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I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’m immediately under the impression that no matter what I say, Demyen won’t believe me. Is it even worth the trouble?
Maybe things have changed since the auction. I don’t know, so I have to reserve judgment.
“Well,” I begin, “let’s see… Raizo Watanabe has been on my father’s radar even since he rose up the ranks in the Vegas Yakuza. Because, you know, they have people everywhere.”
The corner of Demyen’s mouth ticks up in the tiniest amused smile. “Yes, I know.”
I pick at my orange. “Yeah, so, I know what he’s like. What he used to be like, anyway. Before my mom died. Then he went all weird and Dad kept griping about the growing strength of the Yakuza, and how they’re enemies with the Russians, so I just put two and two together.”
Demyen holds up a hand. “Hang on. You knew Raizobeforehe was Yakuza? How?”
Mom may be gone, but Dad’s still around. I’m not sure that’s a secret I’m ready to speak into the universe just yet. Maybe one day.
I shrug again and keep picking at my orange. “Hell if I know, Dem. I was just a kid.”
It’s not entirely a lie. I don’t actually know how Mom knew Raizo or why he kept coming over behind Dad’s back. I really was just a kid and they both treated me like one.
I only have hunches.
Demyen runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Okay. Fine. Tell me what happened at the hotel, before you were sold.”
“I ran into Martin.”
Dem snorts and nods. Does that mean he already knows about that?How?
“And then I ran into Dad.” I study Demyen’s face for any tells he might give. He looks somewhere between stressed, anxious, and suspicious. “We had a very serious talk and?—”
Holy shit.The confession!
I sit up straight and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “Tell me you heard the voicemail.”
Demyen frowns. “The what?”
“The voicemail. Or recording, or whatever. I sent it over to Bambi once I had it.” My heart is pounding so fast, I can barely breathe enough to keep up. “He confessed. To everything.”
Now, Demyen is all but glaring at me. “He confessed?”
“Yeah! Well, he said everything he knows about how Michael Little died. It wasn’t?—”
Demyen holds a hand up to stop me. “Clara, there is no voicemail. No recording, no confession, nothing. If Bambi had it, she would have sent it to me by now.”
And now, my heart sinks into my gut. Because of course, I can’t catch a break.
“I want to believe you. I really do.” He taps a finger on the armrest and sets his jaw. “But you’re making some pretty big claims based on evidence that doesn’t exist. What am I supposed to do with that?”
I blink at him.Is he fucking serious right now?
I slide off the bed, wrapping the sheet firmly around my body. “I need a shower.”
“Clar—”
“Excuse me.”
I’m not in the mood to argue with him. I’m not in any mood to fight for my truth, to convince people that I’m not just some crazed liar with time to kill and nothing or no one at stake.
When I reach the archway leading to his extravagant bathroom, I pause. I look over my shoulder at him. “You know what I’ve been wondering this whole time? I’ve known Raizo since I was a kid. So has Dad. And from what it sounds like, Dad knew your family and so did Raizo, for the same amount of time.”
Demyen, who is now standing and tapping out something on his phone, shrugs a shoulder. “So?”
