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When Moretti and I entered the modern styled house it was quiet. Empty.

Cesar approached us at the front door then led us down a narrowed hallway covered with family portraits of the Fujimura’s. What the fuck?

Majority of them were of him either on a throne, or with his fucking dick out.

Even my tortured soul was racked by the naked portrait of him hanging next to one of his wife and two sons, both aged between six and ten.

We reached the end of the hallway and Cesar opened a steal door, revealing Fujimura’s right hand. Finally.

My steps were slow and deliberate as I approached him.

He glanced up, blood and saliva trickling from his mouth.

Two swollen eyes glared up at me.

“Where is she?”

He laughed. Then chuckled. Then… cackled. This whole fucking syndicate pisses me off.

His Japanese accent was thick. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

I slowly nodded. “Tell me where my wife is.”

He grinned, then gathered blood in his mouth before spitting it at my feet. Ah, yes. I love it when they choose this route.

I turned, and Moretti dropped the black duffle bag on a steel table and pulled out a pair of pliers.

I grinned, turning to look at Yosheda. His throat bobbed, eyes locked on Moretti.

“Rip his tongue out last,” I told Moretti before leaving him and Yosheda in the room alone.

Cesar shut the door behind us, trapping Yosheda’s wailing inside. I knew my men had what it took to torture that motherfucker, but I needed efficiency too.

“Fujimura’s wife isn’t Japanese. She’s Native Hawaiian.”

My eyebrows furrowed. The Japanese, especially the syndicate Fujimura ran, was strict about not marrying outsiders, as they put it.

“That’s why they brought Miss Nirah here. No one knows of his wife’s Native Hawaiian roots, and as you know, she’s never been a part of this.”

“You think that’s a lie. A cover they used to keep her hidden?”

“It has to be.” He stepped closer.

The door behind us swung open and Moretti stepped out with bloody hands—one gripping a pair of blood soaked pliers, and the other holding a severed hand.

“32 Kalakaua Road.” He extended the severed hand toward me, blood staining the white tiles. “That’s where Fujimura’s wife lives.”

“What took you so long?” I stepped closer.

He scoffed. “He was a tough motherfucker.”

I glanced at the hand then back up at him. “Keep it. You’ll need it to fuck yourself after I kill the brunette because you decided to fuck around and waste time we didn’t have.”

I turned and headed straight for the door. Cesar’s laughter echoed behind me and I heard the wet splat of the hand he must’ve dropped before their footsteps were heard behind me.

As I approached my car my eyes landed on Samantha, dressed in black as she held onto the bulletproof vest she’d slipped on.

Nereus was leaning against one of the cars, grinning from ear to ear.