Aisling follows my line of sight. “Tatsuo?” she murmurs.
I give a curt nod, covering her hand that’s linked through my arm as we approach him together.
“Rafael Chiaroscuro,” Tanaka says coolly, his Japanese accent only intensifying the sense of tradition-steeped power that rolls off him in waves. He’s an old man now, but everything aboutthe man demands respect, even his delicate wife, who hovers a foot behind his right elbow. “And it would seem that, for once, rumors are true,” he observes calmly as he eyes Aisling with passive hostility. “You must be Callum Murray’s daughter.”
She smiles, sharp and bright. “A pleasure, Tatsuo-san. I’m only sorry my father isn’t here to introduce me himself. I’m Aisling Chiaroscuro.”
“So, the Murrays have aligned themselves with disgraced men,” he replies, all pretense of civility falling away as his expression twists into one of disgust.
“That’s one interpretation,” she says calmly. “Another is that men who break their word lose their allies rather quickly.”
The insult lands cleanly.
Tanaka’s eyes flick to me. “You’ve married strategically.”
“Very,” I reply.
“A bold move, Don Rafael—even for a reckless man like you.” Then Tatsuo’s eyes shift back to Aisling. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Her hand slides up my chest, fingers curling into my lapel. The intimacy is deliberate, calculated, and yet it makes my pulse quicken.
“I will,” she says sweetly, looking up at me for all the world like I’m the only one in the room. “Honestly, I should be thanking you, Tatsuo-san. After all, if you hadn’t betrayed my family, I might never have ended up with the perfect man for me.”
Then she kisses me, rising onto her toes, her fingers coming into my hair as our lips meet with unbridled heat.
It’s not polite. It’s not restrained. It’s a statement.
But all I can think about is how damn good it feels to have her lips on mine.
Her mouth is warm, confident, her fingers pressing into my chest like she’s anchoring herself.
The room disappears, and before I can stop myself, I’m kissing her back, control shattering under the weight of memory and want and fury.
When she pulls away, I’m breathless—and Tanaka’s face is solid stone.
“You will regret this,” he says quietly. “Your family stole my daughter from me. You killed my son.”
“Leo and Sora’s marriage was mutual,” I say flatly. “You agreed to that arrangement—used it to betray my family, in fact. Or had you forgotten? And Kenji should have known better than to think he could hurt my family and survive.”
“You will all die,” Tatsuo promises, his nostrils flaring with restrained fury. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will see your family’s name burned to dust.”
“Don’t count on it, old man,” I counter. “The Tanaka line is finished. Your empire has already been razed to the ground. You just don’t know it yet. But don’t worry, I won’t let you suffer the crushing defeat for long. You’ll be joining your son very soon. I intend to make sure of it.”
17
AISLING
Raf doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t posture or bare his teeth. He just smiles, as smooth as polished marble, and finishes his threat to Tatsuo Tanaka like he’s commenting on the weather.
If I didn’t know better, I might believe they were discussing charitable donations instead of bloodlines and extinction. And it makes my pulse quicken to witness the casual way Raf can talk about cold-blooded murder. It’s as terrifying as it is awe-inspiring.
Then his hand settles on the small of my back, firm and guiding, possessive without being rough.
“Well, I’m glad we could clear that all up,” Raf says pleasantly. “If you’ll excuse us, Tatsuo-san.”
He steers me away before the Tanakas can respond, his palm warm through the thin layer of satin, his thumb pressing like a silent reassurance or a warning. I’m not sure which.
It’s the most attractive thing about him—that steadiness. I know enough about the Chiaroscuros to understand what he’s holding back.