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I whistle wolfishly.
“Dude, you lookhot.”
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”
“That the hot little number your new gal-pal Hana picked for you?”
I grin at her. I’ve been giving her shit ever since she went dress shopping with Kenzo’s super put-together type-A sister, Hana.
“It is.” Annika smirks, eying my outfit. “I see you managed to find a new way to pair black with…black.”
I grin. “I know you’re trying to be an insulting cunt, but I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”
Annikahas todress up for tonight. This whole engagement party thingissort of part of the deal with her arranged…thing…with Kenzo.
I, on the other hand, have opted to thumb my nose at the dress code hard enough for both of us.
My look for the evening is somewhere between “Morticia Addams at a funeral” and “edgy Disney villain”, with a heavy nod to Helena Bonham Carter. My all-black—vintagevelvet, I might add—dress falls all the way to the ground, with long wizardy-looking sleeves. The plunging neckline would normally be a bit much for me, but the obscene amount of cleavage is covered with fishnet material built into the dress.
I’ve completed the look with shiny black Doc Marten boots and my favorite spiked choker.
Annika grins at me. “Okay. You actually do look fantastic.Very‘it’s-not-a-phase-Mom’. I love it.”
“Thank you,” I grin back. “The highest form of flattery.”
Annika clears her throat. “So, airport. You in?”
I grin at her. “You know it. Ride or die, bitch.”
She smiles wryly before she sighs. “Guess we can’t exactly skip out of this one, can we?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately, no. At least, not without setting off world war three.”
“That would seriously ruin Kir’s weekend.”
I grin. “Right. And I mean, I can’t really see him dishing the same sort of gossip to Damian when he goes to visit that we do.”
Annika snorts. “Totally.” She clears her throat, scowling as her tone shifts lower. “Yeah, uh, what’s up, nephew. I’m always a big grump for no real reason. It’s sooo hard being super rich and powerful, and really handsome, and having no interest in anyone of the opposite or even the same sex.”
I laugh loudly at her terrible Kir impression. To be fair, it’s tough to nail his peculiar mix of Russian and British accents.
Annika sighs, turning to look up the street to where this shit-show is already underway. The party is being held at Sota Akiyama’s Village home: a mix of classic New York brownstone and old-school Japanese design.
I knowa lotabout the Mori family. You should always know your enemy.
Sota is basically Kenzo’s version of Kir, kind of like his mentor figure. The head of the Akiyama-kai Yakuza isn’tactuallyAnnika’s fiancé’s father. But he was the best friend of Kenzo’s biological father, Hideo. Hideo successfully escaped the Yakuza lifestyle and came to America, and when Kenzo moved back to Japan to rediscover that side of his heritage, Sota took him in like a son.
Any normal person would have A, gotten angry, B, maybe tried seeking revenge, but then C, eventuallygiven up and taken the fucking lossafter being robbed by Annika five years ago.
Not Kenzo.
He’s spent the last five freaking years hunting her—and by proxy,me—down after she stole a necklace from him, after drugging him in a Kyoto cocktail bar five years ago.
I mean, let it go, dude.
His father, Hideo, wasn’t even aware of Kenzo’s and his siblings’ existence, since their mother, Astrid, a Norwegian socialite, kept it all from him.
First she had Kenzo, and disappeared from Japan to her family’s estate in England. Some years later, Astrid wentbackto Japan to try and rekindle things with her old flame.
