Page 13 of Bitter Prince

Her confidence fed my reassurance, although a sliver of doubt lingered.

“How can you be so sure?” I asked, suspicion forming inside me.

Grandma closed the distance and pulled us both into a tight hug. We stood there, her love wrapped around us. It wasn’t Mamma’s love. It wasn’t Papà’s. But it was the next best thing.

Just when I’d given up hope of receiving an answer, she pulled away and signed, “Because I carry a secret that can never get out. It’s why he agreed to your mother’s last wishes and let you live with me.”

My sister and I shared a look, not understanding what kind of secret could be big enough to hold over him in this way.

“What secret?” Phoenix asked.

Grandma gave us a wolfish smile, the kind that a mother in the wild might offer to a predator approaching her babies.

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, would it?” She was right, but my curiosity piqued anyway. If I knew my sister—and I did—she felt the same way. “But I will tell you this, girls. If something happens to me before you’re all grown up, you will receive a letter from me. It will be your security.”

I wouldn’t understand the meaning of those words for many, many years to come.

8

AMON, 20 YEARS OLD

The next day, we were back in Italy.

Our plane had just landed when an urgent message came through from my mother, asking me to meet her in my apartment in the heart of Trieste. It was her safe haven when Father went through his tantrums, and it worked out well since I rarely stayed in Trieste anymore. Only when there was business to deal with.

The moment we arrived, she hugged me, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She handed me a letter before hugging my brother. All the while, my ojisan’s most trusted man, Hiroshi, stood in the background.

I stared at the message written in Japanese, the hiragana characters boldly marked on the white page. Words danced in front of my eyes. I even questioned my Japanese, reading and then rereading. The meaning was clear. My grandfather was dead. TheKoseki—the documentation of the Japanese law that had the report of his death—sent by my cousin contained only sparse details. He didn’t even list where and when the wake and funeral would be held.

Fucking bastard.

At least now I had confirmation that my cousin was responsible for the attempt on my life. Sofu was dead. My gut warned he was assassinated, but again, without any proof, it was a useless assumption.

“He wanted you to take over,” Hiroshi claimed. He’d been with my grandfather for the last twenty years. It was a connection for life, but now that he was dead, he chose his alliance.

My mother sat quietly, her hands clenched in her lap. This death would hit her hardest. It was hard to be close to someone you’d seen only a handful of times, but she’d grown up with her father and loved him, at least until she made the mistake of trusting a man who betrayed her.

She fell in love with Tomaso Romero—her first mistake. Her second was trusting him. He used her for her connections, then left her. He never followed through on his promises to wed her. Mamma found herself as my father’s mistress. Angelo Leone was no better than Tomaso. He just wanted to use her and her womb to create an heir for his line.

“I’m guessing Itsuki didn’t wait for the appropriate period to proclaim himself the head of the Yakuza,” I stated matter-of-factly. The words my mother had whispered so many times while growing up played in my mind.A crownless prince.

Bitterness was a bitch to overcome sometimes. I was building my empire here, but it didn’t ease the sting of losing the claim of my birthright. I loved my brother, and taking his seat at the Omertà table was not an option. Itsuki, on the other hand, I held no regard for. He wasn’t family, at least not in my book, so I’d have no issue ending him.

Except for the fact that it might bring trouble to everyone’s door, not just my own.

My eyes found Hiroshi. He was in his fifties, loyal. My grandfather trusted him implicitly, and he’d be an asset to me. And he could potentially be a good friend, if I opened myself up to the idea.

“What’s my cousin’s offer?” I asked. “I’m guessing he has one.”

“Smart boy,” Hiroshi said, smiling. A sardonic breath left me, but I didn’t dwell. I couldn’t remember the last time someone called me a boy, including my own father. Probably right before I made my first kill. “He wants you to work for him.” I gritted my teeth. That would be a hard pass for me. “He’ll be looking for your weaknesses. You must have none. In the meantime, we’ll exploit all of his. And when the time is right—”

“We’ll strike.”

He nodded. “That’s right. We’ll strike.”

Because I’d be damned if I remain the crownless prince forever.

* * *