Page 39 of Dangerous Deceit

Even if Kenzo is tempting beyond reason, he’s dangerous. I need to finish my work and get the hell out.

There are five bedrooms, four and a half baths, and a movie theater. Most of the rooms are filled with boxes as if he can’t be bothered to unpack. It reminds me of our storage units.

I pry open a box. Inside, there are neatly folded clothes: dress shirts, trousers, suit jackets. In another box, there are dusty bottles of liquor. It’s obviously not what I’m searching for, but I keep snooping anyway. I examine one of the bottles; the label is covered in kanji. He likes Japanese whisky then.

But that’s nothing compared to his love of music.

In the living room, a vinyl record player is out of place next to the flat screen television, but maybe that’s exactly like Kenzo. He’s modern, but he knows what he likes. The shelves next to the stereo system are stacked with records. I pull out one, telling myself maybe I’ll find some business information—a secret notetucked between the cases—but I’m in awe of the covers; each case I pull out has another long-haired musician on the artwork, and though I recognize some of the band names, most of it is lost on me. Kenzo and I can’t be more than five years apart, and yet, he basically worships the rock gods of the seventies. Queen—I know a few songs from that band. But Hocus Pocus? White Heart? Three Dog Night? Most of it doesn’t ring a bell.

The fourth bedroom is closed. I try the handle, but it’s locked. There’s a small keypad above the handle. It must be digital, but there’s also a tiny keyhole in the handle. Maybe I can pick the lock. Uncle Jay always discouraged me from learning that kind of stuff. He never wanted me in these situations to begin with, which is why I’m the researcher.

And I’m good at researching. I may not be able to find anything about the Endo-kai, but Icanresearch how to pick a lock.

After doing a quick internet search, I pick through my toiletry bags, searching for a hairpin. A door creaks at the front of the penthouse. I lean my head out of the bathroom, but instead of hearing Kenzo’s booming entrance, there’s barely any movement.

I tiptoe to the front of the penthouse, and when I get to the kitchen, I flinch. A stranger I recognize from the wedding peers through the kitchen. His arms are muscular and bare. He narrows his eyes at me.

“You didn’t run,” he says dryly. “Surprising.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

He crosses his arms over his chest, staring at me like I’m a cockroach he’s ready to squash. Then he tilts his head. “I should ask you the same thing.”

“Why are you in my—I mean—Kenzo’s penthouse?” I ask cautiously. If he got in here easily, that means he has clearance at the front desk, like me. “At least tell me your name.”

“Niko.”

Right. Niko was the one who let us into the lobby before the ceremony,andthe one who got into Ronin’s face when he said he was Tomo’s first-born son.

His black eyes have hints of blue warping the sides. Tomo’s eyes aren’t like that. He must get it from his mother.

“Niko. Right,” I say. “So that makes you…”

“Wakagashira,” he says.

I remember the title from studying yakuza terminology.

“Second-in-command,” I say.

“Which means your husband works for me.”

A sour taste forms on my tongue. He seems tolikethe status, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. But I shove those suspicions away, pretending I’m unaffected by his arrogance.

“You’re half-siblings, right? Or adoptive. Chosen family. Step-siblings? Something like that,” I ramble.

“Sure,” he says again, his voice both bored and irritated.

“You scared me,” I laugh. “Kenzo didn’t tell me you can come in unannounced.”

“Why? Are you already stealing from us?”

My chest tightens with nerves, but I can’t let his accusations get to me.

“Just fixing my hair,” I say. It’s sort of true, after all. Niko eyes my hair—it’s damp from the shower and pulled up in a messy bun. But before he can deduce whether or not I’m lying, I change the subject: “You have a key?”

“We all have keys to each other’s places.”

If Uncle Jay and Patrick and I lived in different places, would it be the same for us? Uncle Jay is too particular about certain things, and I doubt he’d let us have free rein over his place. I tell myself it’s a good thing, but part of me hates it.

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