Page 40 of The Oyabun's Boy

The meeting continued, with Kenji occasionally weighing in on disputed territories or arbitrating between conflicting interests. I was struck by how effortlessly he commanded the room—these dangerous, powerful men deferred to him without question, treating his words as law.

It was terrifying. And, if I was being completely honest with myself, also ridiculously hot.

When the meeting finally adjourned, the men filed out with respectful nods to Kenji and curious glances at me. Petrov paused on his way out. "I'll have the vodka delivered tomorrow," he said, then added with a surprisingly genuine smile, "The espresso martini is excellent with a vanilla bean garnish."

"Thanks," I managed, still processing the fact that I'd just gotten cocktail tips from the Russian mob boss.

When the door closed behind the last of them, leaving Kenji and me alone in the conference room, I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "So that was... intense."

Kenji's hand was still on my thigh, his thumb now tracing lazy circles that made it hard to form coherent thoughts. "You did well," he said, his voice carrying that note of approval that shouldn't have made me feel so pleased but absolutely did.

"I interrupted your super-secret crime meeting to ask for vodka," I pointed out. "Pretty sure that breaks several mafia protocols."

"It was unexpected," he admitted, his eyes darkening as they swept over my face. "But not unwelcome. You have a gift for disarming even the most dangerous men, Joy."

The use of my actual name instead of "Princess" caught me off guard. It felt more intimate somehow, more real.

His hand moved from my thigh to cup my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip in a touch so gentle it barely registered—and yet it burned like a brand. "You're full of surprises," he murmured, leaning closer.

I'm so screwed. Hopefully literally, and soon.

Chapter Ten

~ Kenji ~

I pushed open the door to my bedroom, blood still drying under my fingernails despite my attempts to scrub it clean. My body ached with the satisfying exhaustion that came after violence – the kind that reminded me I was still alive while others weren't.

My uncle's men had fought hard, but not hard enough. Never hard enough against me. I'd left them cooling on a warehouse floor, their blood painting abstract patterns across concrete as Chen's men began the cleanup.

All I wanted now was darkness and silence, a few hours of oblivion before dawn brought new threats to eliminate. What I got instead was something else entirely.

Joy lay in my bed, his coppery auburn hair stark against the black silk sheets, watching me with those impossible green eyes that had haunted my thoughts from the moment I'd first seen him. The sheets pooled low on his hips, revealing freckled shoulders and a lean chest that rose and fell with each careful breath.

I froze, hand still on the doorknob. My brain cataloged details with mechanical precision—the flush spreading across his cheeks, the nervous way he bit his lower lip, the deliberate arrangement of his body beneath my sheets.

In my bed. Waiting for me.

"You're covered in blood," he said simply, his eyes tracking over the dark stains on my white shirt.

"Yes." No point denying the obvious. "It's not mine."

Something flickered across his features—not fear, as I'd expected, but understanding. Perhaps even acceptance.

Interesting.

"Are you just going to stand there staring or are you going to join me?" His voice carried a tremor beneath the bravado, like a high wire performer trying not to look down.

I shut the door behind me, the soft click of the lock engaging loud in the silence between us. "You're in my bed, Princess." I shrugged out of my bloodstained jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thump. "In my sheets. Naked, I presume?"

He swallowed, his throat working visibly, but those green eyes never wavered. "Completely."

The confirmation sent heat surging through my veins, more potent than any combat high I'd ever chased. I stalked toward him, loosening my tie with deliberate movements.

"Are you certain this is what you want, Princess?" I kept my voice controlled, despite the hunger clawing at my insides. "Because once I have you, there's no going back. No changing your mind tomorrow. No pretending this never happened."

Joy pushed himself up on his elbows, causing the sheets to slide lower, revealing the sharp cut of his hipbones. My fingers itched to trace them, to mark them, to claim every inch of the skin he was offering.

"I've never been more certain of anything," he said, and despite the slight shake in his voice, his gaze remained steady. Determined. "I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you."