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“What I need to do is beg your forgiveness, Fumi,” he says quietly. He holds my gaze fiercely before he stands and turns. He lifts the back of the Yankees hoodie he’s been wearing since we left the hospital, and my hand flies to my mouth.
Holy. Shit.
I caught a glimpse of the tattoos at our apartment, through his ripped shirt. But in the hospital, they changed him into a gown, and I haven’t seen them since.
But now, I’m staring at them from a foot away.
What the fuck.
Dad’s entire back, from his shoulders down to his waist, is covered in an ornate, beautiful, terrifying tapestry of tattoo ink. Cherry blossoms and a koi-dragon wind down the left side, while a warrior, water, and another dragon fill the right. In the middle, uniting the whole thing, is an intricate design of two crossed samurai swords and a fearsome Oni mask right in the center of his back.
“Dad…”
He exhales heavily, pulling the hoodie back down. He turns, sitting on the side of the bed and rubbing the stubble on his chin before he pushes his hand through his silvered hair.
“You have a family legacy I am not proud of, daughter.”
I shudder, and the question falls from my lips, even if I’m pretty sure I know the answer after seeing that tattoo.
“Were you in the Yakuza?” I whisper.
“No.”
I start to exhale.
…“I was the Yakuza.”
My face drains of color. Dad’s face twists with emotion as he takes my hand.
“I was directionless as a young man. Angry. Impulsive. I grew up very, very poor, Fumi. But there was a way to rise above it all. I started small, and worked my way up until I was a wakagashira, like a lieutenant. When the Oyabun I worked for died, I made my play. I had the loyalty of his men, and the knowledge of his empire. I took both of those things and made them my own.”
His face is stony as he looks away.
“Yamaguchi was my mother’s maiden name. My birth name was Mori. The empire I ran was the Mori-kai Yakuza, and Kyoto was entirely mine.” He turns back to me, and his face softens as his eyes tear up again. “But then, I traveled to San Francisco. I took a walk to clear my head after a business meeting, got lost, and then was found, by your mother and her voice.”
He smiles broadly, despite the sadness in his eyes, and reaches for my hand again.
“I was different after that night. Before, all I knew was violence and death. Your mother showed me something more. I married her, because of course I did. And then when you came along, little Fumi-chan…” He squeezes my hand. “I was done. I wanted to give up the whole thing—the money, the cars, the big houses, all of it—to have a normal life with you and your mother.”
I swallow, my pulse thudding.
“I took aside my top wakagashira and told him my plans to exit. He would take over, I said, and I would walk away from the whole thing. What I didn’t know was that he was already plotting to stab me in the back. He told my rival, Orochi Ito of the Hato-kai, about my intentions. Orochi saw his opportunity made his move.”
I flinch when my father swears viciously and turns away, his jaw locked.
“Your mother was on her way to pick you up at school when they ran her off the road. I heard what happened, knew that she was dead, and picked you up myself. Orochi and I had been in the middle of some business dealings to purchase property together, despite our rivalry. I suppose he forgot that we both had access to the account.”
Dad looks me in the eye and takes my hand again.
“It takes money to disappear, Fumi-chan. To get new identities. To grease the wheels with US Immigration to start a new life. I emptied that account with the equivalent of five million US dollars, and you and I left Japan two days later with just the clothes on our backs.”
My heart breaks as a tear slides down his cheek.
“I tried so hard to give you a new life, Fumi,” he chokes. “I tried to leave the past behind and be a new man.” He slowly shakes his head as he starts to cry. “But now that past has caught up with us.”
“What do we do now?” I murmur quietly.
My dad raises a grim face to me.
