Page 65 of Bitter Prince

Yet for the past three days, he’d been wound up as fuck. He snapped at everyone for everything and anything. So much so that even I didn’t want to deal with it. I suspected Phoenix was the reason for his behavior. Usually ladies fell at his feet, but that girl refused to even talk to him. Hence Dante becoming an unbearable asshole.

“What did he do?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the screen of my laptop. I wasn’t in the mood for Dante’s shit today. The tension in the club was louder than a gunshot in church.

“He’s poking the bear.”

The only bear that Dante could possibly poke was the Yakuza. I raked a hand through my hair and forced myself to take deep, calming breaths. I didn’t need any more shit with my cousin.

“What did Dante do?” I questioned.

“He punched one of your cousin’s men.”

I groaned inwardly. “Why?”

“Said he was breathing too loudly.” Jesus Christ. “And took up too much space. The guy is thin as a rail.”

But Itsuki wasn’t. At least my brother directed his pissy mood at his men versus my cousin. It would’ve been harder to settle shit with Itsuki if Dante had punched him.

I sat at my desk when my phone vibrated. I grabbed it and leaned back in my office chair to read the message.

Fucker’s en route to you.

Dante had a way with words. Short and sweet.

I typed a reply.

Keep our men close. Stay out of trouble.

Itsuki liked to play dirty, and I didn’t trust him not to try something.

My brother’s reply came in an instant.

??

He was so fucking mature.

I was just about to place my phone in my pocket when the door swung open and the fucker appeared on the threshold in all his glory, surrounded by his entourage, sporting a black eye. His face was sweaty and he breathed heavily, even a short walk from the car to the office was too much.

Sumo wrestling’s out of the question, I thought to myself in disgust.

Like the devil himself, Itsuki walked in like he owned the place. He was almost two years younger than me, but he moved like he was two decades older. With his round figure and his hair in a greasy bun, he looked more like a sumo wrestler. Except those had balls. Thank fuck Itsuki decided to wear pants. He forwent those when he was in his compound, and it wasn’t a sight that was easily forgotten.

My cousin might’ve lacked balls, but he sure surrounded himself with people who had them. Luckily for me, they had no brains.

The heinous crimes my cousin committed and the lengths he went to in order to achieve power terrified most people. But his house of cards would eventually fall, I’d ensure it. He’d pay for murdering my grandfather and stealing my empire, but most of all for sending men after Reina and trying to sell her to the Brazilian cartel.

He breathed heavily before he blurted out, “First you kill my men, and now you fuck with me?”

Hiroshi came to stand behind me, silent but deadly. We both knew Itsuki wouldn’t hesitate to stab his closest friend in the back, never mind those he considered enemies.

“I told you. If you fuck with Reina, you fuck with me,” I said coldly. “So now, I’m fucking you back.”

A dark shadow fell over his eyes, but he quickly swept it away.

“That’s a whole lot of fucking.” He approached my desk and dropped into the chair across from me, the hinges protesting at his weight. “But I haven’t done anything with your yellow-haired girl. I thought you were done with her.”

I gritted my teeth. “Whether I’m done with her or not has no relevance here. Don’t fucking forget our agreement.” I fucking hated that the Yakuza had her on their radar, and I hated Romero even more for it. “You are trying to fucking sell her to the Brazilians,” I hissed. “Why?”

“No true.” First tell when he lied: his English suffered when he was nervous or lying. He switched to Japanese. “I swear to you, Amon. On our grandfather’s grave.”