Page 88 of Emperor of Wrath

17

ANNIKA

I’ve been on private jets before. Kir owns one that’s as stunning as his eight homes, and I’m not gonna lie, that thing is one sweet ride.

But flying on Sota’s massive 747 is next level. There are two floors, complete with a main cabin, individual bedrooms, an office and conference room, a dining area with a freaking sushi chef, a bar, and a gym.

Yes. On a plane.

A few hours into the flight, I’ve already watched Air Force One and Snakes On A Plane. Call me crazy, but it felt like appropriate viewing material for being taken to Japan on a jet against my will.

Eventually, my legs need stretching, and I take a little tour. I wind up at the sushi counter, where the chef greets me with a smile and begins to prepare the first course of an omakase tasting menu.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”

Startled, I turn to see Sota.

“Not at all. I mean,” I smile wryly, “it’s your plane.”

The older man chuckles as he takes a seat at the counter next to me. The chef bows to his boss, quickly pours a carafe of sake, and slides it over.

“Sake?” Sota asks, turning to me.

“I’m actually taking a small break from drinking.”

He arches a brow, not looking away.

“I mean… Yeah, sure, why not,” I shrug.

Sota chuckles as the chef delivers two little sake cups before bowing again and going back to preparing the sushi.

“Jiro doesn’t know any English,” Sota says in his beautifully accented voice, nodding to the chef. “Feel free to speak freely.”

He pours the sake as Jiro slides a plate in front of each of us with a stunningly arranged slice of hamachi over a light seaweed salad with what looks like sliced yuzu.

“Kanpai,” the older Yakuza boss says gruffly, raising his glass.

“Kanpai.”

“To a fruitful marriage,” he says quietly. When he clocks the look I can’t quite hide quickly enough, he smiles. “It may not have love,” he continues. “But may it at least have peace, respect, and kindness.”

Well, that was beautiful.

I take a sip of sake and pick up the chopsticks to taste my delicious first course. When I glance over at Sota, I notice something I never have before. My gaze drags down his forearm, over the irezumi ink, until it lands on his right hand.

…and the pinky finger that’s missing the top half.

“When I was young,” Sota says, catching me looking, and holding his hand up with a wry smile, “I was a bit like Takeshi. Headstrong, impulsive, wild.” He chuckles. “Like Kenzo, too, although he at least keeps a level head.”

“What happened?” I ask, frowning at his finger.

“I disrespected my oyabun,” he says matter-of-factly. “In the Yakuza, respect is everything. Luckily, my oyabun was a wise man who saw potential in an otherwise headstrong youth. He could have asked for my heart. Instead, it was only yubitsume.”

I stare wide-eyed at his pinky again.

“He cut your finger off?”

Sota chuckles and shakes his head as he turns back to his hamachi.

---