Chapter 19
Nineteen
“ T his is in such poor taste,” my mother pouts as she sits on the sofa, downing another glass of wine. At this rate, she’ll be too drunk for the reception. There’s an idea. Maybe I should have someone keep refilling it for her until she passes out on the couch up here. Then I won’t have to deal with her. “Holding a wedding reception after that barbaric scene.”
Barbaric is one way to describe it.
Terrifying is another.
My fingers tremble with leftover adrenaline, the physical manifestation of the chaotic and emotional day that has just passed. Megumi sits behind me, her skilled hands weaving through my hair as she restyles it into soft and delicate waves. She uses a special curling wand, borrowed from the makeup artist.
My own mother simply sits back and watches, obvious disdain painted across her face. It doesn’t come as a surprise, though. She has always been distant and uninterested in my life. But today, on what should be the most important day of my life, Kenzo’s mother has stepped up in a way mine never will.
From the moment I stepped back into the room, she has been here, helping me remove my dress and undergarments before delicately taking out her pin, stained with blood and brain matter, from where it held my hair in place during the tragic events that unfolded.
And when my limbs were too numb and weak to carry me to the shower, Kenzo’s mother was there again, offering her gentle hand and support as she helped me clean myself off. In that moment, I couldn’t have been more grateful for her presence. She was proving to be more than just a mother-in-law—she was becoming a mother figure I never knew I needed.
“I’ll have your dress dry cleaned,” she told me when she caught me staring longingly at it. “It will be good as new.”
“My son needs to show that no act of violence will deter him,” Megumi explains stiffly. “Even if your society chums don’t understand what happened, they will respect that he didn’t allow it to deter from a happy day.”
My mother snorts, a rather unladylike quality for her. “Please. Half the people down there are too drunk or high to have even noticed what happened, and the other half won’t give two shits about anything other than the food and liquor.”
“Drop it,” I hiss at her. “Since when do you care? You never miss the chance to socialize with that sycophantic group you call friends. This isn’t your wedding. It’s mine. Start acting like it or get the hell out.”
Years of therapy have nothing on this moment. It felt good to get that all off my chest. I don’t bother to even look at my mother’s reaction in the mirror, because honestly, I don’t care. I spent half my childhood attempting to live up to her expectations, only to one day realize that I never would.
A deep, guttural huff echoes behind me, and I can practically feel the force of it pushing against my back. The sound of the ensuite door slamming shut is like a thunderclap, sending reverberations through the room. Just like earlier, my mother’s reaction speaks volumes. She can’t stand to be called out, her pride wounded by my words. If we were alone, I have no doubt that I would regret ever speaking them. My mother has a fierce temper, and when she’s in one of her fits, nothing gets in her way. The fact that she managed to control herself while my mother-in-law was in the room only proves how much she fears the woman’s judgment. It’s a fear that runs deep and keeps my mother from lashing out physically. But her sharp tongue is still as deadly as ever, and I know I will be hearing about it soon.
If only she feared me the way she fears my husband and his mother.
Speak of the devil. I look over as the door to the room opens a few moments later, and my husband walks through. He looks tired, but there is a determinedness behind his eyes that keeps him going.
“ Okaasan .” He greets his mother with a grim smile. Megumi nods at her son and places the curling implement down, making sure to unplug it from the wall.
“We are done here,” she tells him.
“Thank you.”
Megumi smiles at her son and gives him a small peck on the cheek as she makes her way out of the room, the door closing firmly behind her.
Silence follows her exit, and the two of us simply stare at one another, the seconds slipping by.
Kenzo holds out his hand. “Come here.”
My heart races with anticipation as I rise from my comfortable chair and make my way to him. He stands there, tall and commanding, his hand outstretched for me to take. My fingers tremble as they touch his warm palm, feeling the strength and desire radiating from his body. He spins me around effortlessly, pulling me close so that our bodies are pressed together. The dress I am wearing is a beautiful white tea-length A-line dress, with a sweetheart neckline that accentuates my curves. Lizzie thought ahead and bought me this dress, knowing that it would be more suitable for the cocktail hour in case my wedding gown became too stifling to wear.
The thin material of the dress allows me to feel every inch of his chest against my cool skin, like a heated blanket wrapping around me. Despite how tired he must be after a long day, his cock is hard and ready as it presses into my backside.
Kenzo’s lips brush against my ear as he whispers in a gravelly voice, one hand gently circling my throat.
“You’re such a good girl,” he says, sending shivers down my spine. His hot breath tickles my sensitive skin, making me flush with desire.
I can’t help but arch into him, craving his touch. His grip on my throat tightens slightly, his thumb tracing over my racing pulse point. With his other hand, he trails along the outer edge of my thigh beneath my dress.
“Do you ache for me?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust and dominance. I nod eagerly, unable to speak. “Tonight, I will taste every inch of your body. My cock will fill every hole until you’re overflowing with my cum.”
His fingers glide beneath the fabric of my dress, exploring every curve and crevice of my body until they reach between my legs. They trail over my mound and between my folds before finally coming to rest at my back entrance. I gasp as his thumb teases the tight ring of muscle around my ass, sending a surge of pleasure through me.
“This last bit of virginity will be mine.”
Except it won’t be, because the pleasure zipping through my body feels like a betrayal. My chest tightens, and it feels like a bucket of ice-cold water has been dumped over my head. I’d almost forgotten what happened outside of Harumi.
The photographer.
The photograph.
Him kissing Saori in the same spot he made me ride his cock.
Clenching my jaw, I shove his hand away. Confusion ripples over his face as I turn to face him.
“If you wanted my body to be fully yours, then you should have thought about that before you kissed a woman who wasn’t your wife.”
Kenzo opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to think better of it. Instead, he remains silent, not bothering to defend himself or offer an explanation. Just like that night. He takes my hand roughly in his and drags me toward the door without bothering to say anything at all.
Maybe this is for the best.
In all the chaos, I forgot what this wedding is.
A business arrangement and nothing more.
Hands clasped together, we walk into the reception room, smiling and nodding as we are congratulated left and right. Hundreds of people cheer, possibly more than that. Many of them I recognize, but there are more than a fair share I don’t.
“Breathe, firecracker,” Kenzo whispers in my ear. I take a deep breath, making sure to keep my smile in place as the hordes of well-wishers line up to give their congratulations.
For the next little while, I let Kenzo do most of the talking, only introducing him to people he isn’t familiar with. As much as my new husband says he needs this marriage for the business and social connections, he seems to be doing a good job of it on his own.
After the event at the ceremony, I am more than happy to take a back seat. Until I spot Saori, the viper my husband is sleeping with before he comes home to me.
I roll my shoulders back, straightening my spine.
There is no reason for me to be puffing my feathers up. This marriage isn’t real, and Kenzo has proven that he won’t be deterred from seeing other women. I shouldn’t be jealous, but the unhinged part of me is telling me to punch her in the nose and pull out her dollar-store extensions.
I inch closer to Kenzo while we greet one of the Aldermans and his young wife. She doesn’t know that I’ve seen evidence of their affair, otherwise I doubt she would have the balls to show her face.
Or maybe that is why she’s here.
“Did you invite her?” I hiss in his ear, keeping the smile plastered on my face.
“She’s important to my family,” he tells me.
I snort at that. “More like she’s important to your dick.” If my eyes could roll into the back of my head at his lie, they would have. Kenzo’s hand squeezes mine in warning.
“Saori.” He greets the beautiful raven-haired woman, who flushes as she takes his hand. “Thank you so much for coming.”
Saori’s tongue comes out to lick her overly Botoxed lips as she gives my husband a seductive smile. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. It’s all anyone has been talking about. Although it seems to be lacking in decadence. Nothing compared to the first one. But I guess spending that much money on another wedding is simply ridiculous.”
This bitch.
“It’s true that it lacks the overt garishness of the first one,” I admit, butting into their conversation. “But I wanted something a little more understated this time around. Anyway, if someone happens to mention the fact that it isn’t garish enough for them, I’ll be sure to send them your way. The boob and Botox jobs you have should set them straight right away.”
My jaw tightens, and I wince at how harshly Kenzo is gripping my hand in his. He obviously doesn’t like the fact that I’m insulting his bimbo mistress. Hiro and Wataru, on the other hand, must find it hilarious, because they are both having a coughing fit behind us.
“How dare you?” she hissed under her breath. “You fucking?—”
“Saori,” Kenzo warns. “Move along, please.” Her eyes flare at me before she storms away. Kenzo holds his hand up, halting the next person in line, then he turns so that he is facing me, keeping our conversation private.
“Don’t you ever do something like that again,” he warns, his voice as cold as the arctic tundra. “Do you understand me?”
I should cower. Nod my head and let it go, but I can’t. I won’t.
“Don’t do what, dear husband ?” I spit the title out like it’s trash, because it is. He isn’t my husband; he is my jailer, and for a while, I forgot that. I let his smooth words and pleasurable hands sway me into believing that we could make this work. “Embarrass your mistress the same way you both embarrassed me? If you think that I am going to just sit by and let you make a fool of me, then you don’t know me at all. You should have done better research, because I’m not like the rest of these society wives. They turn the other cheek, but I believe in an eye for an eye.”
Kenzo’s lips turn up in a snarl. “Any man so much as touches you, and I’ll cut off their hands and pluck out their eyes.”
“Don’t worry, babe.” I pat his cheek mockingly. “Unlike you, I keep my vows.” I smirk. “Can’t guarantee your side piece will keep her life, though.”
He’s staring down at me with shock in his gaze, like he can’t believe I would say something so unhinged. Maybe he believes I wouldn’t go through with it. He’d be wrong. I’ll keep my vows to be loyal to him, but I’ll leave a bloody trail in my wake when he isn’t loyal to me.
He goes to say something, but a well-timed cough from Hiro has him closing his mouth and looking up at his second-in-command, who is shaking his head. Kenzo works his jaw as he stares at me, but in the end, he puts a smile on his face and turns back to our well-wishers, as if nothing is wrong.
“Congrats on finally catching your girl,” a man says as he embraces Kenzo in a hug. I recognize him. It’s hard not to remember those eyes. Crystalline blue. Ones that seem to pierce your soul. He was the man whose wedding I worked at in Las Vegas. The one that ended up with Kenzo finding me.
Adrian Volkov, head of the Vegas Bratva.
“I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.” Kenzo gives the man a genuine smile. “You missed one hell of a ceremony,” he jokes. Volkov shakes his head.
“Our flight got in late,” he says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for that. I hope you nailed the bastards. Did you find any leads?”
Kenzo shakes his head slightly, tilting his chin toward me in an obvious gesture. Of course I’m not allowed to know anything. Even though I was the one they were trying to take.
Adrian nods his head before turning to me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Evaline,” he tells me. From the look on his face, it doesn’t seem like he is all that pleased. “My name is Adrian Volkov. I work with your husband.”
One day it’s going to be ex-husband. I swear it.
“Nice to meet you,” I deadpan, not bothering with politeness. Kenzo gives an annoyed sigh, but I don’t particularly care. The man could have greeted me earlier and not as an afterthought.
“I’m sorry my wife couldn’t be here,” he says. “She would have liked to be, but the trip from Thailand took it out of her. I’ll be sure to bring her by later to meet you.”
I’m not really interested in meeting a brainwashed mafia wife, but I smile and nod anyway. This seems to appease him enough that he turns back to my husband.
“Vitali will be here in the morning,” Kenzo tells Volkov. “We can set up on the third floor and see what we find.”
“Sounds good,” Volkov agrees. “I’ll let you get back to the festivities, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The two hug, and Volkov wanders off. The people who surround him immediately know who he is, and they all want a piece of what he has to offer.
Power and wealth.
The rest of the night drags on. I smile appropriately, playing my part, but by the time the night ends, I hardly remember any of it.
Probably a good thing.
It is nearly midnight by the time everyone has cleared out. The only people left are us, his men, and my father, who looks as if he wants to leave. He can’t, though, because one of my husband’s men is keeping him from going.
“Gerard.” My husband greets my father dryly.
“Is there a reason why your goon is preventing me from leaving?” my father asks, peeved. “I would have liked to go home. My wife is not feeling well and I’d like to get home to her.”
That’s code for she’s drunk and making a fool of herself.
“This will only take a moment,” Kenzo assures him.
“Well, get on it with it,” my father huffs, agitated.
“Why did you request a copy of my wife’s wedding plans?”
Why is Kenzo asking about that? Lizzie informed me that my father wanted a copy of them, but I told her not to give them to him. It was most likely my mother wanting to try and dip her hands into a pot she didn’t belong in, and I didn’t want her to try and undermine what I’d chosen.
My father grumbles beneath his breath. “My wife,” he tells him. “The bitch wanted a copy to keep tabs on what Evaline was planning.”
“Your wife wanted it so badly that you went and obtained a copy from the event planner’s boss because she wouldn’t give it to you?”
Say what now?
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I hiss under my breath. Unreal.
“Her mother likes to be involved.” My father shrugs. “It was easy enough to pay the fucker off. He’s desperate for cash since he’s run up a tab at almost every underground casino. He’s got debts to pay.”
“What did she do with that information?” Kenzo asks. I’m struggling to see where he is going with the question.
“I don’t know,” my father insists. “Fuck if I even care, honestly.”
Why does Kenzo care?
“The men who shot up your daughter’s wedding and tried to take her were wearing the caterer’s uniform,” Kenzo snarls. “The only people who had access to that list were the event planner and your daughter.”
Does he think that my father set up the shooting? Why? What would be his motivation? My father needs this alliance more than Kenzo does, if I am being honest. Sure, my husband gains new contacts and a better foothold into the New Orleans high society, but my father gets things he’s always desperately wanted but always lacked.
Power and reach.
With Kenzo’s family name backing him, my father could go anywhere and expand his business. That is the power of the Nakamura name.
“Chase Andrews also has that list,” my father pushes desperately. “Everyone knew you were getting married. Anyone could have approached him and offered him money. We need this alliance, son. I wouldn’t risk that. I have no reason to pay anyone to kidnap my daughter.”
“Unless you were offered something better and decided to back out of the blood arrangement that my father forced you to sign.”
“Forced?” I cry out, surprised. “What do you mean forced?”
Kenzo turns to me, a snarl on his lips. “Don’t worry about it, Evaline.”
“Why not?” my father asks. “Why shouldn’t she know? She is the one paying the price, after all.”
Paying the price? “What does he mean?” I tug at Kenzo’s suit jacket.
“Go on, son,” my father goads. “Tell her.”
“Don’t call me son,” Kenzo snaps, but that doesn’t stop my father. I realize now, as I watch him sway in his seat, that he is drunk.
“Tell her how her mother ran over your older brother while she was driving home one night,” he hiccups. “Tell her how your father demanded a life for a life.”