Chapter 11
Eleven
F uck, it has been a long day.
My knuckles are raw and bruised after the night I’ve had beating the shit out of one of the local business owners for cheating me out of money he owes me. I’m the one who dug his business out from the grave, and this is how he fucking repays me? By stealing from me?
No one steals from me.
Now, he is six feet under, and the entire business is mine. I’ll have to find someone to put in charge of it. The man doesn’t have any children or even a wife, so there’s no family to take it over. This is not something I need now. Not when whoever set my wife up to be raped is out there taunting me. Every night since she’s been back, I’ve been receiving packages.
More like intercepting them since they’re all addressed to her.
One was a Barbie doll with short blond hair, wearing an outfit similar to the one she wore at the club the night I found her. In the doll’s groin was a knife, shoved to the hilt, coated in pigs’ blood. Her mouth was taped shut and her eyes gouged out.
The next box came this morning.
A replica of me making her come on the rooftop. Outfits and all. A target is painted on her back and the word whore on her forehead. Her parents didn’t seem perturbed by any of it. When I asked if she had ever received packages like this one before, they clammed up. Prying the truth from them is going to take time. The truce we have is tentative, our association crumbling, because everything they promised me has thus far been a lie.
I’m unsure of why my father arranged a match between our families in the first place. Looking back at the LaMontagnes’ financial records, they didn’t have much to offer my father then either. Loosing a long sigh, I wonder if Evaline knows the true reason behind our arrangement. If she knows what her parents cost my family.
It doesn’t seem as if she does.
This is much more than just a business arrangement. There is a dark undertone to this deal, a riptide that threatens to drag both of us under. It’s not a deal I wanted to honor, but my father insisted. He even wrote it in his will that I see it through. This marriage was originally supposed to be nothing but business. A debt for her to repay.
Then she ran from me.
She fought back.
Few people are willing to stand up to me like she does, and it gets my dick hard. I find that I love going back and forth with her. It is almost a form of foreplay. Parking in the underground garage, I greet the guards as I step into the elevator that takes me directly to the penthouse. I own this entire building. Every apartment is occupied by my men and their families. The businesses that operate on the exterior are also owned by me. This allows me direct control over everything that goes on under my nose. There are no outsiders, save for guests who shop in the stores. No one here is on another gang’s payroll, because they are all bought and owned by me.
Every single one of them.
Not wanting to disturb my sleeping wife, I take a shower in one of the guest bathrooms, wrapping a towel around myself before I head into our bedroom. Evaline is on her stomach, her blond hair feathering her soft face as she sleeps peacefully in our bed.
Our bed.
That is something I hadn’t planned on either.
It is supposed to be my bed. The place I can be alone. When we were set to be married the first time, I set up one of the guest bedrooms for her. I’d come to her for fucking and that was it. But now…shit, I’m not even sure anymore. I spent three years chasing her, and over that time, something inside me grew to want her. To possess her. Claim her. Keep her and not just because of a signed agreement between our parents.
Evaline is different from the socialites I normally date. She’s not shallow or empty-headed. Things like money and power don’t seem to interest her. No true socialite would have survived the way she did, bouncing from city to city for three years with nothing more than a backpack to her name. Hell, no socialite would have walked away from our wedding like she did. They would have seen it through, knowing exactly what they would be getting.
Money to spend and frivolous things to fill their days.
The idea of being a society wife disgusts Evaline. She doesn’t want to be kept and paraded around as nothing more than a trophy. The woman wants to be on equal footing. Something I can never truly gift her because I will not allow my wife to delve into the darkness of running the Yakuza with me. She doesn’t need my blackened soul to taint hers.
The silken sheet of our bed must have slipped down in her sleep, because it is bunched at her hips, giving me a delicious view of her creamy skin. The plain tank top she is wearing has crept up her stomach, showing me every smooth curve. The sight is enough to make my dick hard.
Tearing my gaze away from her fuckable body, I head into the closet to grab a pair of briefs.
What the fuck? Groaning, I tip my head back in exasperation at the state of my closet. That little firecracker has rearranged my entire wardrobe. Opening the drawers of my dresser, I find that it, too, has been completely rearranged. It isn’t much more than a minor inconvenience for me. The real inconvenience will be to Ai, who is the one tasked with organizing my closet.
Chuckling, I locate a pair of briefs and pull them on, discarding my towel in the hamper. I draw my gaze to my wife’s side of the closet, finding the space teeming with new clothes. Marks did as promised and delivered my wife’s new wardrobe, but there is something off about the clothes hanging neatly pressed opposite of mine.
They’re too formal.
Too businesslike.
They look like things my assistant would wear and not the wild-eyed firecracker sleeping in my bed. I did specify that she needed to have some attire that was fit for functions and parties, but this is absurd. Even I have casual clothes that I wear every now and again when I’m home relaxing, which is rare. There isn’t a stitch of comfortable clothing to be seen. Not one pair of leggings or jeans. No casual blouses or T-shirts. Hell, there isn’t even a pair of sneakers or flats to be seen in the shoe compartments.
What the hell?
Understanding dawns, and the conversation at the dinner table makes more sense. Evaline was fuming that Ai had more say in her wardrobe than she did, and I took it to mean that she didn’t like that she had to add some more formal attire or that Ai had vetoed inappropriate items, not that she literally didn’t have any say in her own clothing choice.
Fuck.
Adding a mental note to have a word with Peter Marks in the morning, I leave the closet and climb into bed next to her, careful not to disturb her. The little minx moans slightly before shifting toward me, seeking the warmth of my body. I don’t stop her. Instead, I reach out my arm and place it beneath her, drawing her into my chest. She barely stirs, the only movement her pressing her cheek into my chest and letting out a relieved sigh.
Yes, this woman was made for me.
But that doesn’t mean I can let her into my heart.
Not when so many secrets are kept between us.
Evaline is still asleep when I leave for work. It’s only six, but I have business to attend to. My company has been developing a new state-of-the-art monitoring technology that will allow doctors to monitor patients’ vital signs in real time while the patient is at home. The nanotechnology attaches to several receptors in the body. This is meant for patients with uncontrolled chronic conditions such as high blood pressure. The nanobots would attach themselves to the patients’ baroreceptors in the carotid sinuses and aortic arch and give doctors real-time feedback on the patients’ blood pressure without them having to make several trips into the office.
It is essentially more affordable for patients, saving hundreds if not thousands of dollars in hospital and clinic fees. Besides blood pressure, it can also monitor glucose, potassium levels, troponin levels, and so much more. This can help predict major health issues, like strokes and heart attacks, before they happen, potentially saving hundreds of lives.
“How is everything looking?” I ask Dr. Takeshi Morishita, a world-renowned cardiologist and the lead researcher on the current nano project. We’re calling it “Healthcite, your health at home.”
“Everything is a go for the phase two test,” he assures me in Japanese. “The outer coating we applied to the nanobots is proving to be able to withstand the pressure in the human body, as well as deterioration.”
“Good,” I tell him. “What about shutting the technology down once it has served its purpose?”
He hands me his tablet. “If the nanobots are ever needed to be shut down, it can be done remotely. Once the shutdown protocol has been enabled, the nanobot’s outer layer will become compromised and will break down and be absorbed into the bloodstream with no side-effects.”
“Keep up the good work, Doctor,” I tell him, handing him back his tablet. “Make sure to keep me apprised of the situation.”
Takeshi nods, mumbling a thank-you as he lets himself out.
“Boss.” Hiro strides into my office, a smug look on his face. “I see that we are paying a visit to Peter Marks.”
“Yep.” I don’t elaborate, but I know the fucker is going to ask anyway.
“Any particular reason…?” He draws out the last part of the sentence, goading me, his tone inspiring violence.
“Because no one fucks with my wife,” I growl.
He lifts both of his palms innocently. “I’m just curious as to why you care. You wanted her outfitted to look like a society wife, and that is exactly what he did.”
“No,” I tell him. “I told him she needed some outfits that were appropriate for a socialite when we go out. I also told him that whatever was chosen needed to be something she was comfortable in. The clothes in her closet are not the ones she chose; I can guarantee that.”
Hiro sighs and takes the seat across from me. “Well, from what I got from Saito, Peter Marks wasn’t given much of a choice about what he gave her.”
“What do you mean?” I ask curiously. “No one else should have had a say in her clothing choices.”
“Ai.”
“Was told to take notes and make sure everything came and went smoothly.”
Hiro shakes his head. “Apparently, there was a lot going on in that meeting that we didn’t know about.”
I wait for him to elaborate, and when he doesn’t, I press him. “And?”
“Saito said that Ai spent more than an hour with the stylist in the shop prior to him transporting them back to the penthouse,” he tells me. “Then when they arrived, everything your wife selected in the catalog was immediately dismissed by him.”
“I don’t understand…”
Hiro sighs. “Let me start with this. Did you ask Peter Marks to dye your wife’s hair?” I shake my head no. “What about have her waxed and beautified?”
“What?” I ask incredulously. “Hell no.” I’m not that much of a beast that I would make her change the way she looks. Fuck, there is nothing wrong with how she looks now. I love the beautiful warm colors of her blond balayage. And as far as I could tell from where I had my fingers stuffed the night before last, she doesn’t need to be waxed within an inch of her life. Not that it matters to me. If she wants to let it all go and be bushy, then call me a wilderness explorer.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “But that is what Ai had planned for your wife.”
Fucking shit.
Pressing down on the intercom button that goes to Chiyo’s desk, I bark, “Get Ai in my office now.”
“Yes, sir,” she dutifully responds.
“This is going to be good.” Hiro smirks and leans back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other. Shaking my head, I go to make a snarky comment, but there is a hard knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and Ai strides into the room with a smile on her face. She’s wearing a blue pencil skirt and a white blouse that has one too many buttons undone. I’ve seen those clothes before. In my wife’s closet. They are practically identical. Now it all makes sense.
I wonder idly why my new bride didn’t say anything to me about Ai’s behavior outside of her snide remarks. Does she think that I am the one who ordered Ai to do what she did?
“ Oyabun .” She bows her head, greeting me respectfully. Anyone who works in the top-floor offices of Nakamura Tech is also part of the Yakuza. Ai greets me with the Japanese title of my position. The boss.
“Ai.” My voice is cold when I greet her in return, and it has her head snapping up and her eyes widening. She knows this tone and when I use it. I don’t ask her to sit like I normally would, and I can tell by how her body trembles that she knows she is in deep shit. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Ai’s throat bobs and her forehead creases, but she doesn’t respond. Is it because she doesn’t think she did anything wrong?
“About my wife…” I trail on, dropping the hint.
Ai pales.
“I was just trying to make sure she was exactly what you needed,” she stammers slightly. “The clothes she showed the designer were not fit for being the wife of the Oyabun .”
“And the hair? The waxing?” I ask, blinking at her. “What was the purpose of those?”
Ai’s lower lip trembles, and her eyes water.
“Everything I had planned was for you,” she insists, her eyes pleading with me to understand. “I didn’t plan anything different from what you’ve always done for your dates. It isn’t my fault she tattled to you for doing my job and making her look respectable instead of like a common whore.”
The Glock 32 beneath my desk is in my hand, and I have it pointed at her head before Ai can even register the move. She lets out a wounded cry and falls to her knees, her hands shielding her face.
“Did you just call my wife a whore?”
My personal assistant is petrified, her mouth gaping open as she tries to think of some way to save herself.
She can’t.
“I want you to think very carefully about your next words, Ai,” I growl, my finger depressing slightly on the trigger. “Those words might be your last.”
Ai has been my personal assistant since I took over after my father’s passing when I was seventeen. She’s a few years older than me and had been working at one of the high-end casinos in the gold club. The place where women service men with drinks as well as on their knees. She sobs, her face turning a dark shade of red as she struggles to remember to breathe through her fear. I’ve never once had to worry about Ai. I thought she was someone I could trust with my wife, but I was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she begs, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands come up to clutch her chest, and she rocks back and forth. “I honestly only thought I was doing what was best for you. Please believe me.”
The problem is, I do believe that, in her own twisted sense, she believes what she did was for me. Never once have I shown preferential treatment to any of the women I’ve dated. There haven’t been many, and none at all over the last three years. How could I fuck another woman when thoughts of Evaline consumed my every waking moment? Even though we were engaged, I kept on dating women and had planned to keep dating even once we were married. I’d planned on being discreet as a service to her, but the moment she ran, no one else mattered. My dick refused to get hard for anyone but the little runaway bride who left me at the altar, looking like a fool.
Her trembling form cowers in front of me as I approach her, the barrel of my gun pressing firmly against her feverish temple. My eyes narrow at the sight of her cowering before me. I trusted her, and she betrayed that. I can’t let that stand.
“You should have known better,” I remind her coldly, my voice dripping with disdain. “She is my wife. Not some cheap date. Not some whore.”
Tears stream down Ai’s pale cheeks as she pleads for mercy once again.
“I’m sorry, Oyabun ,” she begs, her voice quivering with fear. “Please. It will never happen again.”
My grip tightens on the gun before I finally pull it away from her temple, but only slightly.
“No,” I tell her firmly. “It won’t. Because you are going back to the casino where you started.”
Ai’s head snaps up, her terrified gaze meeting mine.
“No,” she sobs, desperation evident in her voice. Her hands claw at my feet as she begs for a different punishment. “I’ll do anything. Please don’t make me go back there. It will humiliate me. Bring me shame.”
I raise an eyebrow at her words, then deliver a swift kick to her side, dislodging her grasp on me.
My towering frame looms over her trembling body, my voice emanating a cold, unwavering authority. “Maybe you should have considered the consequences before you humiliated my wife, Ai.” As I speak, my eyes flicker toward the closed-circuit camera in the corner of the room.
In mere moments, two guards enter through the door I instructed them to wait outside of prior to Ai’s arrival. They need no further instruction as they swiftly lift her off the ground by her arms. Despite her sobs, there is no more begging or pleading from my former assistant.
Hiro shakes his head as he pours himself a glass of whiskey and then one for me. Without hesitation, I down the drink, relishing in the fiery warmth that spreads throughout my body. This is not how I prefer to run my empire. Unlike my cousins, who rule with an iron fist in Japan, I prefer a more subtle approach.
“You made the right decision,” Hiro reassures me, sensing my internal turmoil. “She needed to be put in her place, and demoting her to Eikyuu will ensure she takes it seriously. Otherwise, she will never learn her lesson.”
I know he speaks the truth. Ai is fiercely stubborn and would continue to push boundaries if given any other role within the company. But Eikyuu, also known as Eternal, is a fate worse than death for someone like her—a place where she will never gain any favor or power. This is necessary for everyone to understand what happens when they dare disrespect my wife.