers ask in unison.
The uncle eyes me with unhidden distrust. “What does that mean?”
“It means your car is rigged to explode.”
“Holy shit!” the brothers exclaim, again in unison.
“Raya,” Stefano snaps, striding over, irritation etched into every line of his face. “What the hell are you on about?”
I turn to face him. “Have your men sweep every vehicle, rooftop, and alley in a five-block radius. Pyros like to stick around to watch their work. Whoever planted this is still close.”
His jaw ticks hard enough to cut glass. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“Then take it as a suggestion from your trusted adviser.” My patience is thinning. “These are your potential business partners. Their car is set to blow. Do you really want that happening on your turf without knowing the who and the why?”
He stares at me, eyes dark and murderous, and for a moment I think he’ll drag me away by my hair and smash my face into the pavement. But then he lifts his phone to his ear and starts barking orders in rapid, clipped Italian.
I turn back to Kim Hwan. “Any luck reaching your driver?”
His lips press into a thin line as he slowly shakes his head, the distrust and displeasure in his eyes deepening.
“I-I don’t understand,” one of the brothers says. “Why would someone target our car?”
“We’ll get answers soon,” I assure him. “Our team moves fast in situations like this.”
“This is what happens when you do business with thugs,” Kim Hwan growls to his nephews in Korean. “I warned your father not to move forward with this deal.”
“Uncle, don’t jump to conclusions,” one brother replies, remaining in their tongue.
“Father may have his own strategy playing the long game with these guys, but we all know we need this partnership to outpace the Kangs. What if the Parks are behind this? They have been gunning for us ever since that mess with Hyunwoo. Maybe they caught wind of the deal.”
“You fools!” Kim Hwan snaps. “This is a setup. This is how criminals like them operate. Underhanded swines.” He spits at the ground, glaring. “This ego-bloated filth and his whore are playing us. You believe this gluttonous wench can just look at a car and—arrrrghnt!”
I whip around at the guttural grunt that tears from Kim Hwan’s throat. Stefano’s fingers are wrapped tightly around Kim Hwan’s neck, forcing him to his knees. Kim Hwan’s eyes bulge as he fights to breathe, slapping at Stefano’s hand, but Stefano’s grip is strong as he chokes the life out of him.
Voice calm, yet cold as steel, Stefano asks, “Should I cut your tongue out for disrespecting my partner?”
Kim Hwan’s eyes widen even more now. “W-what—? How d-d-do y-you—?”
“Yeah,” Stefano says, deadly cool. “I understood every word. That’s how I manipulate. But pulling a bomb stunt on prospective business partners? Not really in my playbook. What the fuck could I possibly gain from that?”
Kim Hwan’s mouth clamps shut. But then, with quiet defiance, he chokes out, “I don’t…believe a w-word…of it.”
“Uncle!” one of his nephews shouts with a groan. “Must you always get us into situations like this?”
“I couldn’t give a fuck what you believe,” Stefano says. “Talk your shit about me. I don’t give a damn. But her?” He flicks his chin toward me. “You do not disrespect her.”
With that, he tightens his grip and begins choking the life out of Kim Hwan.
The brothers drop to their knees, pleading for his life, voices climbing in panic.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. So disappointing after such a nice dinner.
I glance around, searching for something with proper heft.
Unfortunately, this is a posh commercial area, not exactly a haven for loose bricks and debris.
Hiking up my dress, I jog toward the pedestrian crossing at the end of the street, scanning storefronts.
My eyes catch on a boutique garden to the left, where colorfully painted cinderblocks line a flower bed.
Bingo.
I snatch one and hurry back. Thankfully, Kim Hwan is still breathing.
Barely. He’s sprawled on his ass, his face flushed blue, while his nephews hover protectively around him.
Stefano stands nearby, cool as ice, not a hair out of place.
As if almost choking someone to death took not an ounce of energy out of him.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks as I approach.
“A little demonstration for Mr. Kim,” I reply breezily. “Back up, everyone.”
The brothers scramble back, dragging their uncle with them, eyes wide with confusion and fear.
“Stefano?” I glance at him when he doesn’t move. “I don’t know if this will be a big blow or a small blow.”
His eyes flick to the cinderblock in my hands, then back to mine. “If you burn, I burn.”
Our eyes remain locked for a moment, a dark, reckless calm between us.
“Okay, Romeo.” I glance over my shoulder at the Kims. “Let’s hope their driver’s not in there.”
“Who cares,” Stefano mutters.
Biting back a smile, I launch the cinderblock straight through the front window.
Glass shatters in a sparkling scream. One beat…two beats…
BOOM!
The luxury car explodes in a blaze of orange fury, the force driving us back.
Oh, shit. This is a big one.
Heat sears the air, shards of debris flying.
Before I can even flinch, I’m crushed to a hard chest of solid muscle and whisked backward until I’m pinned against a wall. His arms are a steel cage around me, his body a barrier from the firestorm. And his heart…it’s pounding so damn hard I swear it’s in my chest, not his.
Slowly, he pulls back, just enough to look down at me. “Good?”
I nod, breathless. “Uh, yeah. That’s a death blow.”
Somewhere nearby, one of the brothers is on repeat. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. What the fuck, holy shit!”
“The bang happened,” I murmur to Stefano, growing heady from his intoxicating scent, “which means the pyro’s on the move now. Tell your men not to dismiss anyone based on age or gender. That’s how they’ll catch them.”
This time, he doesn’t argue. He gets out his phone, dials, growls his orders, then hangs up. All without moving an inch away from me. Still caging me in with that furnace of a body, like I’m something fragile that needs protecting.
Around us, noise and murmurs stir. Heads poking out of windows, patrons spilling out onto sidewalks, staff frozen in doorways, cars slowing with shouts of concern. But the moment Stefano’s men appear with weapons drawn, questions cease and everyone scatters.
“So, um…” I lift my chin to look at him. “Are you going to move now?”
He looks affronted. “You don’t even want to check if my back’s on fire? If there’s shrapnel lodged into it? Does my well-being mean nothing to you, you cold-hearted shrew?”