2. Dominic
Isat in an oversized brown leather chair facing my grandfather’s desk and the wizened man behind it. We had both assumed a demeanor of cold indifference, a look I had perfected after years of beatings until it was second nature.
By the man in front of me, no less.
Despite my grandfather’s smaller frame, there was a reason Ichiro Sato was on top of the food chain, and it wasn’t due to his age.
“Kill or be killed” was the Sato family motto, and my grandfather, uncles, aunts, cousins, and every other extended family member lived it to its fullest, including me. Which meant I’d learned to take a beating early on if I wanted to survive long enough to take over the family business.
Ichiro’s office sat on the top floor of one of the most expensive buildings in downtown Washington, D.C. As had become general practice over the years, the Sato family purchased the entire building to keep prying eyes—human or Gifted—out of our many businesses.
Antique furniture, rare artifacts, and mahogany bookshelves filled with first editions decorated the room, each item a symbol of power and wealth. Their morning shadows stretched across the polished wood floor.
And yet, I found the luxurious room and its primary inhabitant suffocating.
As Ichiro listened to Aaron going over the latest inventory reports and expenses incurred, he steepled his fingers beneath his bare chin. The old man had started shaving his face as well as his head long before I was born, and his pale skin gleamed beneath the office lights.
Aaron, the man speaking, was one of my closest friends and someone I could rely on no matter the situation. Since loyalty wasn’t an easy commodity to come by in our world, once you found it, you never let go.
With bright blond hair and baby blue eyes, Aaron wasn’t part of the Sato family by blood, but he’d crept his way into all our hearts years ago. It helped that Aaron was one of the best accountants money could buy, and our family had obscene amounts of money to buy whatever we wished, people or otherwise.
Business was great, just not always legal by human or Gifted standards.
“What about the crates from South Africa?” Ichiro asked. “Any issues with customs?”
Aaron smirked, displaying dimples that had women of all ages swooning anywhere he went. “Not a single issue. That new witch you brought in has become quite the valuable asset with slipping past borders.”
Although my grandfather’s face remained stoic and impassive, I was well-versed in the man’s micro-movements. Approval glinted in the old man’s dark brown eyes faster than one could blink.
“Your marketing efforts have been lacking, Dominic.” Ichiro scrutinized the documents before him. “Or perhaps it’s just your commitment to this family that’s lacking.”
I tightened my fists, the dragon spirit stirring within me like a restless storm. Tension crackled in the air like electricity. Biting back a retort, I forced myself to maintain control. I knew better than to challenge Ichiro in front of Aaron.
That time would come.
I flashed a charming yet repentant smile that always worked in my favor. “I’ll work on that, sir.”
The room’s suffocating atmosphere amplified with each passing second, highlighting the feeling of isolation within my own family. As one of the potential heirs to take over the empire, I had never fit the mold my grandfather had crafted for me, always struggling beneath the weight of the old man’s impossible expectations.
Every day of my life, I strove to prove I deserved to be here, needed to if I wanted to achieve my goal. Except a lingering sense of uncertainty had started to grow over the past year. Even now, as we discussed the intricacies of our family’s businesses and clients I was expected to oversee directly one day, I questioned where my loyalties should lie.
For now, I would stick to the plan that had been years in the making. I would watch, and I would wait.
Behind me, the door swung open and thundering footsteps barged in. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Kenzo—only my youngest cousin stomped around like a gargoyle—but I did so anyway, swiftly coming to my feet in a feigned display of protection.
Aaron did the same, our two bodies effectively blocking the old man behind the desk from view. Failing to protect the empire’s patriarch from an attack was a death sentence.
Not that the old man needed protection.
Kenzo sauntered into the room without so much as an apologetic smile for the intrusion. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when he came face-to-face with Aaron and me, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Like most of the Sato family, Kenzo had jet-black hair, dark brown eyes, and lighter, almost pale white skin.
Only I had a deeper bronze hue to my skin due to my father’s Brazilian ethnicity, and mine was the only untraditional name. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought my parents had hated me.
I turned my head slightly to glance at my grandfather. An interruption without knocking as Kenzo had just done would come with a harsh punishment. Disrespect wasn’t permitted in the Sato family.
Unless it was directed at me, of course.
But as usual, once Ichiro realized it was Kenzo, his tensed shoulders relaxed. Behind his thin wire spectacles, crinkles formed as he smiled at one of his favorite grandsons.
“Apologies, ojisan,” Kenzo said, though his sarcastic tone spoke otherwise. He strolled forward as if he owned the place, his oversized blue jumpsuit swishing with each step. “I didn’t realize you had visitors.”
Ah, yes, I thought with annoyance as I took my seat again. Visitors.
Despite the differences in how I was treated compared to my cousins and any other family members, I still desired my grandfather’s approval. It was ludicrous. I was much too independent and successful to care about an old man’s feelings, especially this man’s. The Sato family patriarch was the Devil incarnate.
And yet.
It didn’t matter that I’d bonded with one of the strongest, most powerful dragons our family had ever known. It didn’t matter how much money and fame, or how much honor I brought to the Sato name.
I was a bastard.
That was all I’d ever be to this family, all thanks to my mother’s decision to follow her heart rather than obey her father’s command.
I didn’t fault my mother. I’d never known the woman. She’d died during childbirth, a sign everyone took to prove she’d made the wrong choice. Her reckless behavior brought shame to the family name, and she’d paid the price with her life.
So why was I still paying for her sins?
Because Ichiro also blamed the poor, defenseless babe that came from her womb. The baby should have died, not grandfather’s precious Fumiko, and I was a constant reminder of his loss.
The old man had taken me in after my father died, which was a small mercy on good days; a terrible mistake on the worst. Someday, I would give Ichiro exactly what he deserved.
I took a deep breath and released it through my nose slowly, calming my racing pulse. I’d learned that trick to conquer fear and pain during my early years of fighting in the ring. Stirring up old memories wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all me.
“You know better than to come in without knocking,” Ichiro chided Kenzo. “You’re lucky you’re a Sato.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Aaron’s eye roll. He knew as well as anyone what my grandfather meant. I might have carried the Sato surname now after Ichiro legally changed it, but I had been born a Costa.
My grandfather had kept my first name as a constant reminder of my mother’s betrayal.
Regardless, I would have received twenty lashes for the same mistake my cousin just made. Even some of my other family members would have gotten a tongue-lashing.
But not Kenzo.
No, not the golden child that could do no wrong despite fucking up time and again.
Kenzo was flashy and arrogant, his flamboyant attire clashing with the room’s austere ambiance. I could never understand what my grandfather saw in Kenzo. To me, there was nothing but a distinct sense of undeserved superiority. Even his dragon was useless, barely able to keep his charge out of trouble.
Kenzo smiled smugly and ran the tip of his tongue across the gold grills covering his front teeth. “Lucky indeed.”
“Well, why have you barged in like a barbarian?” Ichiro asked.
“Ben, that pawnshop owner over on Rhode Island Ave., is behind on his payment.” Kenzo’s dark brown eyes glinted with promised violence. “I want to pay him a visit before he can skip town.”
Ichiro raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a collector.”
No, that delightful job was left to someone like me.
“This guy owes me personally, too.” Kenzo shrugged. “Two birds, one stone.”
Ichiro considered him for a moment before giving a curt nod. “Very well then.”
Kenzo’s face lit up with cruel excitement as he bowed. “Thank you, ojisan.”
At least the idiot had that much common sense.
As Kenzo turned to leave, Ichiro’s voice cracked out like a whip. “Take Dominic with you.”
My stomach curdled. I should have known better than to think I’d be off the hook.
Kenzo’s mouth dropped open. “But I?—”
Ichiro’s sharp gaze fixed on my cousin and a red hue flashed behind his eyes. He rarely released his dragon these days, but he also had no need. Memories of the vicious beast kept most people in line. “You question my decision?”
Kenzo snapped his mouth shut and bowed his head, but anger radiated off him in near-tangible waves. “No, ojisan.”
Ichiro nodded and shooed us away with a hand.
Knowing better than to argue, I met Aaron’s humorously pitied look. My friend knew I would be babysitting my cousin during the entire collection.
As I followed Kenzo from the room, my dragon spirit—known as Joubunaryūō, or Jou for short—writhed within me, mirroring my tumultuous emotions. Wisps of power coalesced around my body as barely visible tendrils of crimson light that echoed the flames of defiance burning inside.
There was only one way out of this family—death.
The only question was whose.