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They were ready to fight.
Tensions have been running high for a few months between the Russians and the Japanese in New York: specifically, between the Nikolayev Bratva—Kir’s empire, which I both work for and am basically family with—and the Mori-kai, aka Kenzo Mori’s empire, which has been aggressively expanding into the city.
It all came to a head when Aoki took one look at Damian and pulled a gun. Twenty seconds later, Aoki, three of his men, and two of Kir’s were dead, and Damian was very close to it.
That shootout is why my best friend Annika is being forced to marry the dark, dangerous, and broody Kenzo Mori: to repair the bad blood between the Yakuza and the Bratva before everyone tears each other apart.
I feel for Annika, I really do. She and Kenzo already have a not-so-great history: I mean, shedidrob him five years ago, and it would appear he hasn’t let that go. But even so, the real victim here is lying in a hospital bed down the hall in a medically induced coma while the doctors wait to make sure they got all the bullet fragments out of his chest.
Delores sees the faraway look in my eyes and walks out from behind the nurses’ station to give me a hug.
“Let me tell you something, honey. Two kinds of people come through the ICU: quitters, and fighters. The quitters just don’t have it in ’em. They’re done. There’s nothing left in the tank. But the fighters?” She smiles warmly at me. “They just won’t quit. That’s what you need when they wheel you in here. And that pretty brother of yours?” She winks. “He’s a fighter. He’ll come around. You’ll see.”
He’d better.
“Brought you something.”
What? So I’vecontinuedto buy Delores’ love. But in fairness, she’s got great taste in vinyl. I pull the ultra-rare French pressing of Fleetwood Mac’sRumors, the one with the typo in the liner notes and Christine McVie incorrectly credited as the drummer on “Gold Dust Woman”. I found this gem at a vinyl shop in Brooklyn a week ago, and it had Delores’ name all over it.
Her eyes go wide when I slip it out of my backpack and hand it to her.
“Where onEarthdid you find this?!” she says breathlessly.
“A magician doesn’t reveal her secrets,” I grin.
Delores hugs me tightly before pulling back to beam at me. “You’re a peach, Frey. Izzy is going to freak when I show her.”
Izzy is Delores’ granddaughter, and they apparently bond over Fleetwood Mac. Delores also loves to tell me that I remind her of Izzy since we’ve both got “that goth thing going on”.
Izzy isfifteen.
I’m not sure what that says about my fashion choices, but I like to think of it as Izzy being cool beyond her years, not me dressing like an edgy teenager.
“I should go check on him,” I say, glancing down the hall to Damian’s room.
Delores nods. “Say hi on your way back out. And get some sleep, hon. You look like you could use it.”
I force a smile, nodding again. “I’ll try.”
We both know I won’t.
I leave Delores and walk toward Damian’s room, the tension in my body mounting with each step. The door creaks softly as I push it open…and there he is, lying in the same hospital bed he’s been in for weeks.
Unmoving.
Silent.
The rhythmic beeping of the machines is the only sound in the room, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only sign he’s still alive. I pull the chair up to his bed, the metal legs scraping lightly against the floor. My hands shake as I sit, my fingers brushing over the cool, pale skin of his hand. He’s usually so warm, so full of life. Now he feels cold. Too cold.
I hate this.
For a while, it was just Annika and me. Well, beforethat, there was the nightmarish time when I was alone on the streets, after I ran from the family I was done with and my monster of a father.
But then I met Annika. She was older, tougher, smoother, and already had a few years by herself on the streets under her belt. She likes to say we took each other under our wings, but it’s more lopsided than that.
Together we made quite the team, between her skills at taking things that didn’t necessarily belong to her and my skills with a computer. We started to make a real name for ourselves in the underworld as thieves for hire, and we were just starting to bite off more than we could perhaps chew.
That’s when we met Damian. And by “met” I mean we stole his Rolex at a fancy dinner party we were posing as catering staff for. We robbed that placeblind. Then, when we were having our celebratory drinks down the street, Damian found us.
