Page 55 of Wrathful King

“Hmmm.” I knew him well enough not to push. Instead, I took a seat next to him and switched to Italian, asking, “How are you, really?”

“Been better,” Dante answered.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I love you, brother, and I will forever be grateful for your help. But I think it’s time you went searching for her.” He was going out of his mind, and that never boded well for anyone, least of all him. When he opened his mouth to protest, I cut him off. “Romero’s health is deteriorating. You’ll be doing both him and Phoenix a favor if you reunite them before he keels over.”

He stared at me pensively and I could see him coming to terms with my recommendation. Hell, my brother needed all the points he could get. Considering all the glares Phoenix always shot him, I suspected she wouldn’t make it easy on him.

Besides, I planned on taking my wife away for a little bit. Just the two of us. Sort of a modified recovery plan by way of honeymoon.

“What about you?” Dante questioned. “And Reina?”

“I think maybe a change of scenery will do her some good.” I was grasping for ideas to help her. “Just the two of us.”

Dante stared at me, his fingers tapping against his thigh.

“I don’t think her grandmother or Romero will be happy with that,” he quipped, pointing out the obvious.

“They’ll have to deal with it.” My attention flicked to one of the computer screens. “I can monitor all of this from anywhere in the world, and Reina’s not getting any better here.”

“How much longer does Romero have? Or should we call him by his first name now?” He rolled his eyes while I shook my head at his nonsense. “Tomaso,” he tested the name like it was a bitter pill.

I shrugged. “I don’t think it matters what we call him. He might only be around for another month or two.”

His tapping paused and he pursed his lips. “I might need him gone faster if he’s going to get in the way of me marrying Phoenix.”

I didn’t have any attachment to Romero, but I didn’t think Reina would cope. “You’d better not get any ideas, Dante.”

I could tell by his expression that he probably wanted to punch me in the face for not taking his side. Any other time, I would. But this was my wife we were talking about.

“Well, he’d better not get in my way,” he finally said. “That dragon of a grandmother either.”

I let out a dark chuckle. His determination reminded me of my own not too long ago.

“One way or another, Phoenixwillmarry me.”

It was no coincidence we went a bit over the top for the women we wanted. After all, we were brought up together.

But it was the fact that he was a replica of Angelo Leone that bothered me the most.

20

AMON

Ididn’t grow up around my ojisan like my cousin did, but I knew every inch of his compound by heart.

Courtesy of my mother.

She pounded it into me, having me study every inch of the home that would one day belong to me. She insisted I understood the hierarchy in the Yakuza, the ins and outs, the language, all in preparation—it occurred to me somewhat grimly—for this very moment.

I made my way through the back of the compound and then down the staircase that led to the bunker, all without running into a single obstacle.

Careful to keep my steps light, I stopped in front of the bunker door, listening for any noise. It sounded like he was watching Honbasho, a Grand Sumo tournament.

I waited for the announcer to shout a score and for the spectators to cheer, then I cracked the door open. I took in the surroundings. A gun thrown carelessly on the table by the door. His boots and socks. A pair of pants discarded by the couch and a shirt thrown over the coffee table. It was a fucking hovel.

I guess I should’ve felt lucky the fucker was wearing boxers.

He was so engrossed in the match he never even noticed me approaching him.