KIERAN
"Hello, Fa—"
I didn't even get to finish my greeting before his voice blasted through the phone so loud I had to pull it away from my ear.
"What is this I'm hearing?" he bellowed.
Genesis stirred against my chest, wrapped in a soft blanket, her fingers curling tighter into my shirt. I looked down at her peaceful face, and my frown deepened.
I took a slow breath, then brought the phone back to my ear.
"What exactly have you heard this time, Father?" I muttered, trying to keep my voice even. It had taken me nearly an hour to get her to sleep. After she'd eaten, we'd watched cartoons with Daisy until it was time for school. Not long after Daisy left, tears started slipping down her cheeks, and I couldn't even tell what was wrong. She wasn't in pain… she just cried.
"Do you think I sent you to that company just so you can take time off whenever you like?" he continued ranting, his voice sharp in my ear.
I glanced at my laptop, the screen still open to the documents my PA had sent. The past few days—when she was unresponsive—I couldn't bring myself to work. But now that she was stable and still refusing to let me out of her sight, I figured it was best to work from home. No way I was leaving the house with my wife clinging to me like a baby monkey.
"I don't know why you always act this way. I asked for one simple thing and you disappear from the company for three whole days—"
"I didn't disappear," I cut in with a sigh. "Genesis fell sick. I had to be with her."
That shut him up.
"What? Why? What happened?" His voice dropped an octave, suddenly urgent.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. That reaction surprised me. Not that I expected him to be heartless, but I never saw my father as someone who worried.
He never cared when I was sick growing up. Though… to be fair, most times I was faking it—when he forced me to study abroad, I'd fake illnesses to get him to bring me back. As a teen, I conned him for money, made up reasons. He always found out. But he never really asked why. Never really asked what I did with it.
Still… I wouldn't have started my empire without some of the steps he forced me to take. That's one of the reasons I don't hate him anymore—for what he did after Mom died.
Let's just say, all those messed-up circumstances shaped the man I am today.
"Are you even listening to me?" he snapped.
I blinked. I'd zoned out again.
"Yes, Father. I'm listening."
"Good. I was originally planning to visit the estate in a week and stay for a month, but I'll be there in two days when I return to the States."
I froze.
"Wait, what? Why? That's not necessary. Why were you planning to come here in the first place? I don't need you here."
I looked down at her sleeping form and began rubbing soothing circles at the nape of her neck.
"What do you mean you don't need me there? Have you forgotten that estate belongs to me?" His tone was clipped, irritated. Of course, how could I forget?
"I know that, but—"
"No buts. I want to see my goddaughter for myself. Is there something you're hiding from me?" His voice now had that suspicious tone I hated. The last thing I needed was Donald Blackwood sniffing around my business.
"Okay, Dad…"
He cut me off. "I'll be there in two days. Get everything ready. And you better not have done anything stupid to her. The only thing I asked you to do was put a baby in her."
My jaw clenched so hard, a muscle ticked in my cheek.
"Is that all you see her as? A womb with legs?"
He paused, then scoffed. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who didn't want to marry her in the first place. And I don't see her that way—so don't use such vulgar words. As I already explained, I had to take her away from Monica's custody, and I'll do everything necessary to make sure Genesis forms roots in this family."
I stared at the wall, my fingers tapping rhythmically against the table.
"So I advise you to keep doing the only thing I asked of you. I'll handle the rest," he said, and hung up.
No, Father.
You won't be handling anything. Not when it comes to her.
She's mine.
And I'll handle her in my own way.
I turned to the laptop and shut it.
Just as I was about to make a call, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I frowned.
I picked up. "What is it? I don't have time for nonsense."
"こんにちは,古い友人."
Konnichiwa, furui yūjin.
Hello, old friend.
I tensed up.
Shit.
The voice continued in broken, icy English. "Cat got your tongue… Buraddo?"
Takeshi Kuroda. 組長 — Kumichō.
He was the last person I wanted to hear from.
"Why aren't you saying anything, Knight?"
I leaned back in the chair, my body tense like a coiled spring. My heart thudded in my chest—not from fear, but from pure frustration. This was the last thing I wanted to deal with right now.
I hadn't expected to ever cross paths again with him—Takeshi Kuroda, the ruthless kumichō of the Japanese Yakuza I'd gotten involved with a few years ago.
「何の用だ?」
Nan no yō da?
"What do you want?" I asked sharply, my voice firm as I turned my gaze toward the window.
「ああ,俺が許すと思ったのか,ブラッド.」
Ā, ore ga yurusu to omotta no ka, Buraddo.
"Ah… you really thought I'd let it go, Blood?"
His voice was smooth, but every word dripped with menace. My hand clenched tighter around the phone.
Then came his next words, cold, deliberate English:
"Let's see… how you feel… when I take your pretty little thing… and send you her head. In. A. Box."
My muscles locked. My grip on Genesis tightened instinctively as I sat bolt upright in the chair.
"Blood for blood, Knight."
And just like that, he hung up.