Page 90 of Toxic

“You know who I am. You have always seen me, me little dove. You know there is nowhere I will go and nothing I will not do to keep you safe. They didn’t just target me. They attacked you too.” Canting my head, I chase her gaze until she locks in with me. “And that’s when they fucked up. They sealed their fate. Now, give me the grace of having one less thing to worry about. Please shower and have Aiko make you a calming tea.” I press a kiss to her forehead silently communicating to my staff what I need to be done.

I would have thoughtas head of the most powerful Yakuza clan Tatsumoto would have had his men ready to cut me down the moment I approached his property. Taking a few precious moments, I cloned his security system masking it with video from an hour ago.

The entire space is eerily absent staff as I navigate the expanse of the mansion made in the style of the Edo Period but still has the new money flash and bang that the syndicate so loves. Yet these paintings are less garish and more provocative in their social commentary than you see the Samurai in the murals being hunted and expunge from society when they are no longer needed by the government going on to form their own clans which led to the rise of the Yakuza.

Looking at the art, I don’t miss the message. I know he doesn’t do business here so this is only for him and those closest to him. His belief in his organization is as strong as any Takeda. I almost regret having to kill him but taking the vendetta to my beloved sealed his fate.

Taking one long corridor after another I pass the inner sanctum of the head to the Tatsumoto Syndicate. My hackles rise, there should be more guards. More protection. I feel for the false wall that’s in the plans my cousin sent me. The doors slide open silently. I am arrested by what I see inside.

The yakuza sits before a painting that runs the expanse of a wall. The canvas is stark white. Until you get to the bottom and there is a black pool of liquid that runs along the bottom of the canvas that gradually turns crimson. The blood trail leads up and up until it is shown to be spilling from the slit neck of a beautiful woman draped in a silk kimono.

I step closer to further inspect her beauty. If he’s aware of my presence he doesn’t bother to look up from the crimson he’s mixing. Beneath him on the floor is the very same woman her hair tied back as depicted in the painting. Her mouth is gagged with his foot on her neck. A pet. Yet her eyes burn with something akin to hatred. She looks at me and that look does not change.

“Did your cousin or your brother send you to kill me?” comes the bored question from the man who doesn’t bother to even glance away from his work.

“Cousin,” I say, giving him that much.

“Ah,” is all he says as he smoothly rises moving in the opposite direction going over to the painting. He makes broad strokes on the canvas to the red kimono, occasionally looking at the woman whose head is turned in my direction.

“It’s unfortunate. I would have thought the presentation of such an extravagant gift,” he nods toward the woman, “after mysister’s abrupt end to the engagement upon finding out about your brother’s attachment would have settled things nicely between our families. Or is there a business situation I have not been made aware of?” Quirking an uninterested brow at me he turns back to his work with an intensity that borders on mania.

Absently I wonder if he saves all his passion for the canvas.

“I would inquire the same after tonight’s incident. Guns are a tad bit gauche don’t you think, old friend?” I keep my tone as bored as his though I feel only rage simmering as the monster prowls the edge of my mind.

“Kill him. Kill him. Kill him,” Heurges.

All in good time.

“Guns? No one in my organization is allowed to use such crass tools. We are of silence and blood when we put work in. You know this. Why have you come?” All pretense falls away. A cold killer stands before me ready to draw his weapon the moment I do. He may even do it before me since I came into his home uninvited.

“My wife and I were attacked by a Yakuza swarm as we left the theater tonight. Nothing happens in this city without your approval, my friend. So you tell me. Why have I come?” If not for the brief moment of shocked outrage on his face I would have thrown my ceremonial blade into his throat.

“Apologies, for the incident to you and your wife. I hope she is well.” He bows deeply. “I take full responsibility for any harm that has come to your wife because as you say I run this city and if someone within it has acted in such a dishonorable way then it falls to me. May I ask, were any survivors interrogated?” Deep concern etches his features as he pulls out his phone shooting off a series of texts.

“My wife is fine and resting at home. She is a brave woman delicate but far stronger than any other I have ever met.” As the words leave my mouth I watch as his gaze skates over to thewoman lying prone on the floor before he drags them away and continues to let his fingers fly across the keypad.

“Then the gods favor you, Hisashi Takeda.” He bows then silently reads as a flurry of text responses come in. “All my chiefs have confirmed their teams’ whereabouts as well as time stamps on their daily schedules. I will of course conduct an audit and if found I will bring them before you myself.”

Frustration rips at me but something tells me that he is not lying. Tatsumoto has never acted without honor in our dealings. We found out after his sister eloped with her assistant, he’d only previously opposed the match because he knew she was in love with her assistant and wanted to honor that. Mai’s love for their father is what led to her duplicity. All indications point to his non-involvement. However, Takeda’s are not so trusting.

“There is time to kill him later,” Headvises.

Since when did you become the voice of reason?

“When she came back. Still, we get to kill the actual wrongdoers.”

Perfect.

“I await your findings.” I bow briefly to him.

He bows briefly before walking over to the woman. “Up,” I hear him snarl as I enter into the darkened corridor.

As I leave, I notice the servants are back out in their usual positions. One even opens the door as I exit the mansion.

When I get inside my black Maserati there is a black velvet case sitting on the passenger seat. A vellum card has Mrs. H. Takeda emblazoned on the outside. Opening the lid, I spy purple diamonds all the size of almonds in a beautiful platinum choker with matching teardrop earrings.

“Motherfucker,” I mutter, pulling off anxious to get back to Taylor.

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