JAY JAY POV
Yuri Hanamichi was leaning against a sleek black sports car parked by the curb, his jacket unbuttoned, looking at me with that oily, self-satisfied grin that always sets my teeth on edge.
“Need a ride, Jay?” Yuri asked, stepping forward with his hands in his pockets.
“No need, Yuri. I have my own car and driver waiting,” I told him, barely breaking my stride as I aimed for the black sedan idling ten feet away.
“Well, you see…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck with this awkward, helpless routine, trying to look cute.
It didn’t look charming; it just made my stomach turn with genuine disgust.
“My car ran out of gas right down the block. Can you give me a ride?”
A head of a major syndicate running out of gas outside the Mariano corporate building?
Please.
I wasn’t born yesterday.
Without breaking eye contact, I pulled out my phone, tapped the rideshare app, and booked a premium cab to our exact coordinates in less than five seconds.
“A car will be here in four minutes,” I informed him, holding the screen up so he could see the tracking icon.
“You can catch that ride.”
“Come on, Jay, I have an urgent meeting back at my compound,” he pressed, taking another step into my space.
“It would be much faster if I just hopped into your car.”
“And I have a family and my own business to deal with,” I answered coldly, stepping around him without sparing him another glance.
Before I could reach the door handle of my car, fingers clamped down hard around my wrist, violently yanking me backward.
“Jay Jay, please—” he started.
The air froze.
“Mr. Yuri Hanamichi,” I said, my voice dropping so low and vicious it sounded like it belonged to Dad.
I turned my head, glaring straight into his face with pure murder behind my eyes.
“I have noticed you keep calling me Jay. Who gave you the right to use that name?”
Yuri’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden venom in my tone, but he didn’t let go.
“And you need to think very, very carefully before laying your filthy hands on me,” I said, leaning in just close enough for him to hear every syllable.
“Unless, of course, you are actively asking for a death wish from every single man in my family.”
I twisted my arm sharply, ripping my wrist out of his grip with enough force to knock his hand back.
Fuck him.
He had squeezed with so much unnecessary pressure that a nasty, angry red band was already blooming across my pale skin.
Without giving him the chance to mutter another pathetic excuse, I yanked the car door open, slammed it shut behind me, and locked it.
“Drive,” I snapped at my chauffeur.
“Get me out of here right now.”
By the time the car pulled through the estate gates, the sun had fully set behind the trees.
The house was unusually quiet.
Percy and Aries weren’t back from their mafia rounds yet, which was a small mercy because the last thing I needed was them hovering over my bruised arm.
Dad, however, was sitting in the grand living room, reading through a stack of leather-bound documents under the soft glow of a floor lamp.
I kept my left arm pressed closely against my side, trying to slip past toward the staircase without drawing attention.
I really didn’t want to talk to him right now.
“Jay,” Papa’s deep voice called out before I could reach the first step.
I stopped, exhaled slowly, and turned around to face him.
He set his papers aside, picked up an elegant, velvet garment bag resting on the arm of the sofa, and held it out toward me.
“Here. Your dress for the gala.”
A bitter twinge hit my chest, but I masked it, forcing a polite, faint smile as I stepped forward and took the heavy fabric into my hands.
“Thank you.”
I turned on my heel and started heading toward the stairs again, eager to lock myself away, when his voice cut through the quiet air once more.
“Jay.”
I paused on the bottom step, looking back over my shoulder with an arched brow.
“Yes?”
Dad looked up at me from across the room.
For a brief second, the ruthless mafia don vanished, replaced by an older, tired man whose gaze lingered on me with a heavy, unreadable sorrow.
“Nothing,” he said quietly, offering a rare, gentle curve of his lips.
“I just wanted to look at your face.”
A strange knot tightened in my throat.
I just gave a small nod and continued up the stairs without another word.
Inside my bedroom, I laid the garment bag across the mattress and headed straight into the bathroom.
I turned the shower to scalding hot, letting the steam fill the room while I stripped off my clothes.
When I glanced down at my left wrist, my jaw clenched.
A dark, mottled red bruise was forming right where Yuri’s fingers had dug into my skin.
The ugly discoloration stood out violently against my pale wrist.
“Fuck you, Yuri,” I muttered through gritted teeth, stepping under the pounding stream of water.
Once the shower washed away the dust and exhaustion of the day, I wrapped a fluffy towel around myself and walked back out into the cool bedroom air.
I bypassed my usual silk short-sleeve sleepwear and dug through my dresser until I found a thick, oversized pair of long-sleeve pajamas.
I yanked the cuffs down all the way to my knuckles, making damn sure that Yuri’s pathetic, lingering mark was completely buried out of sight.
I spent the next couple of hours sitting at my desk, trying to distract myself by reviewing the structural load formulas for the Ashford project.
My eyes were burning, the numbers were starting to blur together, and my wrist was pulsing with a dull ache under the long sleeve of my pajamas.
Then my gaze drifted toward the bed, where the garment bag had been sitting untouched all evening.
Right.
The gala dress.
I leaned back in my chair, tapping my pen against the desk.
Curiosity finally won over my irritation.
I stood up, walked over to the bed, and pulled the zipper down with a smooth hiss.
I carefully slid the fabric out, holding it up in front of the full-length mirror.
My breath hitched.
Holy shit.
It was a breathtaking, off-the-shoulder gown in deep, velvet burgundy—the exact shade of vintage red wine and dark royalty.
The cut was sheer lethality.
The structured bodice dropped into an elegant, sweeping silhouette that would hug every single curve like liquid fire.
Just by eyeballing the waist and the drape of the hips, I could tell it wasn’t some off-the-rack luxury piece.
It was custom-tailored down to the millimeter.
Whoever commissioned this knew my exact proportions, from the curve of my waist to the height of my collarbones.
The fabric alone felt impossibly heavy, woven from rare Italian silk velvet that shimmered under the bedroom lights with an intoxicating, dangerous luster.
A cold shiver raced down my spine.
Dad and my brothers are protective, but none of the Mariano men have the artistic eye or the patience to order something this meticulously sculpted for my body.
There is only one person who pays that kind of terrifying, microscopic attention to me.
Keifer.
I packed the gown back into its velvet garment bag with trembling hands, zipped it shut, and set it on the chair by the window.
Then I collapsed onto the edge of the mattress, my chest heaving.
Asshole.
I will give him that much.
The man has immaculate, terrifying taste.
My fingers curled into the heavy silk sheets, gripping the fabric so tightly my knuckles turned dead white.
The anger inside me felt thick and suffocating, but underneath the fury was something far worse: confusion, fear, and a dull, aching pulse in my chest that refused to stay buried.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my thumb hovering over the screen until I found his contact.
His number was still saved under the same old name from years ago, untouched, like a landmine waiting for someone stupid enough to step on it.
I stared at his name in the dim light, hot tears blurring the glass before I could blink them away.
“Fuck you, Keifer. Seriously, fuck you,” I whispered to the empty room, scrubbing furiously at my damp cheeks with the sleeve of my oversized pajamas.
“Fuck you for making me feel things I never wanted to feel again.”
My voice cracked, the silence of the bedroom swallowing the raw break in my throat.
“Fuck you for never giving up on me.”
I pressed the back of my hand against my trembling mouth, curling my knees toward my chest.
“And fuck you for never leaving me alone.”
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