The Yakuza's flower

The storm before the calm

Rey's POV

The second I got back from Japan, the world didn't wait. A call came in. No name. Just an address.

The family house of the Serpent Cartel.

The room I was in smelled like money and old secrets. Smoke curled from the end of a fat cigar, dancing in the stale air as I stood in front of him—El Padrino—the godfather.

He sat in his usual spot, behind a heavy mahogany desk, eyes half-lidded like a lion watching its prey twitch. His silence was louder than any gunshot. I kept my hands at my sides, shoulders squared, heart steady.

"Heard you went AMA on your little trip," he said, voice like gravel dragged through honey. "And now Mateo is dead."

I didn't look away. "Yes."

A long pause.

"That's all you're going to give me?"

"That's the truth," I said. " Found out what he did. What he was planning. And I put him down before he could do worse."

His gaze sharpened. "Worse than dragging you into a mess over some girl?"

My jaw twitched. "Her name is Flor."

"Ah, right." He leaned back, exhaling smoke. "Flor. The little flower Mateo was so obsessed with."

My fists clenched at my sides.

"You killed him over her?" he asked, not angry—just amused, like I'd told a particularly wild story.

"I killed him because he lied to me. Lied to you. He was moving behind your back. Using your name. He would've dragged this family into a war for his own obsession."

The godfather stared at me for a long moment. "And yet, here you are. Still breathing. As if you expect mercy."

I stepped closer. "I don't expect anything. I came here because you deserved the truth. And because if someone else told it, they'd twist it."

His men shifted beside him, silent as shadows. I could feel their eyes on me, weighing whether I was worth a bullet.

He tapped his cigar against the crystal tray. "He was my blood, Rey. You understand what that means?"

"I do," I said. "But blood doesn't mean loyalty. Not always."

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You think I didn't know he was a liability?"

I didn't answer.

"He was impulsive. Greedy. Thought the world owed him something just because of his name." He leaned back in his chair, cigar between his fingers. "He made a mess of everything he touched."

He looked at me then—really looked. "I've cleaned up after him more times than I can count. Maybe I was waiting for this day."

My chest tightened, but I kept my voice level. "Then you know I didn't do it out of pride."

"No," he said. "You did it like a soldier. Like a man who understands the cost of power."

His men stood silently at the edges of the room. Watching. Waiting. But the tension had shifted. He wasn't testing me anymore.

He was measuring me.

"And the girl?" he asked.

"She's done with all of this," I said. "Safe. Far from him. I'm making sure she stays that way."

He nodded slowly. "Mateo had a weakness for beautiful things he couldn't control. That weakness got him killed."

Another long pull from the cigar. Then—