Page 68 of The Oyabun's Boy

I snorted. "Your worldview is terrifying, accurate, but terrifying."

His hand caught mine as I withdrew it from his tie, fingers wrapping around my wrist with that possessive grip that still sent shivers down my spine. "Does that bother you? That I see the world as it truly is?"

"No," I said, meeting his gaze directly. "It's one of the things I love about you. Your honesty, even when it's brutal. Besides, someone needs to balance out my ridiculous optimism."

His thumb traced circles on my pulse point, a tender gesture at odds with his dangerous reputation. "Your optimism is not ridiculous. It's essential."

The simple declaration warmed me more than it should have. Kenji wasn't generous with compliments, which made each one feel like a rare gift.

"Speaking of my ridiculous optimism," I said, changing the subject before I melted into an embarrassing puddle of affection, "when were you planning to tell me about buying an entire building for my mother's cat café?"

Kenji's expression didn't change, but his eyes gleamed with that predatory satisfaction I'd come to recognize—the look he got when a particularly complex plan came together.

"The paperwork was finalized yesterday," he said casually. "The deed is in her name. The property taxes are handled through a separate account that she need not concern herself with."

I stared at him, momentarily speechless. "You bought my mother a building, Kenji. An entire building. In the middle of Staten Island."

He shrugged, the movement elegant despite its casualness. "She deserved something nice for creating you."

The casual delivery of such an enormous gesture knocked the air from my lungs. "Kenji, that's—that's not a box of chocolates or a nice bouquet. That's a multi-million dollar property."

"The location is optimal," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Close enough to transit, sufficient foot traffic, but not so popular as to attract unwanted attention. Chen has installed discreet security measures. The building is now officially under protection."

"Under protection," I echoed, understanding the significance. No one would dare touch anything under Kenji's official protection—it would be suicide. "You've basically made my mom's café untouchable in the criminal underworld."

"Yes." The single syllable held a wealth of meaning.

I studied his face, seeing beyond the cool exterior to the fierce satisfaction in his dark eyes. This wasn't just a gift—it was a declaration, a statement to anyone who might consider using my family as leverage against him. My mother was now as untouchable as I was.

"Thank you," I said softly, knowing the words were inadequate but unable to find better ones. "My mom cried when she called me this morning. She thought it was some kind of mistake or a scam."

"I spoke with her yesterday to explain the arrangements," Kenji said, returning to his keyboard. "She seemed to understand once I clarified the situation."

I could only imagine that conversation—my mother with her colorful vocabulary and zero filter, facing down the most feared man in New York's criminal underworld. "And she didn't threaten to hit you with a wooden spoon? Progress."

The corner of Kenji's mouth twitched upward. "She suggested that if I ever hurt you, she would ensure Chairman Meow developed a taste for my blood. I found her creativity admirable."

I laughed, the sound echoing in the spacious office. "That's my mom. Terrifying cat ladies must run in the family."

Kenji's eyes softened as they met mine. "Indeed. A fortunate genetic trait."

I leaned down and pressed my lips to his, a brief, tender contact that still sent electricity through my veins. "I love you, you know, even when you do ridiculous, extravagant things without warning me."

"Especially then," he corrected, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck to hold me in place for another, deeper kiss. "Admit it, Princess."

And damn him, he was right. I did.

When the phone rang, I sighed and moved back to my window. Sometimes I wished I could blow that damn thing up. It took a half hour of listening to Kenji bark into the phone for me to decide I’d do it tomorrow.

I watched as Kenji hung up the phone, his knuckles white against the sleek black receiver. Something cold and dangerous flickered across his face—the expression that made hardened criminals wet themselves. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the scar that ran along it.

Someone had just made a very serious mistake. Under normal circumstances, I'd have given him space to process whatever business catastrophe had just occurred.

But after three months of careful recovery, gentle lovemaking, and walking on eggshells around his healing body, I'd had enough.

Tonight called for something different.

I moved to the door with deliberate steps, turning the lock with a decisive click that echoed in the suddenly silent office. The sound drew Kenji's attention, his dark eyes tracking my movement with predatory focus.