Inizo

Part 1.

There was always a vibe between them two. It was a slow and burning passion that everyone could see. The way he would look at her in a crowd full of gems, diamonds, and crystals. It was almost like staring at the beauty of art, trying to understand the curves and splashes of colors on the canvas. In this case, he was trying to understand the ominous aura around her. The way the dress hugged her curves and the colors that brightened her eyes. He compelled her attention to him like a shark to blood.

This specific night held a gala. Red drapes covered floor to ceiling windows that overlooked pastures of freshly mowed land. Marble tiles that were recently spit-shined so shoes that cost the same price of someone's rent could once again, dirty the pristine floors. Lights from the chandelier shined on the gold and platinum jewelry to create a twinkle of iridescent sparks of light if you cared to look long enough enough.

You always set the playing field for other families. In this case, the gala would perhaps become a battle field. The paintings on the wall—that cost the same as a house back in the States—covered holes that held pristine weapons. Weapons that would surely fire if needed. A civilian would never think to assume that trinkets of guns and ammunition sat behind those paintings, or even the swords displayed on shelves as "art" would be used to cleanly slice a head off, if needed.

Every individual in the building was a high profile target. Whether it be the dusty blonde hair man in khaki shorts and a button down floral shirt who stood next to your soldier, or the bald man who sat at one the circular tables drinking a glass of wine with a woman adorned in the finest jewelry and kimono. Old money to new money. Off the street game to prestige. Everyone was seated with someone the complete opposite of their affiliation. The saying keep friends close and enemies closer never rang more clearer than in this moment.

"Donna."

You glanced in the direction you heard the voice. Your hands clasped behind your back as if you were at parade rest. You stood at the front of a window, keeping watch the guests that entered your gala. Your house. Yourhome.

"They'll be arriving any moment."

You nodded and turned to follow the voice of reason into a study room down the hall. Your footsteps were silent against the marble, despite your stiletto heel scratching against the marble turned wooden floor as you entered in the room.

Shutting the door behind you, you turned to face the man in the corner. He was hidden in the shadows. If not for the moonlight that reached his face, any average civilian would think the room was empty. The natural moonlight was bright enough to profile his features on his face, but not bright enough to reveal his body that had a gun, comfortably rested in his lap. Almost as if he was acting as a mediator between you and the other individual in the room.

The man leaned back into the chair, his face becoming one with the darkness of the room once more. His fingers automatically reached to his sideburns out of habit. He closed his eyes momentarily, awaiting an argument for a silly reason that didn't quite matter much in the grand scheme of things.

The other man who led you into the room paced back and forth out of sheer anxiety. His eyebrows furrowed in as he was in thought. Seemingly as if he knew this night would lead to a bloodbath, yet, he still tried to reason within himself that there were other options. Other escape routes. Soon, you would talk about the targeted party arriving and come up with a game plan. He would leave the room and you would follow suit with your hand wrapped around his arm. When you two enter the gala, you both go your separate wats. The women that he would pick up and take to his room shortly after would soon became a blur and faded memory. Meanwhile, you continued your networking and scouting. Everything would repeat a month later. And then the month after that and so forth.

It eventually became a game of chess. However, even the game can become dull if you let it. And, everything was fun until it wasn't. As you grew older you watched the man who led you into the study room unravel himself. Your brother. Your blood.

You watched his wife leave his grasps as quickly as he fell in love with her, the idea of settling seemed fonder in his head. There was a time she begged him to leave that world of sin and come back home to Japan where they could bear children and be regular individuals. Regular people. Just a father and a mother, caring for a blossom of a child. And, he was willing to give up his own title of king of the underworld if it meant that he would one day find her again, so they can live the fairytale he dreamt when he was in grade school. A tragic love story indeed.

"You need to stop dreaming." A piercing cool toned voice pierced his thoughts.

His eyes widened momentarily from a quick shock that subsided as he relaxed his muscles, "I'm not." He countered.

You smirked, "I know you too well." You grabbed a slender knife made of obsidian steel with a golden hilt from your shelves of history and placed it back on your body, somewhere hidden between the layers of your dress. "Humor me, dear brother."

As your brother started to open his mouth to speak, he was immediately cut off by the third party in the room.

The hitman seated in the corner didn't bother to wait for you or your brother before he left the room, back to the lower, main floor.

"Remember, tonight is important."