Page 37 of Cunning Lies

“Tomo gave it to me when I officially joined the yakuza,” he explains. “A sakazuki gift.”

His tone carries weight. Sakazuki—the sake ceremony he mentioned at the reception. The record collection isn’t solely about music, then. It’s a visible demonstration of his bond with Tomo. A man who has taken care of Kenzo like his own blood.

“For joining the Endo-kai?” I ask. “The Endo-kai is your family, then.”

“It’s the only thing worth fighting for.”

A warm heat builds in my stomach, tendrils of flame licking my heart. What ‘family’ means has changed for me over the years, but I respect Kenzo for holding up the Endo-kai like that.

“Niko was here,” I say.

Kenzo’s brows lift in amusement. “Did he give you a hard time?”

I press my lips together, formulating a quick answer. “He made a sandwich or something.”

“That fucker is always after my food.”

I laugh, maybe a little too hard. I should tell Kenzo that Niko was the one who unlocked the office door, but I keep that inside. If I tell him that, he’ll know that I checked to see if it was locked earlier, and that will give me away.

“By the way,” I say quietly, “my cousin wants to work for you.”

I shouldn’t be doing this. Too many people working on a job means there are more opportunities to mess up. But if Patrick works on the drugs, we’ll have some extra cash. And soon, we’ll be somewhere tropical and warm. And then I can even start my own family. A job like this won’t matter.

“You want him to smuggle guns?” he asks, amusement in his voice.

I grimace. Patrick can handle that, but gun smuggling is not something I want on my conscience.

“I was thinking more like your other product,” I say sheepishly.

“Shabu Eight.”

I play with the hem of my shirt. “Yeah.” His eyes study me. My cheeks warms.

“For a virgin, you sure know a lot about the Endo-kai,” he says.

“Being a virgin and being naïve aren’t the same things,” I say. “Besides, I’m not a virgin anymore.” And I haven’t been since I was sixteen, but he doesn’t know that.

A grin is plastered on his face. He likes when I quip back at him.

“You end up trying the Shabu Eight?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Drugs aren’t my thing.”

“Nah. You just like the thrill of stealing, then,” he winks. Even though I’m in a loose top and leggings, his eyes drink me in, my nipples pebbling. “You think he can sell for me?

I tilt my head to the side. “He’s a bonehead, but he’s good for it.”

And by good for it, I mean that he’s good for our family, and not yours.

“All right,” he says. He straightens, and relief flows through me.

That’s it? He’s already agreeing?

“Really?” I ask.

“Better to keep an eye on him. Gotta look out for my family.”

A flicker of guilt runs through me. What does he mean by that? It seems unlikely that he considers Patrick his family after the chat they had at the reception, so maybe he means he’s looking out for me. That I’m his family.