Chapter One

Life doesn’t bear this sort of fruit every day, ya know. We should take it while we can…

A sigh passed her lips as she lay on the gray recliner, an arm and leg dangling freely off the sides. The exhale caused her waist to flatten against the delicate curve of her ribcage, caused a slight dip in the elegant chiffon dress she wore. A handful of curls tumbled gently into her face, ticking the apples of her bronzed cheeks. Bothered, she moved a limp hand to her temple, pushing the tight ringlets behind an ear. Her arm fell back against the leather recliner, hanging near the edge indolently. The other arm, pressed against the sofa, was draped over her stomach, a lacy, black veil gripped between the fingers.

An idle television stood before her, it’s single black eye staring into hers. Bored, she lifted her arm a second time to feel around for the remote. She found it tucked underneath her thigh, hidden below the billowy helm of her dress.

She replayed last nights meeting in her head, mumbling gallingly as she felt the plastic buttons underneath the pads of her fingers. The television in front of her blinked to life, filling the silent, cold office with light. Her fingers curled against the rubber knobs, aimlessly punching in numbers.

“Just news…” She mumbled.

A white glow washed over her body, pulsing, changing constantly. It highlighted her large almond eyes, sketched colors over her high cheekbones, drew around her lush bronzed lips as she sighed again.

Thick eyelashes swept downwards as she blinked, her attentions captivated.

Slowly she lifted her head, her side arched gracefully as she leaned against the armrest.

The black sandal on her left foot started to slip. It dangled helplessly from a single toe before tumbling onto the rug. She tilted her head up, her eyes lowering as she watched with curiosity.

She hadn’t noticed that her mouth had opened slightly, that her body had tensed.

The remote suddenly felt heavy in her hand. Her wrist, elegantly bowed against the edge of the sofa, softened its hold.

The small plastic box started to slip through her long fingers.

The remote slipped free, became airborne.

It tumbled once…

Then flipped to its side.

She paused, confused. She fought the instinct to find the remote, fought the impulse to change the channel. Before her, plastered against the screen, an old photograph of a dark haired man in a crisp, white lab suit grinned back at her. His black eyes glistened maliciously, his lips bowed in a tight smirk. As if attending a nostalgic reunion, she smiled at the face of her brother.

She had been there the day that photo had been taken; she had been standing beside him, her arm awkwardly entwined with his, her smirk weak and preoccupied. That had been the last time she had seen him.

Ah, and this was her memory of him, was it not? He was the troubled son; she was the prized daughter. He had gone everywhere in life yet still felt the tremendous distain from their father, she had simply smiled at the old man and he had loved her as he did his money. She realized, as she lay sprawled out on the chair, that they had been enemies for far too long; that they were destined to hate each other from the moment they had met.

Yes, these were her memories of him, her brother.

The screen changed, her brother’s face disappeared. In its place stood a light haired reporter, microphone held up to his chin, a stack of papers in his hands.

A dark, uneasy laugh escaped her throat as she straightened, as she flipped more curls out of her large eyes. She pulled her bare legs towards her, tucking them both under her body.

“Wrong.” She replied to the reporter. “It was 7:46...”

“Ha,” She snorted. “Four.”

“Hm,” The edges of her lips curled up seductively, her mouth arching to form an eerie grin. “I know who…”

She knew, deep down, that she had no clue who killed Masafumi. His murder was as much a mystery to her as it was to everyone else. She understood, as did the rest of those working with her that night, that their targets were Schreit only. She remembered the sigh of relief when she had been told that Masafumi would be left alone for the time being. Somewhere along the line, though, someone had messed up. That slight mistake had cost her brother his life. Sadly, she could hardly complain. The death of Masafumi had elevated the notoriety in her career. Those who once ignored her, now showed her respect. Those who once thought her team couldn’t do it, now bowed at their feet. They had almost become infamous overnight.

“Nope, it was a 9mm automa--”

“Er…” She tilted her head to the side in confusion, uncertainty sweeping her face. “Well, that gun wasn’t ours…”

“Estranged?” Sofia frowned heavily and bit her lower lip. “That’s pushing it--”

Sofia was so enthralled by the television that she failed to sense the two men approaching the office. The sudden noise behind her made her freeze, her head tilted towards the sound, eyes large, apprehensive. There was a low creak, a groan from the door to her right; the one she had used to sneak in a mere half hour ago. She rushed for the remote, stretching down to snatch it from the floor. Just as the door opened, the television snapped off and hid.

She could hear the sound of footsteps, more than one set. She could hear fabric rustling against skin, heels scratching against the carpet, even the husky, distinct sound of her father’s irritable breathing. There were hushed voiced followed by low respectful whisperings. She recognized her father‘s, his agitated tone, his pompous attitude. Sofia leaned out away from the recliner, letting her elegant curls spill out around her shoulders. Her right hand hung freely, the veil still clutched within her fingers.

“Everything was given to me, all his research, all his plans; His entire future was given back to me. You see--”

Yes, that was definitely her father.

“ Otou-san?” Her melodic voice drifted throughout the room, tainted with the slightest hint of hesitation. “Daddy? That you?”

From somewhere behind her the movement stopped; the fabric finished rustling, the heels failed to scrap, even her father’s annoying whistling lessened.

“Sofia?” His hoarse voice raped the tranquil silence of the room.

“Komban-wa, Otou-san.” She greeted politely, slinking out of the overstuffed sofa. Now standing, she was able to make out more in the dark office light; she was able to see the man standing behind her pot-bellied father, the one with his hands in his pocket, his eyes hidden behind glasses.

“Mattaku, Sofia,” He bellowed as he reached a chubby hand over to the light switch. A low baritone laugh slowly rose to reach her ears. How such a revolting noise could come from such a small man confused her. “You startled me, musume.”

The overhead light hit her almond eyes violently, relentlessly. She held back a gasp as she squinted them shut; her lashes now tear stained.

“How was your day?” She called to him as she gently rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ii?”

“Souda neh.” He replied as he looked around the room. “Not to good, not to bad.”

“Ah, splendid.” She replied in polite sarcasm. The spots in front of her eyes had finally vanished, leaving each orb sparkling.

Glancing behind her father, she saw him then for the first time.

The man behind her stout father stood a good six feet tall, lean, with well built shoulders and a narrow waist. At first, Sofia had initially guessed European. He stood straight, wasn’t built like any Asian she had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, and had a certain authoritative musk to him, a certain conveyance of supremacy. He appeared almost arrogant, haughty.

She then realized he was an American.

Ah, how could she have missed it? How could she overlook the formal posture, the conceited gaze, the square chin and round eyes?

“Hajimemashite.” She immediately welcomed the stranger. She bowed low to the guest, holding her greeting an extra second. As she rose, she could see the snug look on her father’s face, his smile of satisfaction. Ah, yes, she was the perfect daughter. She felt no shame when he father nodded at her with immense approval. The American, on the other hand, turned his eyes away uninterested.

“Sir, if I could speak with you in private.” The American asked, annoyed. It was obvious to Sofia that she had interrupted something of importance.

Ah, so papa has gotten bored with women now, has he? Sofia flopped backwards onto the recliner, blowing a bunch of curls away from her face. She stretched both arms above her, letting them hang over the armrest. Who’s next? Young boys?

She took a quick glance at the foreigner, the grin on her face was snug, almost arrogant.

You won’t last a week, she teased, her expression conveying her thoughts perfectly, My father will beat the life right out of you.

She heard them murmuring behind her, heard the American’s gruff, paranoid accent as she shifted her gaze away. Every few seconds she would poke her head out and give them a look, every few seconds the American would return her glare. He would make eye contact, scowl; she would frown and look away.

She gave up her charade and relaxed her head against the armrest. Her eyes arbitrarily rested on an old plastic clock above the television.

7:44 p.m.

“Um, Otou-san?” Sofia’s tone was noninvasive and low. “The time…”

She stood up again, this time in the full light. Her eyes narrowed with urgency, her lips straightened and frustrated. Her father glanced over at her mid-sentence; the American simply sighed.

Crawford was breathless when he saw her, as all men were. She was a beauty, slender and strong, arms etched with muscle, legs lengthy and supple. Skin the color of cedar, hair the hue of earth, with eyes so amber they sparkled when she blinked. She was long-limbed, slim at the waist, built well in the hips and thighs. She had a grace that blew men away, had an aura that broke hearts and shattered glass.

“Sofia,” Takatori laughed, his voice shrill, “Baby, you look stunning.”

The American, as Sofia had come to call him, disregarded her entirely. He hunched over her father’s desk, fingers flipping through a stack of papers. She leaned to the left, glancing curiously at the man she had never before seen in her life. Upon his nose sat gold-rimmed glasses untidily hidden by long strands of jet-black hair. His pale skin contrasted against the ebony suit he wore, stood out against his matching shoes and neatly pressed shirt. Sofia realized everything about him appeared clean, perfect.

“Nanji desuka?” Her father asked suddenly as he turned to the American.

“7:45.” The man replied, his voice low and sensual. “Thirty minutes until the funeral.”

Standard to Japanese men, Sofia’s father stood an embarrassing 5’4” tall. His reputation was one of gray suits and fast, obnoxious women. Wispy tufts of hair sprouted from the sides of his head, differing in color from his leathery, sun-worn skin. With each word, large crinkles formed across his face, mapping out in different directions. Sofia noticed he looked different today though. A mere twenty-nine minutes before his eldest son’s funeral, he wore complete black, hair professionally slicked back. He stood a bit taller, a bit more impressive.

“I guess we’ll make good time if we leave now.” Takatori replied in abused English.

“I’ll get the car ready.” The stranger said as he set down the documents in his hand.

Sofia watched him leave the room, watched him walk down the hallway before disappearing from site.

“We’re going to be late.” She warned quietly, her eyes swirling around to meet her father’s. “How will that look to the press if we show up late and with some stranger?”

A hand settled firmly on her caramel shoulder, causing her to jump in surprise. She looked up into her father’s face, a man she lived and worked with all her life, a man she barely knew. Slowly a frown crossed his weatherworn face, the creases tilting into a clownish shape.

“My dear,” he spoke softly, “I have something to tell you.”

“Nani?” Sofia’s brows furrowed as she gently touched his arm, “Something wrong?”

“That man,” Reiji started as he lowered his hold on her, “I’ve hired him as my bodyguard.”

“An American?” She laughed despite herself. “You expect an American to protect you?”

“Yes,” He replied back. “If I died, you would be alone…”

She knew that was a lie. She knew from the second he had opened his mouth that he was scared, terrified by what had happened to his son. He was scared for his life, not his precious daughter‘s.

“Is this about Masa’s death?” She asked remorsefully, straining her neck to glance down the hallway. “You hired that man because of Masa’s death, right?”

He nodded.

“But Masafumi had four bodyguards.” She reminisced, “And he’s still dead as a doorknob. How do you think one man, let alone an American, can protect you?”

“They were woman.” Reiji replied, his voice annoyed. “My son hired women to protect him.”

Sofia held back a scowl, held back her clutched fist as she sat against his desk.

“Are you sure about him, Otou-san?” She questioned, changing the subject, lightening the mood. “I don‘t like him.”

She squinted her face and laughed, trying desperately to calm the agitated old man. He neither looked at her nor returned the smile.

“I don’t want you coming here anymore, Sofia.” He suddenly said, his voice crashing into her like a storm.

Silence swept through the large office; the veil fell from Sofia’s fingers before her mind even registered what he had asked of her.

“I have to let you go, Sofia.”

“But,” She took a step forward, her eyes large, worried. “I’ve been working with you for as long as I can remember…”

She tried to dig in under his skin with her loving words, tried to break him apart with her doll-shaped eyes, her trembling lips. She couldn’t have this happen. She couldn’t lose this. As she swung around to stare at him, she realized she didn’t care for his safely, didn’t care if he lived another day or not. All she cared about was her job, was who she would be letting down. She couldn’t let this happen; She couldn’t let him do this. The words of her true boss, her friend and confident, started to run rampantly through her head, taunting her, mocking her indiscretions.

“I’m sorry, Sofia, I need to let you go.”

She shook her head, outstretched her arm to him.

“Things are getting too dangerous for you around here. I can’t let anything happen to you. Crawford said that this was no place for someone like you. He said you needed to leave.”

“After today, I don’t want you coming back.”

“Sir, the car is ready.”

The American’s voice startled Sofia, caused her chest to fall, caused nausea to built up in her stomach.

It was him; he did this. She screamed inside, He’s doing all this, he’s messing everything up…

She felt lightheaded, sick. She felt like she was on the losing end of a battle, the one who surrenders yet still gets killed.

“Daddy, you can’t…” She ignored the America, started to approach her father, the man that never said no to her, that showed his love to her with money, gave her whatever she wanted for a simple smile.

“We’ll talk about this later, Sofia.” Reiji looked down into his hands. Behind him, with eyes hidden behind glass, the American grinned gently and spoke.

“Sir, I believe we have a funeral to attend.”