Chapter 20

I slip on a navy-blue floral dress with guipure lace at the hemming.

Strolling out of the walk-in wardrobe, I pause near the doorway.

“Orian,” Torin calls out in a bored voice. ”Hadasā wa doko no Orian?”

I reveal myself, stepping into the room, amused by his stunned expression.

“What...” His finger bounces to me, then gestures to the room expansively. “Don’t tell me you’re fu—”

“No!” I scream with ineffable revulsion. “No, Orian said that all the rooms are occupied by crew and security.”

Torin cracks into a short, wry laugh. “Is that what he told you?” He snickers on, shaking his head. “Darling, there’s like ten other cabins available.”

What?

“You’ve seen how big the yacht is. I just think a part of you wanted to believe him.” Torin snorts, looking away.

The open journal on the foot of the bed draws his attention, and he makes a beeline for it.

“Bastard,” I say with clenched teeth.

Torin picks up the journal and examines it briefly. Then turns it around, tapping his finger on the page. “What’s this?”

I do a quick scan. “No idea. Never did good in geography, but it looks like longitude and latitude.”

“They’re coordinates.”

“Figured, maybe Gaza stashed something. If it’s even his to begin with.”

A wicked smile brightens his face. “That’s the thing about these books. You need the one to find the other.”

I make a dubious, high-pitched sound. “You think they just wrote coordinates down that lead to the exact location of the books? And if what you said is true about them being passed down from generation to generation. What are the odds it’s even still there?”

“It won’t be,” he says simply. “But it can lead to where they are now, and who’s the second bearer.”

***

A week or two passes. Time runs differently out here in the open sea, under the dome of perpetual skies. Where a day is equivalent to a drop of water. Endless. But eventually land is on the horizon, a sprawling cityscape with towering skyscrapers. Japan. Orian’s yacht docks at the Osaka Hokkō Marina—the Yacht Harbour.

Enjoying the view from the upper deck. The sky ablaze with the fire of the setting sun. The incandescent orb of the sun, its surface a searing inferno, poured forth its brilliant radiance upon the surface of the sea, merging harmoniously with an ethereal gradient of deep blue and fiery orange hues. Sherly soon comes through and informs me that Orian and Torin are leaving. And of course, I have to go with them. He’s already waiting out front, imparting her with instructions for me to wear a particular outfit.

“There’s no way I’m wearing this.”

I look back at Sherly, but she’s no longer standing in the doorway. Instead, it’s Orian. My eyes do a slow crawl of his body, torturing me in his all-black fit. His black shirt unbuttoned halfway, flaunting the silver chain on his chiseled chest. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His fingers adorned with rings, his hair tousled but somehow stylish, wisps of midnight strands caressing his forehead.

“Do you want to repeat that again for me, Sakura?”

I fist my hand into stillness. “If you’re looking for eye candy, call one of your hoes so they can wear it.”

He breaks into a smile; awe steals a breath. His face illuminated by levity; his teeth iridescent. “What hoes?”

“Your other lady friends up here in this yacht.” I smile at him poisonously. Irritation taking a bite of my calm. “And here I thought I was special,” I say with sheer scorn.”

“You sound...” he trails off thoughtfully, his eyes sparkling like black waters at night. “Jealous.”

Outrage shreds my insides. ”Jealous?” Nearly breathless from anger. “I don’t have Stockholm syndrome. I don’t care who you screw. You can just bring them to come wear that thot shit. Cause I ain’t wearing it.”

In a heartbeat, he flashes before me, pulling me to him.

“What are you doing?”

Bound by iron, he expertly undoes the laces of the dress from behind, never breaking eye contact.

Panicked, I pound on his chest desperately. “Okay. Okay. I’ll wear it.”

He relinquishes his hold. I leap back, grabbing onto the dress to keep it from falling.

“I’ll be outside.”

Once he leaves, I release an explosive breath. After a short while, I change into a black bodycon dress—a tied halter neck, backless with a generous cut-out that ends just beneath my ass. Skin tight dress exposing every curve of me with a cut-out that leaves no room for the imagination. Paired with red bottom, toothpick thin heels.

I leave the master suite. Orian’s right next to the door, leaning against the wall coolly. His head rolls to the side and his eyes inflate as quickly as they deflate.

He meets my eye. “Fuck that, go change.”

“What?”

“I’m the one who gets to see you like that.”

He bursts through the doors. I follow him reluctantly.

He walks inside briskly, disappearing into the wardrobe. Shortly, he comes back out with a new black dress. He chucks it on the bed and points to it.

“Put it on.”

Smiling teasingly, I run my hands over my body. Slowly. “I don’t know... I kinda like it.”

He takes in a deep breath, suddenly breathing hard. His jaw taut. “Sakura,” he says warningly, uttered like a guttural growl.

“Better enjoy the view. Because I’m not wearing anything like this again, especially not for you.”

He takes one threatening step toward me. I retreat.

“I don’t have time to play.”

“Yes, sir."

His eyes lit with fervor, consumed by tempered temptation. He gives me one last, long, lingering look before he leaves again. I change into a black, knot back, drawstring bodycon dress that goes way over my knees. The unholy saint.

Outside the suite, he nods with approval and lifts a quick finger like he forgot something. He reaches into his pocket and draws out my silver crucifix, dangling it in front of me. My hand instantly goes to my naked neck.

“When did you—”

“When you were showering.”

Creep.

He motions for me to turn around. Grudgingly, I do it. He places it around my throat and locks the clasp. With that, we leave. This is my first time in Japan, so my eyes are feasting on everything, even though we’re still in the harbor. Outside, a line of black Audis awaits. One of the guards open the backseat door of the car in the middle.

Torin watches us with an excited smile. “Look at us matching, sembri una famiglia.”

Torin sports a black polo-neck, long-sleeved with white and black, grid print tapered pants that end just above his ankles. With black embroidery shoes.

“You speak Italian?”

He looks at me as if it was an insult. “I’m half Italian.” He eyes me down curiously. “You understand it?”

“Barely, Calum learnt it and made it his only personality for a long time. Picked up a few words like the word, family.”

Torin opens his mouth to speak, but Orian’s scoff interrupts him. He looks at his brother with a humored smile, his gaze drifting back to me. A glimmer of interest over his mischievous grin.

By the time we make it to the heart of the city, it’s covered by the shroud of night. Watching what I can from the tinted window. In due course, the car slows to a cruise, pulling up at the front entrance of a nightclub. The line looks like it wraps around the exotic building twice.

We all pour out the car. Torin goes first. Orian gives out his hand like a demand. I brush past him, only for him to grab my hand, swiveling me round and draping his arm around my shoulder, interlocking our fingers. And, of course, we go straight through the front entrance. Never mind the people that look like they were queued up since the morning. The bouncers step aside like the king has just arrived.

“Come here often?”

He glances down at me. “I own it.”

Immediately buzzed by the music vibrating through me. The dancefloor awash with flailing bodies emanating heat, the beat pulsing from bottom until top. Lights flash, flicker and glow. Multicolored beams shooting out from the rotary lights on the ceiling. The Innovative interior spirals upwards, appealing like vortex of glass and a kaleidoscope of lights.

The three of us ascend to the third level to a VVIP lounge with an exclusive gallery. Guarded by two beefy bouncers, one of them unclips the velvet red rope. We pass through. I seat myself on the plush regal couch, crossing my legs, overlooking the intoxicated crowd. I look at the table that’s ready with gold ice buckets of Cognac Grande champagne.

“So we’re here to party?”

“I wish,” Torin says with a disappointed sigh.

On cue, a man emerges on top of the staircase, sauntering to us, tailed by three hulkish bodyguards. The man is covered in tattoos. Only wearing a black blazer with nothing underneath, showcasing his tattoos like it’s an art exhibition. My eyes dart to the steel briefcase that one of his men is carrying.

“Orian.” Rugged accent. Heard it before. Perhaps Albanian.

Orian nods tersely in response.

He looks at me with an expression of conflicted interest. “That’s new. We do business with our bitches now?”

Orian blasts to his feet. Coming nose-to-nose with him, a fraught stare down ensues and the man visibly wilts. He concedes and the man cautiously lifts his hand up apologetically.

“What I meant was I don’t like audience.”

I get up, glancing at Torin. “Well, I need a drink, anyway. Maybe ten.”

“I could use twelve.” Torin rises and trades empathic looks with his brother. “We’ll be back.”