Chagrin Confessions

Chapter Fourteen: A Dragon In New York.

My love for Muse is endless.
And 'cause we still don't his name yet:

*Unknown POV*

"Nyūyōku e yōkoso, Waka gashira". (Welcome to New York, boss.)

After having suffered the busy crowds of businessmen robots, tourists in fucking florals and families with crying toddlers who need a muzzle and a leash, you'd think that the Kyodai in charge of our New York headquarters would have half a mind to provide a decent form of transportation back to the mansion.

Instead, this moron called Hisashi, is greeting me outside in this confusing Katy Perry - is it fucking hot or cold?- weather, while standing in front of a flamboyant, white Chrysler 300 limousine.

"Korehananina no? Am I fucking going to prom?" I scowl in distaste, eyeing the ostentatious limousine with pyromaniac tendencies. Seeing this vehicle dance in red flames would relieve some built-up tension caused by the past few hours.
(What is this?)

I hate flying.
I hate airports.
I hate idiots.

The colours of his creamy beige complexion seem to have paled three tones lighter, his worried eyes give away his cool exterior, as he shakily laughs away my statement as if it was a joke.

He's lucky I don't have my Katana.

"Gomen-nasai, Waka gashira, it's what we use here. New York is all about the Chrysler and the Cadillac limousines." He says, his left fingers trembling under his Armani suit sleeve. (Sorry, boss.)

I smirk in return, knowing his mind is probably thinking that I might need an act of Yubitsume as an apology, and I get into the flashy car without offering him a second glance. It's nothing like my Toyota Century Royal, one that has been made only four other times, that is both bullet- and granite-proof, and has been made only for Japanese royalty.

But it'll do for now, I'm too fucking exhausted to demand another limousine, and a long nap is needed before I can contemplate a plan.

She will be the death of me. The fact that she escaped and hasn't been found yet is messing with my mind. I needed her, yesterday. My heart is ready to forgive her disappearance, any other girl would've been killed, but not her.

Not the only woman I've loved my entire life.

The idiot sits on the sleek, black, leather couch to my side, reaching forward to the extravagant beverage bar sitting under the luminous, violet mirrored ceiling panels.

"Sake, boss?" He questions, while grabbing one Cartier glass and setting it on a gold tray.

A half nod in reply permits him to pour the colourless liquor from a vintage Dassai Junmai Daiginjyo bottle into one of the glasses. He picks the filled glass up with both hands and offers it to me, to which I take and slightly lift towards him, then proceed to take a sip. He smiles, knowing I've forgiven his mistake.

"What have you found about that gaijin who calls herself Madame Cleo?" I question him with a stern glare, while taking another sip from the cool liquor.

Hisashi takes out a manila folder from the side compartment beneath the beverage bar, and opens it before handing it to me.

"Madame Cleo is an alias for a relationship advice column called Chagrin Confessions. It started six years ago in Venus magazine, and is the most seeked advice column in New York. The columnist's name wasn't stated in the any of the magazine issues we searched. We don't even know if it's a man or a woman. We tried finding out any details as to who they are from previous events and tabloids, but anonymity seems to be essential to that person, whoever they are. We even got our tech specialist to search the company databases, but the name is only stated in that column, and their emails. The email IP address isn't specific to the person, they obviously have a strong IT security team, because it couldn't be pinpointed, so we could only narrow it down to one floor in the building." He points to the section in the folder which states the floor personnel and office details. "We're going to have to bribe our way to find the information we need."

"Or threaten." I reply, not taking my eyes off the names of the personnel listed in the floor. "Find out all you can on the people listed here, look for someone who has a family or a loved one, and fetch them to me."

Handing him the manila folder back, I take another sip from my glass, and rest my arm on the intersection cushion by my side. I close my eyes as I lean my head back on the cold leather couch.

"If I may ask, boss, what are you going to do with that person?" He hesitantly questions with a cautious tone.

After a moment of silence, with only the honking sounds of New York drivers breaking into the limousine's utter stillness, I reply frostily, "Ruin them. Make him or her wish they never used a finger to type one word of advice to anyone."

Sensing the couch shifting beneath him, I open my eyes and face him icily. He gulps, lips quivering. I glare as I question him, "Is there a problem, Hisashi?"

With his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, "N-no, Waka gashira, I just wonder what one measly person could have done to make you travel all the way from Japan?" He stutters.

I tilt my head and raise half an eyebrow at him, but no, instead of shutting up, the dimwit just continues rambling, "N-not that I mean we aren't honoured b-by your presence here. Of course, we are. F- forgive my foolishness, Waka gashira. I have no right." He bows his head down shamefully, as he waits for my response, or worse.

Keeping my fumes down, the vicious tone in my reply leaves no question to the threat it carries, "Hisashi, you're lucky that by some absurdity my blood is linked to yours. You must have been breastfed stupidity as a baby, but distant cousin or not, I will rip you a new one if you dare question my actions again. Had it been another time, where I was not tired, your mother would be wiping her tears over your grave tomorrow."

The rest of the drive continues in a complete absence of sound, just how I would have preferred it from the start.

Once the prom vehicle stills as the rumbles of the pebbles beneath it stop, the door by my side opens and a windy breeze greets my face.

Stepping outside, I flatten out my five thousand dollar Tom Ford suit, buttoning the jacket from the front, and I walk towards the large mansion doors. Hisashi rushing behind me with his head still bowing, as we enter through the ornate wooden doors and into the marble-floored foyer.

Heading towards the lavish semi-circle stairs, which leads to the master bedrooms, I raise my voice without looking behind me.

"Tick tock, Hisashi. Your time is running out. You have forty-eight hours. Find her, and you will redeem your head, - maybe even - your fingers."

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A/N:

Kyodai: A "big brother" in the Yakuza mafia. His level can be compared to a middle manager. There can be dozens of Kyodai who lead the Shatei, a.k.a the "little brothers". But there is only one Waka gashira in a yakuza family.

Gaijin: a Japanese word for foreigners.

This is the calm before the storm, my lovelies.

I've had people who tell me that the Waka gashira sounds sexy. Not sure how I feel about that. Lol.
What do you think? *smirks*

As always, your comments, feedback and votes are always appreciated. So, thank you.

Stay awesome,
Tamieh. 💜