Page 10 of Dangerous Deceit

And yet, right now, I’m alone. I’m the only one who has to do this.

A man in a black suit waits at the corner of the mirrors.

“Miss Petrus,” he says. “I work for Mr. Watanabe. I’ll escort you to the car.” I open my mouth to question him, but he continues. “Please follow me.”

He turns so quickly I have to lift the edges of my dress and hurry to catch him. Then I notice the other black-suited men following us. On the way out of the building, I spot an exit off to the side, hidden between two stores.

I can still run.

But Uncle Jay and Patrick are counting on me, and after all they’ve done for me?

This is our last job. I have to do this.

CHAPTER 7

VI

The suited manholds open a door to a private exit off the side of the building, but before I go through the door, I swallow a breath, steeling myself.

This isn’t research, but I grew up with an uncle and cousin who are expert cons. I probably picked up things by mere association.

I can do this.

I step through the doors, holding my shoulders back with confidence. But then I stop in my tracks. Instantly, I know exactly who I’m facing.

It’s him.

Tall. Muscular arms. Wavy black hair hangs around his face in a carefree way. Stubble crosses his jawline. Dark brown eyes glow as they soak me up. His suit is expensive and tailored—not like the suits I see Uncle Jay and Patrick wear—and a hint of a tattoo, a koi fish swimming against the current, brings color to his neck. Pure sensuality drips from his lips, like he’s about to tease a secret out of me. But his posture stops me. Strong and dominant, like he can command an entire fleet of soldiers with a flick of his finger.

“Vi Petrus,” he says in a warm, gravelly voice. He holds out a hand, and as I reach for it, he pulls me into a hug, swallowing me in his ginger whisky scent. My stomach tightens as his hard body presses against me, tension rolling to my throat.

This is the man who helped cut kanji into my uncle’s hand?

I stutter into his chest: “And you are?—”

“Kenzo,” he says cooly. “Thank you for coming with me on such short notice. These galas—” he laughs, deep and whimsical, like he’s seducing a crowd of eager listeners, even though it’s just me. “They require a certain social appearance, and trust me, it helps to have a partner-in-crime.”

He winks, and my stomach does a backflip. A partner-in-crime? That’s not exactly the kind of thing you want to hear a man from the yakuza say, especially someone who has bodyguards at his disposal. And to make it even worse, he’s acting like I don’t know about the horrible torture his family forced my uncle to endure.

But I force a smile. He thanked me for coming.As if I had a choice.

“Any time,” I say.

He opens the car door for me. “Good. Let’s go.”

We pull up to the MGM Grand Conference Center, a rectangular building with red accents and palm trees lining the landscape. Inside, Kenzo leads me to the Grand Ballroom. A string quartet plays covers of pop songs on the stage, and Kenzo nods appreciatively at the musicians. The room is filled with high tables cloaked in shiny fabric. Even the carpet is elegant, designed with stylish vines and leaves.

“Champagne?” a server asks.

“Absolutely,” Kenzo says.

He grabs two glasses and hands one to me. I shrink under my shoulders. I don’t really drink; I’m the epitome of a lightweight. At twenty-five, I’ve only had alcohol around UncleJay and Patrick, and I always pass out quickly. I’ve never had champagne, and this isn’t the time or the place to be knocked unconscious.

Kenzo puts an arm around my shoulder. There’s a relaxed grin on his lips, like he’s reading me and understands my concerns. I tense, but his deep laughter puts me at ease. My thighs clench together.

“Relax,” he says. “Drink it slowly. You’ll be fine.”

“People keep saying I’ll be fine,” I mumble. “It’s almost like they know Iwon’tbe fine.”

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