Page 63 of The Oyabun's Boy

I wrapped my arm around him, fingers splaying possessively across his hip. The contrast wasn't lost on me—the strength in my grip coupled with the careful precision of my movements. Dangerous but restrained. A predator allowing itself to be gentle.

"Now," I murmured against his ear, savoring the small shiver that ran through him at the proximity, "tell me everything I've missed. Starting with how my innocent little princess became such a formidable leader in my absence."

Joy's laugh filled the sterile room, the sound doing more for my recovery than any of the machines or medications surrounding us. "You're going to be insufferably smug about this, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," I confirmed, pressing my lips to his pulse point, feeling the flutter of his heartbeat against my mouth. "I've always had excellent taste."

"I threatened Vinnie with my grandmother's secret recipe," Joy confessed, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest,carefully avoiding the worst of the healing wounds. "Chen told me to use leverage. It was the only thing I had."

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "And this worked?"

"He laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair, then said anyone with balls that big deserved respect." Joy smiled against my shoulder. "We get a fifteen percent discount on shipping now."

Ruthlessness masquerading as amusement. A classic Vinnie maneuver. The fact that Joy had not only survived the encounter, but secured better terms spoke volumes.

"And Petrov?" I pressed, tracking the slight tension that entered Joy's body at the name.

"He wanted your territory while you were... recovering. I told him if he moved against you, I would make it my life's mission to pour every bottle of vodka in his collection down the drain, one by one, while he watched." Joy's voice hardened fractionally. "Then I sent him a video of me doing exactly that with a rare vintage I found in your collection."

I couldn't suppress the laugh that escaped me, despite the pain it sent through my ribcage. "You destroyed a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle of vodka to make a point?"

Joy lifted his head to meet my gaze, those green eyes serious despite his small smile. "I would have burned down his entire distillery if it kept you safe."

The simple declaration hung between us, weighted with implication. Joy—my sunshine, my innocence—had been willing to wage war to protect what was his. The realization sent something dangerous and possessive coiling through my chest.

"Chen mentioned you've been hunting my uncle," I said carefully, watching his expression.

Something cold and unfamiliar flashed in Joy's eyes. "I found him. Three days ago. He's under surveillance. I wanted to..." He hesitated. "I wanted you to decide what happens next."

I studied this new version of my Princess—harder around the edges, shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a willingness to wade into blood that both concerned and thrilled me.

My fault. My responsibility. My creation.

"I saw your files," Joy continued quietly. "What they did to you as a child. What he allowed to happen." His fingers curled into a fist against my chest. "No one will ever hurt you like that again. Not while I'm alive."

I covered his fist with my hand, feeling the trembling rage contained in that small gesture. My Princess, ready to kill for me. The thought should have disturbed me. Instead, it sent warmth spreading through my chest.

"You silence the chaos," I murmured, the admission slipping past defenses weakened by injury and narcotics. "In my head. You always have."

Joy's eyes softened, the dangerous edge receding slightly. "Good," he whispered. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

I pulled him closer, my grip tighter than necessary, a silent promise of protection and possession. My Princess. My salvation. My greatest weakness and my most valuable possession.

Anyone who threatened what was mine would die screaming, starting with my uncle. The man who had ordered my torture would experience pain beyond imagination before I granted him the mercy of death.

But that was for tomorrow. Tonight was for reclaiming what was mine—this impossible man who had held my empire together through sheer force of will and stubborn loyalty. Who had faced down killers and criminals with nothing but courageand creativity. Who looked at me, broken and dangerous as I was, like I was something worth saving.

Mine. Now and always.

Chapter Sixteen

~ Kenji ~

I adjusted the platinum cufflinks with practiced precision, feeling the hidden blade mechanism lock into place with a satisfying click. My reflection stared back at me, cold and composed in the custom Armani that had been tailored to conceal both weapons and the lingering evidence of my injuries.

Tonight, weakness wasn't an option.

The suit jacket settled perfectly across my shoulders, hiding the holster containing my Glock. My fingers traced the barely visible scar along my jaw—a souvenir from my uncle's hospitality. Soon, he would have far more permanent reminders of mine.