Page 42 of Pragma
“Are those your guys?” I taunt Marco.
“For the love of god, River, are they with you? Could you tell them to…retreat?” Joel sounds a little exasperated.
I turn to my girls, and in Japanese, I order them to back down and wait in the corridor.
“You are Fly’s brother? Resurrected?” Luca asks, and River nods as I stomp back into the apartment again.
Fly. Oh, that’s the name Joel likes to be called. I remember seeing it in one of the PI’s files he sent to River a while back.
“I thought you were here to kill us. Coming uninvited, packing, with one of the extras from Mad Max…no offense.” Luca turns to me.
“Offense fucking taken! You look like a white Thanos,” I counter bitterly, grimly sheathing my sword.
“Who?”
I pretend to think about it for a second, then say with a smirk, “Prefer Harry Potter because of the scar on your face?”
“Tell me your name, so I know exactly who I am about to stab in the heart.”
“Akira Hebikawa. Should I spell it for you or carve it on your forehead?” I outstretch my hand toward River, silently asking for his knife.
“Hebikawa, the head of the five yakuza families?” Moretti is looking at me with wary eyes…warier than before.
“That’s my aunt,” I clarify.
“Another pampered prince,” Luca mutters with disdain. What’s his fucking problem?
I’m about to reply with a sneering comment when River beats me to it, “One more word, and you’ll miss your tongue.”
Dammit to hell, but he’s so sexy when he turns all growly and bloodthirsty. How did I not feel this attraction before?
“Enough! Nobody is getting hurt here,” Joel suddenly screams. “It’s like dealing with demonic preschoolers.”
“Butterfly…” Moretti starts to say, but Joel twists his body in the mafioso’s arms until he’s facing him, and they start whispering.
The tension hanging in the air is so thick, I could cut it with my katana. River’s eyes are laser-focused on his brother, who’s cupping Moretti’s face. They look pretty cozy.
“He seems more than fine,” I tell him, trying to make him see that his brother has two big burly men at his service. Ohhh, naughty Joel. He looks tiny and cute, the opposite of River’s rugged, muscular sex appeal. But that same adorable line appears between their eyes when they are irked, and they have the same arched brow shape and scolding tone.
River’s gaze goes to Luca, who’s moving toward the French windows to light a smoke. The mustard yellow tie he’s wearing has a tiger on the front. I like it, but I’ll never tell him that.
“What is a yakuza prince doing here?” he asks with disdain.
I rest my still aching tushy on the backrest of the wide sofa. I might look relaxed, but I’m still alert.
“River is my…right-hand man,” I say simply.
“You work for the Japanese mafia?” Joel asks his brother.
“Yes. He is one of us,” I reply. I don’t fucking care what anybody else thinks.
Joel runs a hand through his long blond hair, looking all confused and upset. Shouldn’t he be happy to see his brother?
“I thought you were…dead. What happened?”
River opens his mouth and then closes it. Knowing he needs a little nudge, I push off the sofa and lift my hand to his face. He winces back. I’ve only ever seen that much emotion swirling in his eyes the time I got shot a couple of years back and he took me to the hospital.
My fingers card through the loose hair on his side, pushing it back and revealing the severity of his scars.
