Page 45 of The Queen's Denial

“I—I am so sorry you feel that I have disrespected you. I would never dream of dishonoring my family or yours with such behavior. I am shamed that I have pushed you to such a point in front of our goryoshin.” Once I remind him that he is making a scene in front of our parents, as my father will most certainly see this later if he isn’t watching right now anyway, I fully bow my head to hide my obvious smile. I’m glad it’s dim in this room, or else it would be quite obvious that I’m about to laugh, even as I hide it inside the cringe of my shoulders.

Finally, my father comes in, which is the moment I have been hoping for. I imagine that Sota didn’t realize he was around or that he would even care about how I was being treated by a rich and powerful man. Since so little is known about my father, it is often assumed that he is as distant as any other Yakuza leader would be from his daughter.

I have also only been with Daiki for the entire time Sota has been here, so there was no real reason to believe that my father would care about how this was going today. But as he stalks toward us, it’s obvious. Sota goes silent immediately, trying and failing to hide his immediate distress. And he’s right to be nervous, because he’s about to get his ass thoroughly beaten by my father.

My father is silent, calmly staring daggers into Sota’s brain, by the looks of it. His fiery gaze does not leave Sota’s for a moment, even as Sota’s falters multiple times. It’s good because it gives Sota more time to shit his pants and me more time to perfect my pouting, teary expression without giving away the fact that I’m lit up like a grinning Jack-o-lantern inside.

My father walks slowly to Sota. The thing about my father is that, even with a slight limp from his recent injury, at the age of 61, in mediocre shape, he still manages to look like a combustion engine ready to explode. Sota can’t meet his gaze. The closer he gets, the scarier he becomes, like a looming supervillain ready to strike.

The real problem for Sota is certainly not that he can’t hurt my father; he has his gun, I’m sure, and likely a couple of throwing knives or some other type of weapon he has mastered. It’s not that he can’t take him on physically, of course;I’m sure Sota is no older than 30 years and in the prime of his health. But what he can’t outrun is my father’s reach. He can’t outrun the power and influence. Not many truly can, and that is what scares everyone into doing whatever he wants.

Sota looks past my father to see if his own will come to his aid. But I know he won’t. I’ve seen this before; I’ve seen my father get like this, and it won’t be pretty. Well, I’ll have fun watching the fireworks, but Sota and his family certainly won’t be happy.

“Do you disrespect my daughter by bringing another woman’s name into my house?” my father asks in Japanese. Speaking Japanese, in my household, is always a sign that someone is well and truly fucked. “Have you not been taught to treat her as the beautiful, rare orchid that she is?”

Sota says nothing. I think he knows it’s better to stay silent. There’s nothing he can say now, and he’s going to have to take his punishment, whatever that may be.

My father’s searing look turns even more menacing as his brows turn down. “Are you looking for Papa to save you now? I can see your wandering eyes. You are a coward, and you have brought your family only shame and embarrassment today. My daughter, my title, and my power will never be yours. In fact, at this point, you will be lucky to leave here alive.”

Sota is shaking in his boots at this point. He knows something is coming, but the anticipation of how bad it will truly be is almost worse than the actual act itself. Even I wouldn’t mind watching him get a few fingers and a wrist broken, but I do really hope my father holds himself back from killing him. I only wanted him to make an example of this asshole.

My father may not be as fast or robust as he used to be, but he still moves with tiger-like grace, and he knows what he’s doing. In my family, we’ve all been trained by the best for years in many different forms of hand-to-hand combat. Even I myself am adept at fencing, have risen to Karate black belt master, and have been trained to use knives and guns as well. I’ve never used it in a real-life situation, and am not really allowed to flaunt it anyway, but my father made sure the traditions passed down to the family’s heirs were also passed to me.

My father has Sota’s hands behind his back in seconds and bends his arm up in such a way that it pops as casually and easily as if he’s breaking up chicken wings to cook for dinner. The man cries out in pain and nearly loses his balance as my father rears back and punches him directly in the jaw. I hear it break. He’s probably going to need metal braces for a while after that punch, and he’s going to be dropping some serious cash on new teeth. Maybe I can hook him up with the new 1-800-DENTIST friend I met at the bar a few weeks ago.

I nearly titter to myself at my own inside joke, and, of course, my father catches it like the omniscient being he is. I can see his eyes slide to me for a fraction of a second, and I know at that moment that I’m in big trouble.

A broken nose and a busted kneecap later, Sota is clutching his face and moaning on the floor.

Papa calls out for Sota’s father to come into the room. Hitoshi shuffles into the room with his head down, fists at his side.

“Hitoshi-san,” my father says in a deadly tone. “You dare to bring this shameful, disobedient filth into my house?”

Hitoshi bows deeply, hands together as if he’s praying, in quite the apologetic display. “I beg for your forgiveness, Taicho. He will be punished severely at home as well.”

“He will not receive dental care. You will not fix his teeth. He will not go to a hospital, and his nose will not be reset. Do you understand?”

Hitoshi pauses for a split second too long, and my father’s fingers whip out to push against the carotid arteries on his neck. “Perhaps I should simply kill both of you. Leave your wife and four daughters with no male figures in their lives.”

Hitoshi shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. Of course, whatever you say, Taicho.”

“Get him out of my house. If I ever see him again, I will kill him. Then I will kill you, too.”

With that, my father turns on his heel, grabs my arm, and leaves the room with me.

*****

“Was there something about what I said in our last conversation that was unclear, Chichi-kun?”

My father is using a formal honorific that slates me as “junior,” instead of the sweet “-chan” he usually uses with me. I keep my head bowed and stick to short sentences. They always serve me better. “No, Oto-san.”

“Do you make a mockery of our customs, daughter?”

“No, Oto-san.”

My father loses his shit and throws his desk phone to the floor, shattering the pieces and sending them skating across the room.

“You make a mockery of our family! You shame everything we have done for you. Everything we have given you. Everything we have sacrificed. All for what? Your stupid American jokes and inclinations?” He roars at me, and although I pride myself on never cowering, I do it now.

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