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But soon.
Soon I’ll have the capital to protect what’s mine.
I just need a little more insurance before we’re safe to break away.
I’m emailing investors, buttering them up for when I jump ship and poach their accounts. My cell vibrates on Jericho’s cluttered desk.
KAIRO.
I kill my feral grin so he doesn’t hear my smugness. “Father.”
“Su-Jin. My office.”
He kills the call before I can answer.
Typical power play.
Used to be, I’d sprint, knowing he’d retaliate for being kept waiting.
Petty shit like tailing Dutch’s mom or paying thugs to make trouble at The Barrington.
Now he needs me or his firm will tank.
I’m not cocky enough to hit him yet, but I’m confident enough to take my time. I unfold from my chair, stretch, and stroll across the C-suite.
Kairo Moon is a figurehead CEO, laundering money and putting on a show. His real power comes from the Triad’s dirty business. But he has a corner office and a door plate made of gold, just in case you forget who’s in charge.
I knock with my knuckles to hide my Triad tattoos.
“Get in here,” Kairo barks. “It’s urgent.”
“News about Jericho?” I shake his command, praying the devil told my brother the coke’s stronger on the other side.
“Of course not. He’ll make a full recovery.”
Damn.
I take the chair across from Kairo’s desk, disappointed but loving the view.
I’ve always looked like the younger version of my father, and it’s a toss-up which of us hates that most.
Thirty years of crime family stress was giving him grey patches and hard lines around his dark eyes. A week after Jericho’s accident, he looks like my grandfather.
His salaryman standard black hair is showing fresh white. Wrinkled suit. Crooked tie. His firm chin sags, deep new wrinkles carving the granite of his icy glare.
Weak.
Even his alpha pheromones taste stale.
Crushed black peppercorn used to drop my shoulders when he whipped me with his bark. Now, when Kairo hammers his dominance to enforce my position at the ass-end of the hierarchy, I battle the chest-rumbling urge to throw down.
Not yet.
I gag my growl and lower my head, but he must sense we’re beyond the point he can force me to submit.
His pepper-cracked dominance clears my sinuses as he shoves an envelope across his desk. “We have a situation.”
Instincts picking up a subtle vibe, I cautiously open the envelope. It holds a gold-embossed invitation that reeks of old money and older power.
