The hotel room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional sound of traffic passing along the street below. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Tokyo’s buildings stood against the darkening sky, their illuminated signs reflecting faintly across the glass. A half-finished bottle of whiskey sat on the bedside table beside two glasses, and a woman’s black dress lay across the armchair near the window. Kirishima Miyama was stretched out against the pillows, holding his phone to his ear. The sheets had slipped to his waist, leaving his chest bare, and his dark hair was still slightly damp from his earlier shower. He had been listening to the man on the other end of the call for several minutes, occasionally answering with a distracted acknowledgement while scrolling through a message on his other phone.

Then he heard the bathroom door open. Kirishima glanced up. Salma stepped into the bedroom wearing one of the hotel’s white bathrobes, which she had tied loosely around her waist. Her long black hair fell in damp waves over her shoulders, and she was using a small towel to dry the ends. At twenty-one, she was two years older than him, although she had already made it clear that she considered the difference irrelevant. She was approximately five feet five, with a curvaceous figure and warm honey-olive skin that had acquired a deeper golden tone during her travels. Her dark almond-shaped eyes were particularly expressive, framed by long lashes and naturally arched eyebrows. When she noticed Kirishima watching her, she lowered the towel and smiled. He returned the smile, his attention shifting away from the conversation.

“You know what, Dario? I think I’m going to take your offer to go to Mexico. I’m with Salma anyway.”

Salma stopped beside the bed, raising her eyebrows at the mention of her name. Kirishima held her gaze while Dario responded. Whatever the man said made him laugh quietly. “Yeah, tomorrow. I don’t have anything keeping me here.”

He lifted his free hand and crooked two fingers toward himself. Salma’s smile widened. She dropped the towel onto the armchair and approached the bed, climbing onto the mattress without waiting for another invitation. Kirishima moved his phone away from his ear as she settled across his lap, her knees resting on either side of his hips.

“You’re still talking?” she whispered.

He nodded, looking amused. She leaned toward his neck, but he turned his head slightly and caught her chin between his fingers. “Give me a minute.”

“You’ve been saying that for ten minutes.”

“Because you keep interrupting me.”

Salma made a dissatisfied sound and leaned against his shoulder. Her fingers slipped into the hair at the back of his head, gently tugging until he looked at her again. He smiled, then returned his attention to the call. “Yeah, I heard you. Send me the address and I’ll figure out the rest when I get there.” Dario spoke again in a muffled voice over the phone. “No, don’t worry about my grandfather. He knows I’m not going.”

Salma tilted her head, listening with obvious interest. Kirishima noticed and gave her a warning look, which only seemed to amuse her further. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” He ended the call and placed the phone facedown on the bedside table. Salma immediately straightened.

“Miyama, are you staying here, or are you actually coming with me to Mexico?” She rested her hands against his shoulders. “Because I’d love for you to stay at my place.”

Kirishima looked up at her for a moment, taking his time answering. His hand rose to her cheek, and he brushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear. She leaned into his palm, her expression softening slightly.

Then he caught her around the waist and pulled her closer. Salma laughed in surprise, grabbing his hair as he brought his mouth beside her ear. “I’m coming with you, Salma,” he murmured. “I need a vacation.”

“You? A vacation? From what I’ve seen, you don’t know how to relax. I’ve had my eyes on you for a while, Kirishima Miyama.”

Kirishima drew back enough to look at her. “I’ve been doing a pretty good job since yesterday. I’m totally relaxed. I am surprised you already knew who I was.”

She laughed again, her fingers still tangled in his hair. “I highly doubt you’re actually surprised. I’m as equally as a stalker as you. I access information on EVERYONE I meet and speak to for more than five minutes.”

“Oh yeah?” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “So who put you up to it? I’d love to know, but I like to have fun, so how about you tell me when we arrive in Mexico. We’re leaving in the morning, so I’d rather spend tonight fucking you then talking.”

Salma studied him with a playful, calculating expression. “You’re very confident. I’ll see how I feel when I get home. Anyways, what makes you think I would easily give you that intel?”

“Because I’ll fuck your brains out and please you so badly, you’ll be begging for me.”

“I can change my mind.”

“You won’t.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Miyama.”

He smiled. “I am. I have a list of women I have enthralled just from sex.”

She gave him an amused look before leaning down to kiss him. The kiss was considerably less restrained than their earlier exchange. Salma held the back of his head, keeping him close as Kirishima wrapped an arm around her waist. When she finally drew away, he followed her for another brief kiss, earning a satisfied smile. “You’re trouble,” she whispered.

“You knew that before you came here.”

“Unfortunately, I think I like it.”

Kirishima brushed his thumb along her cheek. “Good.”

She kissed him again, and their conversation gradually gave way to the quiet intimacy of the room. At one point, Kirishima caught her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles, an unexpectedly gentle gesture that made her pause. Salma looked down at him. “What?”

“I like looking at you.”

Her expression changed, the teasing smile becoming smaller. “You’re surprisingly sweet when you want to be.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Kirishima said as he winked playfully at Salma.

She laughed and leaned down until her forehead rested against his. “Your secret’s safe with me papichulo.”

Kirishima closed his eyes briefly as she kissed him. For the first time in several weeks, he found himself entirely uninterested in checking his messages or wondering what anyone else was doing. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not an unpleasant one. He had known about Salma’s arrival in Japan long before they were formally introduced. Gaku had mentioned her nearly a month earlier, shortly after receiving confirmation that the daughter of an influential Mexican sicario would be traveling through Tokyo under their organization’s protection. Her father’s connections extended beyond Mexico, reaching into Chinese criminal organizations and several Japanese groups that maintained business relationships overseas. Salma herself was not involved in her father’s operations, at least not in any official capacity. She understood considerably more about his business than she admitted, however, and Kirishima had noticed how carefully she listened whenever someone mentioned a name she recognized. Gaku had instructed him to remain available during her visit, although he had been strangely reluctant to arrange an introduction. Kirishima had initially assumed his granduncle was being unnecessarily cautious. The girl was twenty-one, came from a wealthy family, and had traveled to Japan for a vacation. There was little about the assignment that seemed particularly complicated. He understood Gaku’s hesitation somewhat better now. Their first introduction had been brief, nearly a month earlier, during a gathering attended by several visiting associates. Salma had been standing beside her father’s representative when Kirishima approached. She wore a fitted black dress, and her hair fell in loose waves down her back. When they were introduced, she had looked him over with an expression that suggested she was making an assessment of her own.

“So you’re Miyama,” she had said.

“And you’re Salma.”

“Your uncle told me about you.”

“Granduncle.”

She had smiled. “Whatever. He said you’re difficult.”

Kirishima had laughed. “That’s a strange thing to tell a guest.”

“He also said you’re intelligent.”

“That sounds more like him.”

Salma had extended her hand. “Then I suppose we’ll get along.”

They had barely spoken afterward. Gaku kept Kirishima occupied with other responsibilities, and Salma continued traveling with her assigned escorts. It was only during the previous twenty-four hours that they had spent any meaningful time alone together. Kirishima had expected her to be attractive. What surprised him was how easily they got along. Salma was direct about what she wanted and had little patience for unnecessary formalities. She teased him without appearing intimidated by his reputation, and whenever he made a deliberately provocative remark, she answered without hesitation. Their conversations moved comfortably between Japanese and English, with occasional Spanish expressions that he asked her to explain. He liked the sound of her laughter. He also liked that she rarely asked questions about his work unless he brought it up himself. Most importantly, he had spent an entire evening with her without thinking about Yoshino. That realization had occurred to him sometime after midnight. For more than a year, Yoshino Somei had occupied a disproportionate amount of his attention. Even after their arrangement began deteriorating, he had continued thinking about her, sometimes with genuine affection and sometimes with resentment that he found difficult to explain. His visit to Osaka had accomplished very little beyond irritating Shouma Toraishi. That, admittedly, had been part of the appeal.

Kirishima knew Shouma disliked him. The feeling was mutual, although he had always enjoyed provoking the older boy more than he cared to admit. Shouma’s restrained reactions made it particularly satisfying whenever Kirishima managed to unsettle him. But Yoshino had made her position clear.

He could recognize that much, even if accepting it was another matter. He had originally intended to remain in Japan after announcing that he would be conducting business in France. The trip was a convenient excuse, one that would allow him to disappear from Osaka while continuing to monitor developments from Fukuoka. He had no particular reason to travel to Europe. Now he was going to Mexico. The decision had surprised even him. Gaku was the only person who knew about the change. Kirishima had been expected to accompany his granduncle to Hokkaido for the week, but after speaking with Salma and receiving Dario’s invitation, he had called Gaku to explain his plans. His granduncle had accepted the news with remarkably little resistance. Kirishima had found that unusual. He had also been too distracted to investigate it. Salma lifted her head from his shoulder. “You’re thinking again.”

He looked at her. “Am I?”

“Yes.” She brushed his hair away from his forehead. “You get this look.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re trying to figure out how to get away with something. You look even more incredibly sexy.”

Kirishima laughed. “That’s just my face.”

“Then you have a very sexy face, a sexy suspicious face.”

“You’re the one inviting a suspicious man into your house.”

She considered that. “Maybe I like suspicious men.”

“Your father must love that.”

Salma groaned and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. “Please don’t mention my father while we’re in bed.”

“All right.”

“I’m serious.”

“I said all right.”

She raised her head and narrowed her eyes and pushed lightly against his chest. “Idiot.”

Kirishima caught her hand before she could move away. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Are you sure your family won’t mind me staying?”

Salma studied him, apparently surprised by the question. “My father knows who you are. Besides, Dario wouldn’t have invited you if there were a problem.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She smiled. “My family will be fine. And if they aren’t, I’ll deal with them.”

He looked at her for another moment. “You’re pretty confident yourself.”

“Of course.” She leaned forward and kissed him. Kirishima returned the kiss, then settled back against the pillows as she curled beside him. He reached for the bedside lamp and switched it off, leaving the room illuminated by the city beyond the windows. His phone remained facedown on the table. He had no intention of checking it again that night. Salma drew back to look at him, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. She held his gaze for another moment before kissing him, catching his lower lip between hers as her hands settled against the back of his neck. Kirishima returned the kiss immediately. He slid his hands around her waist, drawing her against him as she leaned forward.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Salma raised an eyebrow. “I know.”

He laughed. “Of course you do.”

“And you’re handsome when you stop talking.”

“That’s a shame. I was just getting started.”

She kissed him again before he could continue, and he smiled against her mouth. For someone who ordinarily enjoyed controlling the direction of every conversation, Kirishima found himself unusually willing to let Salma have her way. She was affectionate without being timid, and she seemed to enjoy challenging him whenever he became too pleased with himself. Salma looked at him with a sly, playful glint, the look of someone who already knew she’d won, and lowered her mouth to him. Kirishima’s breath caught. He cupped her face in both hands, not guiding so much as following, and watched her with an openness he rarely let anyone see. “God, Salma,” he said, his voice low. “Nobody does this like you.”

She paused, her hand still holding him steady, and scoffed. “Of course nobody does. I’m the best.” Her eyes held his. “And nobody’s ever had me the way you do, Miyama.”

She went back to him, slow and unhurried. Kirishima’s fingers found the sheets on either side of him and closed around them. He let his eyes fall shut. Every so often he opened them again, and the second time he did, she was already rising over him, settling her weight onto his hips and taking him inside her. She found a slow rhythm and kept it. He hadn’t expected this. That was the part he kept coming back to, even now, with her moving above him. He had first seen Salma a month ago, at a distance, but they had only really talked in the last twenty-four hours, and everything else had followed fast. Her father was a sicario for one of the Mexican cartels, a man whose reach ran into the Yakuza on one side and the Triads on the other. Salma had come to Japan on vacation. Kirishima studied Salma’s body again. A small heart was inked just below her breasts, at the center of her ribs. He had looked at that heart for a long time last night, and at the silver catching the light at her pierced nipples, a shade of brown he kept comparing to the mocha lattes he ordered every morning.

She quickened her pace, rolling her hips harder against him, and he let his head fall back and his eyes close. His hands tightened on her hips, squeezing the skin between his fingers. Salma gasped. “Miyama, that hurts.”

He smiled and sat up slowly, keeping her in place on his lap, his arms coming around her. “I’m sorry, baby.” She answered by kissing him, her fingers sliding into his hair and holding on, and for a while neither of them came up for air. They spent the next few hours pleasing each other before they exhausted themselves to the point of sleep.

Morning came early in Hokkaido. A chill had settled into the boards of the veranda overnight, and it hadn’t lifted yet. Both men felt it through their tabi. Past the old house, larch and birch stood in broken rows along the edge of the property, and their leaves turned over in the breeze, showing their pale undersides before settling again. A gravel path ran from the veranda steps to a small garden. Moss had crept into the gaps between the stepping stones, soft and dark green, still wet with dew. The akiya was old, but someone had cared for it. Decades of weather had darkened the cedar siding to the color of strong tea. The sliding doors had small polished patches where hands had pushed them open thousands of times. Several of the back rooms had been redone for meetings, with new tatami and better lighting. The front of the house had been left alone, and it still smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old paper. Renji Somei sat on a floor cushion near the open veranda in a dark blue yukata with a fine woven pattern that only showed when the light hit it. He’d combed his hair back that morning, but his gray strands had already come loose at his temples. He held a ceramic cup with both hands, the way a person does when the air is cold, and watched the sunlight slide down the garden wall. Gaku Miyama sat beside him.

Gaku’s yukata was charcoal gray, and its sleeves hung loose around his forearms. He had made the tea himself a few minutes earlier. The small iron kettle sat on a wooden tray between them, still ticking faintly as it cooled. Neither man had said much since they sat down. Forty years of acquaintance had taught them both when talk was useful and when it wasn’t. Gaku set his cup beside the kettle, turning it a quarter turn so the glaze faced outward. “Renji.”

“Hm?”

“I owe you an apology.”

Renji’s head turned a few degrees, not enough to look at him directly. “For what?”

“For Miyama.” Gaku put his hands flat on his knees, as if bracing for something. “I knew he could be difficult. I didn’t expect him to put Yoshino in danger the way he did.”

Renji studied him for a moment, his face giving nothing away, then looked back out at the garden. “Don’t worry about it.”

A crease formed between Gaku’s brows. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What else would you like me to say?”

“Your granddaughter could have been seriously hurt.”

“She could have.” Renji drank, unhurried. “But if Miyama hadn’t been involved, Yoshino would have found another way into trouble. She always does.”

Gaku tilted his head and looked at him sideways, unconvinced. “You’re remarkably forgiving.”

“I’m being realistic.” Renji lowered the cup to his lap. His voice softened when he spoke about her, though he didn’t seem to notice it. “She’s a good girl. She always has been. When I tell her something matters, she listens, and she understands what’s expected of her. But she has a temper. Once she’s made up her mind, you’d have better luck arguing with the tide.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Renji’s eyes slid toward him.

The corner of Gaku’s mouth lifted. “She takes after you.”

“Unfortunately.”

They laughed quietly, two low sounds that didn’t carry past the veranda. Gaku reached for the kettle and refilled his cup. Steam rose and thinned in the cold air. “I wanted to see what else would come out of Miyama while he was with her,” he said, keeping his eyes on the tea. “He’s always known how to behave when it serves him. Yoshino brought out something in him I hadn’t seen before.”

Renji said nothing and waited.

“He’s attached to her, and it isn’t healthy.” Gaku’s tone was flat now, the voice of someone giving a report he didn’t enjoy. “I don’t think he knows the difference between wanting someone and loving them. He’s chased her for so long that he’s stopped asking himself why.”

“He’s young.”

“He’s smart enough to know better.”

“Being smart doesn’t make anyone reasonable.”

Gaku dipped his chin, conceding. “I suppose not.”

Renji tugged at the sleeve of his yukata and smoothed it over his wrist. “Either way, Osaka and Tokyo will stay on good terms. The engagement did what it was meant to do, even if it didn’t end the way we planned.”

“That’s true.”

“Although I’ll admit I’m disappointed about something else.”

Gaku turned toward him. “What?”

“Shouma.”

Gaku waited, his cup halfway to his mouth.

Renji continued, “That boy didn’t react the way I expected.”

“To Yoshino’s engagement?”

“To any of it.” Renji’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “I thought sending her to Tokyo would finally make him see what he stood to lose. Instead he kept quiet and went on with his work as if nothing had happened.”

Gaku lowered his cup slowly. “Renji.”

“What?”

“Have you been playing with the Toraishi boy this whole time?” Renji looked at him. The ease had gone out of Gaku’s face. His jaw was set, and he held Renji’s gaze without blinking. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish by manipulating him?”

Renji didn’t answer right away. A breeze moved through the garden and shook a small maple near the veranda, loosening a single red leaf that drifted down onto the moss. Somewhere inside the house, one of the men walked down the hallway. His footsteps sounded on the old floorboards and then stopped.

Renji set his cup on the tray. “I consider Shouma my grandson.”

“I know you do.”

“I raised him since his pre-teens. He’s lived in my house, and I trust him with work I wouldn’t give to half the men in my organization.”

“Then why interfere in his personal life?”

“Because his personal life may eventually become everyone’s business.”

Gaku watched him closely, his eyes narrowing. Renji leaned back on one hand, his palm flat against the floor, and let out a long breath through his nose. “There’s something about Shouma you don’t know.”

Gaku’s brows drew together. “Go on.”

“His father used to work for the Hokkaido gumi.”

Gaku’s eyebrows went up. “Here?”

“Years ago. Before the boy was born.”

“What’s the father’s name?”

“Hiroshi Toraishi.”

Gaku said the name again under his breath and looked off toward the trees, searching back through the years. “Hiroshi…”

“He was a respected member at one time,” Renji went on. “Dependable, by most accounts. He knew how to carry himself, and the men who worked with him thought well of him.”

“What happened?”

“He went down a terrible path and did heavy drugs. It was after his visit to Thailand. It was two years of non-stop addiction. He went clean once he met a woman.”

Gaku gave him a dry look over the rim of his cup. “That tends to happen.”

“Not a woman he had any business being with.”

Renji reached for his tea again, more for something to hold than to drink. “She was the daughter of a wealthy Korean syndicate family. Her name was Ae-rah Hwang.”

Something shifted in Gaku’s face. “Hwang Ae-rah?”

Renji nodded once. Gaku looked out toward the garden, his eyes narrowing as he worked through the name. “I remember hearing about her. A beautiful woman, people said. Her family had real influence in South Korea.”

“They still do.”

Gaku was quiet for a while. He turned his cup slowly against the tray. “I wonder if the boy knows he isn’t entirely Japanese.”

“He doesn’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be. Hiroshi never told him, and Shouma has never shown any interest in digging into his family. He knew his mom with her Japanese name, which was Ami. Toraishi Ami.”

Gaku considered that. “Maybe he just doesn’t care.”

“That’s possible.”

Renji’s gaze lifted to the sky, which was still pale and colorless over the treeline. “Shouma knows his father was a troublesome man. He knows about the debts and the people Hiroshi crossed. What he doesn’t know is that his father wasn’t always like that.”

“What happened to him?”

“Not sure outside the heavy drug use. The first few years with Ami he was clean, even after Shouam was born. I guess Hiroshi thought having a woman and his only child would stop him from going into bad habits. Then he was freaked out once he found out about Ae-rah’s family. She told the family, but never gave his full name. They just knew him as ‘Hiro’.”

Gaku said nothing.

“They didn’t approve. Whatever standing Hiroshi had here meant nothing in their world. He was Japanese, and he belonged to an organization they had no intention of letting into the family. Ae-rah refused to give him up.”

“Did they marry?”

“No.”

Renji shook his head slowly. “Never legally. There was no certificate, and no one recognized Hiroshi as her husband. But they had a son.”

Gaku looked at him. “Shouma.”

“Yes.”

Renji folded his hands in his lap. His knuckles had gone pale. “The Hwang family took everything they could from Hiroshi. They cut off whatever money had been coming to him through Ae-rah, and they made it clear they wanted nothing to do with him.”

“And the child?”

“They wanted him.”

Gaku’s eyes sharpened. “They tried to take Shouma to South Korea?”

“More than once. Hiroshi refused. He took the boy and disappeared before they could arrange it.”

“Where was Ae-rah?”

Renji’s face closed a little, the way a door is pulled halfway shut. “That’s where it gets complicated.”

Gaku waited.

“No one knows exactly what happened to her during that time. We know she stayed in contact with at least one person in her family, but the details are hard to pin down. Eventually she was found dead.”

Gaku looked down into his tea. “Was she killed?”

“We don’t know.”

“Do you suspect her family?”

“I suspect there are people who know more than they’ve said. And it sounds like however it was done, it was in a way where it would be like Hiroshi did it. But this is all speculation.” Renji’s voice stayed even, but he spoke more slowly now, setting each word down carefully. “The day before she died, Ae-rah sent a message to her cousin in Busan. She told her about the child and gave her his Korean name.”

Gaku’s head came up. “His Korean name?”

“Hwang Sae-woon.”

Gaku didn’t speak for several seconds. His lips parted slightly, then closed. Renji watched his face. “That’s the name they’ve been looking for.”

Gaku sat back, his shoulders settling against nothing. “Shouma Toraishi is Hwang Sae-woon?”

“Yes.”

“Does Hiroshi know?”

“He gave the boy his Japanese name. It seems Ae-rah or Ami, however we refer to her, never told Hiroshi that she registered him in Seoul, but via her relative she stayed in contact with. She gave him her surname Hwang and Sae-woon, his legal Korean name that was never disclosed to Hiroshi.”

Gaku rubbed his thumb along the side of his cup, back and forth over the same spot. “And the Hwang family doesn’t know his Japanese name?”

“No. Ae-rah made sure of it. Whatever she told her cousin, she never mentioned Hiroshi.”

“That’s unusual.”

“She had her reasons.”

Renji looked out at the trees. “The family knows she had a son. They know his name was Hwang Sae-woon, and they believe he was taken somewhere in Japan. But they have no reliable description of him, and they don’t know his exact age.”

“They must have some idea.”

“Of course. They know he’s probably in his early twenties. That’s about as far as they’ve gotten.”

Gaku let out a slow breath. “Miyama investigated Toraishi thoroughly.”

“I know.”

“He spent months on the boy before Yoshino went to Tokyo. School records, his place in your organization. He even asked about Hiroshi.”

Renji nodded. “But he didn’t find this.”

“I doubt it. If he had, he would have told me.”

“Only a handful of people know the whole story,” Renji said. “One of Ae-rah’s relatives knows who Shouma is, but that person has stayed quiet. And obviously me, Hotei, and the person in my gumi that’s in South Korea right now getting me this info. I intend to keep it that way for now.”

Gaku looked at him sharply. “Why?”

“Because things have changed.” Renji lifted the kettle and poured it for himself. The stream of tea was steady. His hands didn’t shake. “The Hwang family isn’t the only group looking for Hwang Sae-woon.”

Gaku leaned in slightly. “Who else?”

“Chinese organizations with business in South Korea. The name has been passed around several syndicates, and some of them have started asking questions.”

“What do they want with him?”

“An alliance.”

Gaku gave a small nod as it came together for him. “Marriage.”

“Exactly.”

Renji set the kettle down with a soft clink of iron on wood. “If they can find Ae-rah’s son and marry him to one of their daughters, they get a blood tie to the Hwang line. Depending on which branch accepts him, that could give them a great deal of influence.”

Gaku frowned. “But the Hwang family would have to accept him first.”

“Yes. And there’s no guarantee they would. That’s part of the problem.” Renji paused, choosing where to begin. “The Korean syndicate we’re dealing with is the Yangeuni family. It has two main lineages, the Cho and the Hwang. Their interests overlap, but they don’t always agree on how to manage them.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“Then you know they’ve been building relationships overseas.” Renji said as he took another sip of his tea.

“The Chinese Triads and the Mexican cartels.” Gaku turned his head toward him.

Renji went on. “The Yangeuni have been developing ties with both. Those ties affect business across the region, including arrangements that involve Japanese groups. If we want things between East and West to stay stable, we need connections of our own.”

Gaku sat forward, his elbows finding his knees. “And Shouma gives you a way to make them.”

“He might give all of us one.”

“Through Yoshino.”

Renji nodded. Gaku studied him for a long moment, then looked away toward the garden wall.“So that’s why you brought everyone to Hokkaido.”

“It’s one reason.”

“And why you’ve been watching Shouma so closely.”

“Yes.”

Gaku rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “You understand how messy this could get if the Hwang family finds out who he is.”

“Of course.”

“They may try to claim him.”

“They might.”

“And if another organization reaches him first?”

“Then we’ll have a different problem.”

Gaku turned toward him fully. “Does the boy have any idea what you’re planning?”

“No.”

“Does Yoshino?”

“No.”

Gaku shook his head slowly. “You’re taking a real risk.”

Renji didn’t argue. “I am.”

“Then why not tell Shouma now?”

“Because I don’t know how he’ll take it.”

Renji looked out toward the garden. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped, and it sounded older.

“That boy spent most of his childhood believing his father was a disgrace. He’s built his own life since then. If I tell him out of nowhere that his mother’s family is one of the most powerful syndicates in South Korea, he’ll ask me things I can’t answer.”

“That’s fair.”

“And I won’t hand him over to people who only care about what his name can do for them. I mean, I’m doing the same, but that boy is family to me.”

Gaku was quiet for a moment. “You really do think of him as your grandson.”

“I told you I did.”

“Then I hope you’re ready to let him make his own choices when the time comes.” Renji turned toward him. Gaku held his gaze steadily. “He isn’t a child anymore. Neither is Yoshino.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Gaku said as he observed Renji carefully. Renji’s eyes narrowed, and a muscle in his jaw tightened. Gaku’s mouth twitched. “I’m only saying that planning their futures without telling them could cause trouble.”

“Believe me, I’m aware.” Renji picked up his cup and held it without drinking. “I’d rather Yoshino and Shouma choose each other without knowing any of this. They’ve been close since forever. If they marry, I want it to be because they want to.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I’ll have to rethink my plans.”

Gaku watched him over the edge of his cup. “You won’t force them?”

“No.” Renji answered before Gaku had quite finished asking. “I may nudge things in a certain direction, but I won’t make Yoshino marry someone she doesn’t love. And Shouma, I think he may be in love with my granddaughter. I know there’s something there, but the boy is very good at hiding his expressions and thoughts. I can gauge him pretty well, and I think there is an inkling of romantic possibility from him to Yoshino.”

Gaku nodded slowly. Some tension went out of his shoulders. “Good.”

Renji glanced at him sideways. “You sound relieved.”

“I am.” Gaku looked back at the garden. “If what you’re telling me is accurate, keeping Shouma’s identity quiet is the right decision for now. A tie between the Hwang family and the Somei-kai could protect all of Japan. But the boy’s safety has to come before whatever we might gain from it.”

“Agreed.”

“And this stays between us. I promise Renji”

“That’s why I’m telling you.”

Gaku inclined his head. “You have my word. No one in the Hokkaido gumi will hear it from me.”

The hard set of Renji’s face eased. “Thank you. There aren’t many people I’d trust with this.”

Gaku made a quiet sound in his throat, half a scoff. “After all these years, I’d hope I’m one of them.”

Renji laughed. They sat without talking for a while and watched the light reach the far end of the garden. A wagtail landed on the wooden fence, flicked its tail twice, and vanished into the birches.

Eventually Gaku reached for the kettle again. “Speaking of keeping people away from things they shouldn’t know about…”

Renji glanced at him. “What?”

“Miyama isn’t coming to Hokkaido.”

“I noticed.”

“I made sure of it.”

One of Renji’s eyebrows rose. Gaku poured, taking his time, letting the tea settle before he went on. “I gave him a separate job. The daughter of a Mexican sicario has been visiting Japan, and I arranged for him to escort her near the end of her stay.”

Renji’s gaze sharpened with interest. “Salma Guzman?”

“Correct.”

“I know her father. Well don’t all of us.”

“Then you understand why she was a good choice.” Gaku said as he gave out a big sigh.

Renji’s mouth curved. “Go on.”

Gaku settled back against his cushion, looking pleased with himself. “I knew Miyama would be drawn to her. She’s sharp, and she’s used to handling men from families like ours. I also knew she had no interest in settling down with anyone.”

“And?”

“And it seems they’ve taken to each other.”

Renji laughed under his breath. “Already?”

“He’s going to Mexico with her.”

“Mexico?”

“Tomorrow, according to the message he sent me.”

Renji’s eyes creased at the corners. He looked honestly entertained. “That boy changes his plans fast.”

“Only when he believes the decision is his.” Gaku raised his cup. “He was supposed to spend the week here with me. Instead, he’ll be with Salma and her family.”

Renji shook his head, still smiling. “And he doesn’t suspect anything?”

“Not that I can see.”

“You set the whole thing up?”

“I arranged the introduction and made sure they had time together. The rest was up to them.” Gaku sipped his tea. “Miyama is very bright, but he can’t leave alone anything that catches his interest. I thought Salma might give his attention somewhere else to go.”

“And she has.”

“So it seems… so it seems.”

Renji chuckled. “Poor boy.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for him. He’s having a good time.” Gaku put his cup down. “Besides, it’s better for everyone if he spends some time away from Yoshino.”

Renji nodded. “That’s true.”

“And if he comes to care for Salma, maybe he’ll finally let the matter go.”

“Maybe.”

Gaku looked over at him. “You don’t believe it.”

“I know your grandnephew.”

“So do I.” They exchanged a look, and neither one needed to say the rest. Renji leaned back and straightened the front of his yukata. “Well, at least he won’t be getting in the way of our meetings.”

“That was the idea.”

“Does he still have everyone believing he’s in France?”

“That’s what he told them. I think he meant to stay in Fukuoka and keep watching.”

Renji shook his head. “Of course he did.”

“But Mexico has changed his mind.”

“Good.”

Gaku glanced over his shoulder toward the open doors. “The others should be here soon.”

Renji pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch. “We have another hour.”

“Enough time for breakfast.”

“As long as nobody interrupts us.” Renji scoffed.

Gaku laughed. “You’re getting old, Renji. Our faces are nice, but we have become very grumpy.”

“Hm, Gaku, you’ve always been grumpy.” Renji smiled and reached for his tea.

For a while, neither spoke. The sun had climbed past the garden wall and now lay warm across the veranda boards and the tray between them, and the chill finally began to leave the wood. Inside the house, someone started on breakfast. They heard the knock of a knife on a cutting board, and then the smell of miso and grilled fish drifted out through the doorway.

Gaku eventually turned to Renji again. “There’s one thing I want to be clear about.”

Renji turned his head. “What?”

“When the time comes, Shouma deserves to know who his mother was.”

Renji’s expression grew thoughtful. He looked down at his hands. “I agree.”

“And he deserves to hear it from someone he trusts. I will make sure Miyama doesn’t go after Yoshino or Shouma.”

“I know.”

Gaku nodded, satisfied. “Then we’ll leave it there for now.”

Renji looked out at the garden. “There’s still a lot to settle before we bring him into it.”

“Especially if the Hwang family is actively searching. You know how to contact me once we leave Hokkaido. I am going to rest for a bit before the meeting.”

“Gaku, my friend, rest well.”

Gaku turned the problem over once more. His fingers tapped against his crossed arm. “Does Hiroshi know they’re looking for his son?”

Renji’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“No. Actually, Gaku… no one knows his whereabouts.”

“Then maybe we should find out where he is. Because that’s a fucking problem.”

Renji didn’t answer for several seconds. His gaze stayed fixed on the maple. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

Gaku studied his face, then decided not to push. They had both spent years managing relationships between organizations, and both knew how fast a private family matter could become a political fight. Shouma’s identity would have to be handled carefully, especially if the Korean syndicates learned of him before Renji had a chance to explain. For now, the boy was still Shouma Toraishi, a young man working under Renji’s protection in Kansai. The name Hwang Sae-woon lived only in the memories of a few people and in the questions passing between organizations that had never seen his face.

Gaku picked up his cup. “Well, I suppose we should be grateful the young ones are busy.”

Renji looked at him. “Shouma and Yoshino?”

“And Miyama.”

Renji laughed quietly. “Yes. For once, every one of them is where we want them.”

Gaku smiled. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Renji raised his tea to him. “Believe me, I intend to.”

Renji went back to watching the garden, and the conversation was over for now. Neither man looked troubled by what was waiting for them later in the day. Hundreds of kilometers away in Osaka, Shouma and Yoshino had no idea the conversation had taken place. Kirishima was packing to leave Japan with a woman he thought he’d met through an ordinary assignment. Each of them believed they had made their own choices. None of them knew how much the two old men on the veranda had kept from them.

Renji finished his tea and set the empty cup beside the kettle. “Come on,” he said to himself, pressing a hand to his knee as he got to his feet. “Let’s eat before the others get here.” He turned to walk into the main hall of the Akiya. Behind him, the garden was quiet. The red maple leaf still lay on the moss where it had fallen.