1.1 | The Yakuza Bride

Chapter 61

As the guard knocked to be admitted entrance, he cleared his throat and straightened his back. With his infamous smirk fixed firmly on his otherwise placid face, he took a firm step in.

Here's nothing.

'I knew I'd see you two again,' Leon said, his tone injected with false cheer.

~

It seemed he had stepped into the middle of a discussion. The air of the previous atmosphere had fizzled out as he entered, replaced with one of tension. Three men sat around a low, round table that was scattered with cards, glasses of alcohol, and lit cigarettes.

'Not even a hello, Leonidas Federov?' the bulky Yakuza said with a sneer. 'You look well.'

The man got up from his low backed chair, which scraped noisily on the scratched floor. Each step he took to Leon was calculated, measured, and filled with meaning. Slowly, he lifted his cigarette to his fat lips and took a puff. His dark eyes never left him; they were watching his every move, waiting for mistakes.

'As do you,' Leon replied with an incline of his head.

Yazumi Ichiro obliged him with a lift of his lips, meant to be a grin. Meanwhile, the other man had also risen, and was making his way over. In his powerful hand sat a dainty wine glass, and he wondered if the cup would not shatter and fall.

The man shook his head and clicked his tongue.

'Didn't think you'd be captured again, did you? You've just got yourself out of jail to land yourself here. Pretty dumb move I must say.'

He shrugged his shoulders.

'Depends, sir.'

That had been said with an undertone of contempt and the Police Commissioner's eyes lengthened into slits.

'Your father,' he spat, 'refused to work with me once, and even tried to get me into trouble. But I will make sure this will never happen with the next generation. This is called cleaning up, you see.'

'I will make sure that the next one will be under proper control,' he continued. 'Young boys like you aren't fit to have New York as your turf. You're just like your father, no respect for anyone at all.'

Leon raised his brows as he eyed the three men with amusement. The Police Commissioner, stout, thoroughly corrupt, unhurriedly sipping his wine. Yazumi Ichiro, a traitor, Yakuza, black sheep of the Kei-Shiragata. Juan Gonzales, exhausted, indifferent, with a hand on the table for support.

Juan hadn't said a word when he'd entered. It was like as if he hadn't noticed the change in situation.

Leon had almost been fooled when he came back again. Juan was no longer the main antagonist. He was merely a puppet, forced into submission for reasons unknown, made to lure Leon into a trap for his masters. Well, here he was, in the trap. He'd played according to their plan; now it was time for his plan to take place.

Can't you see that they're using you? Leon wanted to scream at him. These two men, a traitor and a scoundrel, they were both powerful in their own right. Why was Juan working with them in the first place?

'Disrespectful young things,' came Yazumi Ichiro, his dreary voice interrupting Leon's thoughts, 'they have to learn pain.'

At that, he dropped his cigarette on the scuffed floorboard and snuffed it out with a determined heel, giving him a spine-tingling grin. The same grin was mirrored on the policeman's face and only a faltering resemblance was echoed on Juan's.