And he is smart enough to understand the relationships I have managed to form over the years. With smaller entities—Cinco, House Boudreaux, Campanelli, Allegiance, and even La Morte—threatening the middle ground, The Unholy provides a balance otherwise unattainable to Delarte. Second and far more important, I’ve come to know how much I actually do need the knowledge and language of the criminal underbelly of it to protect my asset—Iris.
I’m becoming the son my father always dreamed of only to guard a Queen. I still believe I will be able to walk away. It is an ignorant notion on my part, I know. It’s in my blood. I’m Lucas Salvatore Raniero, and crime is in my fucking DNA.
Live it. Breathe it. Sleep it.
Love it, hate it, own it; It’s mine.
Putting on my Bollé shades, I glance up to the blue sky as we await our limousine to the hotel. The plan is to check in and await the call which will provide the location and time to meet with Iris’ captors. Heisting a human rarely happens with this much detail. In my black suit and Italian loafers, I feel like we’re aiming to swipe a rare piece of art or a diamond worth millions.
Just a rare girl worth a forbidden fortune.
With her Japanese father, Raiko Nakamura, and English mother, the now deceased (thanks to Dom) Lydia Kettles, Iris was raised in America by her nanny, Ginger Langdon. Her malevolent mother allowed the grooming of Angelo Gennaro, which brought on Dom’s loyalty at an early age. In many ways, Dom deserves the company of Iris far more than I do.
Will I let that occur?
Not a chance in fucking hell.
For everything Dom did to guard her youthful exuberance, I doubled it the last seven years. I have given everything up to be the sole protector of the Lotus Queen and I will not go down without a massacre. I have the method and means to do such. I have plotted, planned, and woven a network of alliances so tight anyone would be a fucking idiot to challenge me.
Will they?
Of course.
But I am not aiming to sit amongst the top tier, I’m only targeting one—Iris—and whatever it takes to essentially become her righthand man. I will grovel and kneel if that is what it takes. I will dismantle and kill without care. What I understand is that I can abandon my post beside my father at any point, but Iris—she will never escape her position.
Iris is at the pinnacle – the only granddaughter of The Chairman of Lotus – and the only way out of her position is with her lips wet, her orifices ritually stuffed with gauze, her body dressed in white, and her remains set ablaze. This is a funeral I never want to attend and I will do everything, including becoming the Dark Prince of the mafia, in my power to prevent it from occurring.
This is what is on the line.
And this is why I’m having her handled.
“What are we drinking boys?” Dom asks as the car pulls up.
“Sapporo,” Nico replies rather snobbishly.
Deacon flicks his Ray-Bans from his face. He sternly corrects, “Kirin.”
“I think we’re drinking beer,” I mutter, leaning into Dom. We both laugh. “I’m having tea.”
“Matcha,” Dom declares.
“No.” I shake my head. “Sweetened like swill peach.”
At sunset, we pile into the car and I silently sit staring out the window at this place from which my Queen’s helices reside. The modern, efficient stylings and the beauty of the skyline seize my attention on the expressway. We veer closer to our destination, taking an exit and rolling through the streets, as the magnificent splendor of a land I don’t understand comes into focus.
The bright lights spark my inquiry into the architectural stylings and my inner artist is so inspired I begin taking mental snapshots. If I see it, I can construct it.
After the ride to the hotel, we are escorted up to our room by a fascinating bellman speaking broken English and appearing to be about twelve. I’m sipping some sort of sweet tea when I look up from my sketchpad and ask, “Has it occurred to any of you that not a single one of us knows how to speak Japanese?”
Flipping channels, Deacon pivots on his heel from the flat screen. “Oh. Fuck.”
“Ya.”
With his feet on the coffee table, Dom chuckles beside me. “Don’t worry. The Goro gang speaks American slang. And the geisha won’t care if you speak as long as you pay.”
“Geisha?” Nico quizzes, unwrapping a candy box. “What is this 1920? You mean Hostess Club.”
Darting my eyes between the two men and their differing opinions, I furrow my brow. “Maybe I should’ve consulted with Iris about all of this.”
“You honestly think she knows?” Deacon asks.
“If in doubt, be polite,” Nico says, trying every snack on the tray. There are a dozen boxes open with one item each removed.
“Says the man who is leaving open cookies and candy,” I mutter, twitching. “Everything is going to get stale.”
With his mouth full of a cookie, he extends the offer of one to me. “Want one?”
“I can’t eat,” I reply, shifting on the sofa and staring out the window of our top floor suite. We have two adjoining suites with two rooms each. Deacon and I will only need one room. Not because we’re fucking like crazy teenagers, either. But because I’m so incredibly nervous, I may end up doing dumb stuff involving Nico’s bag of tricks. “I’m going to puke.”
“You,” Dom says, touching my hand. “Need to calm down. I would never have let you do this if I didn’t believe you could. What is my southpaw working on?”
I lift the pad to display the barn I’m going to build in Nebraska. With a flat roof and heavy beams with broad strapping, it is clear where the design is coming from and who it is for. “Jesus Christ, I hate you,” Nico mutters, staring at the sketch. “Have you always been able to draw like that?”
“Since I was little,” I answer, taking a sip of my tea. “If I can visualize it, then it’s easy.”
“He’s got tricks up his sleeve with that photographic memory,” Deacon adds, stopping on anime cartoons and sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “Don’t let the pretty face fool you, he’s a fucking nerd.”
Scratching my chin with my middle finger, I give a sly grin “And a sadist, too.”
Deacon laughs as I note Dom’s curiosity over our banter. It’s a unique place we are in. Though we are not active, Dom will always be my Master, but I’m now Deacon’s Dominant. There is a hierarchal system at work and I’m grateful Dom is getting to witness his student becoming the teacher.
Dom interjects, “Balanced by a heavy masochism.”
“Don’t I know it,” Deacon says.
Blowing a flamboyant kiss at Deacon, I knock his bad boy ass down a level with my gay revelry. He knows I have zero problems being a showman or embarrassing his tough biker exterior. “That you do, Honeybear.”
I don’t expect him to respond as his cheeks flush bright crimson. What we do privately – behind closed doors – is one thing, but bringing it in front of my Master is quite another. He knows he’s on thin ice as Dom’s strong gaze takes hold. He isn’t pissed, but Dom’s fascination with all things pretty challenges Deacon’s bravado. Never one to back down, he impulsively strides over and kneels down before me. Needless to say, I’m stunned.
“I will serve you, Snookums.”
If we weren’t waiting to meet with the Goro gang, I’d unzip my pants and shove my dick so far down his throat, he’d gag. He’d choke on it with slobber trailing onto my trousers and tears falling from the corners of his eyes. I bring my right hand to stroke his cheek and rub my thumb against his lips. They part willing as he sucks my thumb like I long for him to tease my cock.
With the rumors swirling about, Nico and Dom are both gawking as neither have ever witnessed the depth of our relationship. This is our coming out moment. This is our confession. And it is clear as we remain captured in one another’s energy there is so much more than our D/s at play.
“Soon, my pet,” I growl with a promise. “Soon.”
With a half-eaten cookie in his hand, Nico snickers, “Maybe we need another non-adjoining room.”
Tossing another grenade into the mix, Dom proudly undermines Nico’s remark. “Have you ever heard the sounds of two men fucking, Nico?”
Shoving the rest of the cookie in his mouth, he mumbles, “No.”
“Then you have no clue how erotic…how sensual and encompassing…it can be. You can talk to God in someone else’s ass.”
In a hotel in Tokyo, where I cannot mutter a single symbol, one thing reverberates like a bass drum in my soul—Dom will protect this language of our love. Dom will stand guard. Dom will vigilantly maintain the gate and go to battle if need be.
And that is more than a boy like me could ever want from his beloved Master.
16
White Lead Based Paint
We are meeting the Goro gang at the Yanagi hostess bar in the Ginza district of Tokyo. The open and enormous lounge boasts black lacquered woodwork, white leather sofas, gold accent finishes, and hundreds of crystal chandeliers. Between the chandeliers, black stained bamboo rods jet across the ceiling beams in a haphazard, whimsical pattern. It is like no other place I have ever been, and I’ve been to many upscale restaurant clubs stateside. I’m in awe of the splendor and decor.
The bar is jam-packed full of wealthy international businessman and gorgeous girls from all over the world. The grand place is not reserved for just the Japanese, though there are plenty. As we are escorted to our private room, I overhear a multitude of foreign accents.
Our room is lavish with a half-moon shaped sectional and an unusual round glass table, inset in the middle is a square with bottles of wine and champagne chilling in ice. Two rows of champagne flutes line along a bamboo tray. At the end of the tray, a crystal ashtray holds an enormous steampunk-styled lighter and a stack of black linen napkins folded into squares. The meticulous detail in everything cools my nerves. My OCD need to reorganize and arrange is the calmest it has been in years.
With Deacon on my right side, I nudge Dom’s shoulder to my left. “Did you reserve the room?”
“And four hostesses—all Asian—just for you.”
Sitting between Dom and Nico, Deacon asks, “So how does this work exactly?”
“You meet, talk, laugh,” Nico says, smiling. “There are private rooms or you can go out on a date. Everything you say to them is in the strictest of confidence because their reputation depends on it.”
“It’s a bar of tension relief specialists,” I mumble, knowing this is what my girl is trained to do.
Dom snarls from the corner of his mouth. “Exactly, Boston.”
Deacon slightly hesitates and asks, “Will they…”
“If they’re interested in you, they can. Many consider hostesses to be the modern day geisha,” Nico adds as the curtain to our room is pulled back and the Goro gang enters. Oddly, we are matched in numbers. The curtain drops and I stand. A petit, well dressed, and manicured woman follows them in. “The rest of your party is here. My name is Oki.”
“Pleasure to meet you, I’m Salvatore Raniero and these are my men, Deacon Cruz, Dom Gennaro, and Nico Cristos.”
The youngest of the bunch nods with an approving smile. I’m still not buying that they speak fluent American until he offers up a lick to prove me wrong. “Hey, man,” he says, offering a broshake in the clearest English I’ve heard all day. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you I kind of feel like we’re brothers from another mother.”
I laugh as we all take a seat.
“I’m Daisuke Goro and these are my three older brothers—Satoru, Takeo, and Orochi. They aren’t fluent in English.”
Taking one of the many bottles sitting in the middle of the table, Oki starts to pour champagne. She says nothing but her big chocolate eyes blink with a pristine innocence. I understand this is part of her charm—I’ve been in the service industry for years—but it will take more than sweetness to garner my attention.
Daisuke pulls a smoke from his pack and I do the same as Oki flicks the flame of the captivating lighter. I temporarily suppress my need to tinker with the gadget. “Thank you,” I say, exhaling. “Let’s talk.”
“We can accommodate your wishes per the request for cash and goods totaling one million dollars.” That seems cheap to me considering the priceless piece of ass we’re talking about moving. I briefly consider ending the meeting and Daisuke must pick up on my reluctance. “Is there a problem?”
“I want my merchandise handled with white gloves,” I say, testing his understanding of the dire importance to me. “There can be no mistakes.”
“We have men.”
“I don’t want men,” I reply with a simmer. “I want you.”
He realizes the magnitude of what I’m asking and after a moment of translation with his brothers, I note the eldest, Orochi, giving an offensive, spiteful stare. Daisuke calms his brothers with a few words and asks, “Would you do it? If the situation were reversed?”
“In your position—yes.”
“You? Yourself? With your snobbish American candor and swanky clothes…you would ride a ship for days?”
He has no idea the hell I’ve been through or what I’ve seen. “I would.”
“You are talking about, at the bare minimum, four or five days at sea.”
“And how much do the four of you earn in a day?” More discussions ignite between them as Deacon blinks with concern. “We will do it for two million.”
“Three and you take control of the merchandise in the next two months,” I up his offer with a counter as Deacon latches onto my arm. In four days, we leave. While I would like to know they have seized my possession before traveling back across the Pacific, I understand that is almost impossible. This will be a highly-calculated kidnapping, and the worst part is—I won’t be in control. “With a constant report back to me.”
He softly speaks with his brothers and they all nod. “May we speak, alone?”
I give my boys a stern blink and the six leave Daisuke, Oki, and myself in the room. “You upped your offer, why?”
“Because two isn’t enough.”
“How about two and two thousand rifles?” Grabbing my champagne, I sit back and cross my legs. I know he wants to sell the guns, but I’m not sure I like my odds. Handing the Goro gang guns to sell means there are more guns in the streets of Japan; Japan is where my girl will be. “You’re a smart man Mr. Raniero.”
“And you’re doubling.”
“I’ll do four mil in cash. Two on capture and another two on safe release,” I stipulate, not wavering, as I look him in the eye. “And no more.”
It’s a bit reverse to up the bidding system, as opposed to negotiating down. It feels strange, but I can play along with their tactics.
“Done.” Standing up, he reaches his hand across the table and I take it, agreeing to the deal, when he asks, “May I have a promise from you? A personal one?”
Oh no.
Here is where the sticky shit gets involved, over handshakes oozing with emotional goo to tap out every resource and zap my energy to nothing.
“Promise that if we deliver your cargo, that you will not attack the Goro family for one year.”
Only one?
I eye Oki who is sitting in perfect form on her knees at the end of the table. She offers a subtle—I’d-like-to-suck-your- cock—smile.
“We’ve had some transitions since our father passed and this is our first big negotiation. I want more than anything to call it a success and have your continued association with us for many years to come, but I need to know you will not come after my brothers as we try and stabilize our business.”
“Fair enough,” I agree, wrapping my other hand over the top of his. “You have my vow. One year.”
He nods and departs with a smile as I sit down.
Emptying my glass, I curl my finger several times at Oki to come sit beside me. She grabs the bottle and refills my glass. I hand it to her. “Did I do t
he right thing?” I ask of the beautiful stranger.
“Yes,” she says, tucking her knees beneath her bottom and sitting towards me. Her fingers touch my hair and neck. “But be careful. The Goro can be dangerous.”
“So can The Sal.” Her bubbly laughter fills the air. “Can you show me the way out of here? Like a back exit?”
“Of course,” she says. “You want to be alone?”
“Yes, please.”
I pull out my wallet and hand her my credit card. “I’ll be right back.”
I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing or the stupidest thing ever, but when she returns to hand me the check I notice the feminine ring in a shape similar to the one I have. “Do you know Delarte Cristos?”
“Longtime client of mine.”
I scan over the check and look up before I sign it. “Has he met with the Goro brothers before?”
“Mmm,” she says, shaking her head. “Not that I know.”
“Who is the most dangerous?”
She thinks about it for a moment and declares, “Orichi is most like his father.”
“Thank you.” I glance down and scribble my name along with a five-thousand-dollar tip. I stand beside her and realize how much she reminds me of Iris—gentle hand gestures and tender annunciations. “Can you slip off your shoes?”
She does so and I offer her a hug. Her short stature, wide hips, and fake boobs fit against my body like Iris. I know what I’m doing, walking this tightrope with no net, but it is a perilous move on my part as I close my eyes. I release her and mutter, “I’m taking these two champagne bottles.”
“Would you like a glass?”
“Not necessary.”
We narrowly escape being seen by the boys as she opens the back door to the alleyway. I down the contents of the open bottle, hand it back to her, and peck her cheek. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, glancing up at the skies. “It’s drizzling. Would you like an umbrella?” She winks.
“No, ma’am,” I say as she kisses my lips and hands a box of rubbers to me. “Don’t get wet, Nero.”
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 13
