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— sanctioned, nishimura riki

wc. 24.6k

pairing. yakuza husband! nishimura riki x reader

cw. my attempt at humor and comedy, aged up riki (24), mentions of knives and weaponry, eating and food, violence, kidnapping, psychological and emotional distress, organized crime stuff duh, mature language (sexual innuendos, cursing), our pairing are essentially best friends that got married love this for them, blood and injury, trauma, plot twist (dun dun dunnnn), hurt/comfort, riki's a lil unstable but he means well

synopsis. he told you no, luckily for you—that was never anything you were used to hearing. riki, your headache and your whole damn world didn’t even want you stepping foot into the chaotic sphere that he calls his home. however, you were done playing housewife. but in a world where info is power and an achilles heel simultaneously, love (and riki's sanity) may not be enough to survive what’s next.

author's note!

ciao!! i've been working on this for some time (since may omg). it's been on my mind for some time and it feels good to get it off. i'm very proud of this. i'm down to make this into a part two because i still feel like this could be more. lmkkkk anyways enjoy <333!!

partially proofread which is progress for me!!

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You followed Riki downstairs, skirt swishing and Mary Janes clacking indignantly against the marble. The long, oversized button-up you wore—his, tailored for you—was the same deep navy as the one he was currently wearing. You always matched. It wasn’t optional. It was a language. A silent message. He didn’t look back.

He never did when he was irritated. Just kept walking, tall and terrifyingly composed, descending the staircase like a man on a mission, still calm under pressure. Black slacks sharp enough to slice, the soft sheen of luxury dress shoes hitting the floor like a metronome. Even without saying a word, Riki made the entire house hold its breath.

Kaminari wasn’t just a name. It was thunder, etched into Tokyo’s underworld like a scar. His great-grandfather had built it from blood and ash in the wreckage after World War II—when the country was fractured and men like him learned to make an empire from silence. Each generation added its layer: first muscle, then money, then myth.

And now, Riki.

Youngest leader in the syndicate’s history. Raised in marble halls and taught to slit throats with one hand while sipping tea with the other. A businessman on paper. A storm in a suit. And your husband.

Riki and you had been married for one year now, dated for three. Granted, your marriage had shocked a lot of people seeing as you married so young, both of you were twenty-three. But you were—are—in love and there’s nothing that could come between the two of you. He was your soulmate and you were his. That, you both were sure of. So as you two walked to your kitchen, passing by staff and giving your maid—Clara—a kiss on the head and a ‘thank you’ as you both sat at the island to eat, you sighed in frustration. “Baby, please.”

Riki, eyes glued to his omelette as he settled into the seat. “I said no.” His dark hair fell over his forehead until he brushed it back—another small movement that looked like art. Now slicing into his food with the shiny utensils that had the family crest carved into them. “Riki, I’m not asking to get in the field and hold a gun. I just want to…be an informant almost. Like your Oracle.” You turned to him, crossing your legs—not even wanting to touch your food now.

He furrowed his brow incredulously, “Oracle?” He muttered with a mouthful of eggs.

You nodded with a smile, “Mhm! Like the girl from Batman.”

“You’ve been watching too much TV, baby.”

You throw your hands up in frustration. “Because you won’t let me do shit besides that!” You whined, desperate to prove a point.

Since marrying Riki, you have taken up the cushy, spoiled housewife role. And while there was nothing wrong with that, after a while you started to feel antsy. You had bought every bag, every shoe, every diamond, every car, watched every show, even rented out Disneyland for you and Riki to enjoy one day just because you only wanted to go on the Radiator Springs ride. Even the Chanel Private Client Services wasn’t enough.

While you acknowledged the pleasures of being able to spend so indifferently, you started to get restless. There was something about the fact that he was able to go out every single day, going to be productive in more ways than one that made you feel almost…useless. The staff around you stopped bustling, a bit shocked to hear your raise of voice. Even Clara paused, hands folded over a linen napkin, her gaze flicking to Riki like she wasn’t sure whether to intervene or bow out of the scene entirely.

Riki didn’t even blink. He just calmly chewed his omelette like your words bounced off that thick wall of stoicism he kept tightly bolted around anyone who wasn’t you. “I’m not telling you again.”

You didn’t care, you pressed further just because you knew you could. “I know I can do it.” You frowned, “I just wanna help. Most I’ll be doing is sitting at a desk and—”

His eyes looked ahead, nodding once at Clara after she slid him his poured glass of water. But you saw his fingers clamp around the glass. Paling, but his face wasn’t. Riki was calm, tempered as always. At least on the surface but he was patient with you. Something you took for granted. “You know what’s interesting about Oracle?” He said as he sipped his water. You didn’t answer verbally but nodded for him to continue.

“She’s sharp, stubborn, always ready and willing to help. A lot like you.” He gently stabbed the strawberry from the shared fruit bowl in the middle. “She helped Batman and Robin. An amazing partner, she was.” He chewed on the fruit.

You perked up, “See! Then I c—”

He calmly interjected, still not looking at you. But the vibrato of his voice verberated throughout the room. Bouncing off the walls, glass, and stainless steel. “But then one day, Joker shot her. Right in the back. And now she’s paralyzed.”

You blinked.

The sentence lingered in the air like smoke—harmless at first, until it filled your lungs. Riki still hadn’t looked at you. Still ate like nothing had shifted. But everything had. The room was silent. Not the type of silence that asks to be broken—the kind that warns you not to try.

You swallowed. “That’s fiction,” you muttered, softer this time. “That’s not real.”

“Neither is invincibility,” he replied simply. “Not even for people who think they’re behind the screen.”

Finally, he glanced up at you—dark eyes laced with something you couldn’t name. Something heavier than anger, deeper than fear. “You think I’m keeping you out because I don’t think you’re capable?” He chuckled once, dry and humorless. “I’ve seen you lie through your teeth and charm your way out of federal security checkpoints. You’re brilliant. I’d trust you to run the whole damn empire if I died tomorrow.”

Your heart skipped.

He set his fork down. “But I’m not dead yet.”

Then he rose. Just like that.

You expected him to storm off, to make a scene. He didn’t. That wasn’t Riki. He just straightened his cuffs, softly kissed your cheek, gave Clara another kiss on the forehead, and walked out of the kitchen and to the front door with the kind of quiet command that made everyone else shrink. “I love you, angel. Love you too, Claraboo.” The guards fell in around him, black suits rippling like shadows. “I love you too…” You whispered, but loud enough for him to hear it because you knew he wouldn’t leave until he heard you say it. And within seconds, the heavy front doors whispered shut, and the house exhaled a hush that felt a lot like defeat. You stared at the imprint his coffee cup had left on the wooden coaster. Inherited empire, inherited fears. Same old script.

A gentle hand touched your shoulder. Clara. Cinnamon‑and‑steel Clara, who’d watched him grow from toddler to tycoon.

“Tea?” she offered.

You shook your head softly, leaning on the marble with your shoulders slumped and frown etched onto your face. “No thank you, Clara.” The older woman had sort of become your best friend and aunt all rolled up in one over the last few years, sitting right where Riki did. She smiled bitterly as she rested her hand on your cheek. “Young master doesn’t mean to hurt you. Just doesn’t know how to let you help without feeling like he’s failing you.” You blinked up at her, lips parting, but she beat you to the thought. “He thinks protecting you means keeping you in the dark. It’s not fair. But it’s what he was taught. The men before him—his grandfather, his brother, his father at first—they didn’t marry for love. They married for legacy. You? You’re the first thing he ever chose.”

Her thumb brushed along your cheekbone before dropping back to her lap.

“He’s scared.” She said it like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t something Riki would ever say himself. “Not of the enemies. Of what happens to him if something happens to you.”

You exhaled through your nose, scoffing softly at the bitter twist in your chest. “He could just say that.”

Clara smiled gently. “He could. But you married a yakuza, babygirl. Not a poet.”

You cracked a smile—small, but real.

“He’ll come around. Just don’t mistake his silence for stubbornness. That boy listens. Always has.” Your eyes met hers, lashes trembling just a little, because you were tired. Not tired of him—never of him—but of what came with him. The silence. The walls. The feeling that even though you slept next to each other every night, there were parts of Riki that refused to come out from behind that iron curtain in his chest.

“He talks like someone who’s already buried a wife,” you muttered.

Clara sighs, “Because he’s seen it all of his life. Colleagues dying, their wives dying. His mother…” She trailed off. Riki’s mother had been shot and killed when he was two. He hadn’t had any memories of her, just the things that his family wanted him to remember. All of his life he had heard stories of his mother’s laugh, how fun she was, and that one time she accidentally overheated the soup in the kitchen and made the pot boil over and explode all over the counter. Riki had seen no point in being upset over it, he didn’t remember her. In his mind, there was no use mourning someone he never knew. She didn’t mean much to him until he brought you to meet his dad. While you were in the parlor, leg bouncing and nearly hyperventilating, Riki and Mr. Nishimura were speaking in the hallway. Riki would never forget.

“Her laugh reminds me of your mother’s.”

That was all his father said. Stern and weathered, voice like gravel under boots, but his eyes softened for half a second—just one—as he looked past Riki into the parlor, where you sat nervously smoothing out your dress. Riki stood there frozen. Because in all the years of funerals and retellings, of whispered stories around the dinner table and framed photographs that never moved from the shrine, not once had anyone ever made her real. He’d never known her laugh. But apparently, you sounded like her when you did that thing—laugh with your whole chest, eyes squeezing shut, hands slapping his shoulder even when he barely cracked a joke.

That was the moment his mother became real—not a figment, not folklore.

And that was when fear sunk its teeth into him.

But Clara didn’t need to say anything. You knew. He knew. Everyone did and you couldn’t forget because he wasn’t going to let you.

So you sat there, knowingly and sighed in resignation. “I just…I love him and I want him to see me as an equal.” You brushed your hair back, jewelry cold on your warm face. “He does, sweetie.” The elder nodded with an endearing smile. “He’s just a prideful and protective man raised by a lot of prideful and protective men. And sometimes that gets in the way. They’ll do anything to ensure the safety of each other. That’s how they were raised. You’re his world, don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I know,” you whispered as you stared down at your doll-like shoes. Rubbing them together lightly and creating a creaking sound with the coated leather.

Clara stood, brushing off her apron. “But if that’s not enough, then…just talk to him. Seriously,” she lightly pinched your cheek. “You know just like I do that he’ll listen.”

She left you with that, bowing before she went to go dust the living room. And you stayed there, heart heavy and at this point, you felt like that same frown was going to become permanent. But you just turned to eat your breakfast.

Chewing on your omelette and it was cold and bitter, akin to what you thought battery acid could taste like. You frustratedly put the fork back on the plate, and just grabbed your apple juice. Leaving everything else in your wake.

—

Later that day

—

You lay in bed, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it owed you answers. The moonlight spilled through the blackout curtains, painting silver streaks across the sheets—cold and unforgiving. Riki moved around the room with his usual quiet precision, the soft click of his dress shoes replaced by the muted sound of him slipping out of his clothes. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t even flinch when he pulled back the covers and settled beside you in just his briefs. He liked sleeping this way.

He glanced over, catching the set of your jaw, the silent storm brewing behind your eyes. His voice was low, cautious—the kind reserved for moments when words had failed too many times already.

“You still upset?”

You stayed quiet.

Your husband sighed as he stared at you, a mixture of pity and frustration. “I just want you to be safe…” He leaned up on his side as he tilted his head. An idea came to his head as he smiled softly. “I have good news.”

You tightened your arms, still looking to the ceiling and staying silent.

But he kept talking, “While I was out, I got those chocolates you liked. I know you haven’t been able to find them for months. They’re downstairs…I can have Clara bring them up for you.” He said hopefully but you still didn’t dignify it. “And…tomorrow when I get back from work we can finally watch that show you’ve been wanting to. The Vampire Diaries you said?” He reached to lightly brush your cheek with the back of his hand, to which you almost fell for it then but you had more resolve. “I promise not to get jealous when you call that Klaus character sexy.” He smiled gently, hoping to make you laugh but to no avail.

“C’mon, my love.” Riki kissed your temple, “don’t be so mean to me.” He said with near desperation.

Your eyes flicked toward him for a split second. Just one. That was all he got.

He saw it, too.

“I’m not being mean,” you muttered finally, voice flat. “I’m just tired.”

Riki stilled. His hand dropped back to the sheets.

“That’s not what this is about and you know it,” he said, his voice quieter now, more careful. “You’re punishing me.”

You looked at him, “You’re underestimating me.” He furrowed his brows, “I…no I’m not. I told you earlier. I have no doubts. I love you more than you could ever understand but…you’re naïve.” His gaze wavered for the first time you saw in him, fear. “A-And you get in over your head sometimes. I know you won’t be in direct danger but…it’s enough and that’s all I need to make me say no to you.”

You sat up, “I am not naïve!”

Riki smiled gently, nodding as he moved his hand to your waist. “Yes, you are.”

“Name one time.”

Riki held your gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was debating whether or not to say it. “One time?” he said softly. “Alright.” He ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall to his lap. “That day you tried to drive yourself to Ryujin’s house across town because ‘it was just lunch.’ No guards. No heads-up.” He paused. “You didn’t notice the car that trailed you for ten blocks. You didn’t notice it double back when you stopped at the café. I did. Because I had someone watching.”

You blinked, jaw dropping in disbelief.

“You brushed it off when I brought it up. Said I was being paranoid. But that same car was on our street the next night.” He leaned in a little, voice lower now. “I didn’t tell you that part. Because I knew it would scare you. And I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

He exhaled. “You’re amazing. Brave. Smarter than anyone I know. But baby…that’s what makes it worse. You think you can’t be touched.”

“Have you…been touched?” You whispered in defeat.

“Me?” He snorted, “Fuck no,” letting out a small laugh.

“Riki…” you whined as you leaned back onto the headboard with a pout.

“What?” He laughed, but quietly gathered himself for you. “I’m sorry, but no. I haven’t but that’s because this is something that I was born into?” He said it as if it was obvious—because it was. “You married into this life and this is just something you’d have to learn. But it’s been four years of me keeping you away from it and it will stay that way until we both croak over.” Riki nods affirmatively as he lays back down on his back. Eyes leering at the ceiling the same way you were. A beat of silence fell over you two. You hated to push him, but this was the last time you would. “Okay but…at least think about this. I married you because I love you.” You huffed, looking at the ceiling as well. “You, our union, this ring, our family name…it means the world—the universe and galaxy—to me. But I swore to love, honor, and respect you in sickness and health, for rich or poor. But…” You turned to him with gentleness in your eyes. “I promised to protect the integrity of the Nishimura name. That I wouldn’t shame this family, myself, or you. That by becoming Mrs. Nishimura, there’s tremendous responsibility and I’m ready for all of it.” You tenderly pecked his lips, to which he quickly reciprocated. “I love you, and if I ever do anything to make you think I cannot handle this…then pull me out. But don’t just say no if we haven’t even seen how I would do.”

Riki didn’t respond right away. You watched his chest rise and fall, steady, like he was working through every word you’d just said.

Then, slowly, he turned his head toward you.

“…Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

You blinked, surprised he hadn’t shut it down completely. But before you could say anything, he leaned over and kissed your forehead—then your lips. It lingered this time. Less reflex, more emotion.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Goodnight.”

He waited until your breathing evened out beside him. Waited until your hand slipped from his chest and onto the pillow.

Then, carefully, Riki slipped out of bed and into a silk robe.

He moved quietly, barely letting the bedroom door creak open before he was down the hall, bare feet silent against the marble.

—

The door clicked shut behind him. Clara glanced up from her desk, already halfway into her second espresso. She didn’t even look surprised.

“I figured you’d come,” she said, setting her cup down. “You only knock when it’s about her.”

Riki didn’t smile. Just stood there for a second.

Then: “What do I do?”

Clara smiled fondly, “What you think is best, son.” As she sipped her coffee.

Riki sat down on the chair in front of her desk with a sigh. “But that’s why I came to ask you.” He gestured to the elder with an annoyed expression but quickly hid it as he actually had respect for her. “She made a good point. Too good. I just don’t want her to get taken advantage of. I don’t want her to lose her light the way so many of us did.” Clara laughed, “You still have your light, Riki.” She leaned back in her chair as she adjusted her glasses. “You didn’t always have it…but she gave it back to you.” He nodded with a firm look. “She did. She’s my light. She’s my—oh gosh—” Riki exhaled firmly as he buried his head in his hands, slightly shaking as he bounces his leg. Anxiety peeking through. “I can’t lose her. I won’t. I will not end up like my dad. I refuse to.” He shakes his head vehemently, his black hair falling in his face to which he swiftly pushes it back.

“She’s strong. You’re even stronger. Use your strength to help her get there. She just wants you to meet her halfway. That’s all she needs from you.” Clara said softly. “She’s capable and you know it. I believe so.”

Riki looks up at her through hooded lids. “You think so?”

Clara nodded, “I know so.” She stood up and beckoned him to follow her. “Come on,”

He complied and followed her to the east wing of the home—where his office resided. She used her key to open it and walked to his file cabinet and pulled out a black folder and handed it to him. “Here.”

The tall man scanned the folder and looked up at her. “What’s this for?”

“A test.” she said simply. “Start small. Give her something to handle. If she can carry it—then you talk.”

Riki stared at the folder, thumb brushing over the edge.

“You sure?”

Clara’s eyes didn’t waver. “I’ve never been more.”

—

You sat in the living room, watching another installment of some YouTube gameplay of a horror game. After last night, you had hope. Hope that something in the universe would change the mind of your vexingly stubborn husband. That for once he’d let you have a little more agency than he’d let you have any other day. Though, please don’t misunderstand. Riki wasn’t controlling by any means. He let you do and practically say whatever you wanted. You spent his money, were able to go out at your leisure (not without security), utilize…him as much as you wanted. But especially, he let you argue. Riki never let anyone argue. Being the man he was, prideful and a leader, his word was always going to be the last one. It was his way or no way, and this was the first time he had fought you so hard on something as this only made you want it more. You wanted to help, of course. But you just wanted to be more important to him than you already were. You knew that he loved you, you had never in the four years that you were together doubted the affection he held for you. You had just wished that he let you have a little more freedom. So you adjusted yourself on the couch, your shorts twisting and crop top riding up just a little but it didn’t matter because you had a throw blanket on. Riki entered the living room with something hidden behind his back. “Hello, my love.”

You furrowed your brows, “What are you doing?”

He shrugged as he padded over to the couch and plopped beside you with a knowing smirk. You turned off the TV and turned to face him, giving him your undivided attention. “I have to talk to you about something serious.”

You frowned, “If this is about yesterday then I—” He shook his head with a smile now, “Ancient history, passé.”

Growing suspicious, you hugged the blanket close to you. “Okay?”

He revealed a black folder from behind him and flashed it with a smile. “Ta-da!”

You shrug, “A black folder. Wow…”

He smacked his teeth with a grunt. “Take it,” he said gently, smiling with tenderness.

You grabbed the folder reluctantly, opening it to sift through it: three different color USBs, CCTV stills, ledger excerpts, and then a sealable, ivory envelope with a Kaminari recommendation card on it.

Your heart dropped, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked at him. “No…”

He nodded, smiling, “Yes, but only if—”

You cut him off by throwing yourself on top of him in excitement. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The black folder behind you now and your legs tangled with his as you held his face between your hands, kissing him once, twice, a third time just to make sure this was real. Riki laughed into your lips, arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like the choice didn’t shake him a little too. Like giving you this meant everything would be fine. “Wait, woah slow down.” He smiled, “there’s something else too. Come with me.” He stroked your cheek as he helped you up and off of the couch, grabbing the folder. Without a word, you followed him to the east wing as if you were going to his office. But then you made a strong left. This house was so big that there were rooms you hadn’t even seen yet; and you’d been living here for two years. But he handed you a key to a door, the door being right down the hall from his.

You took it without a word and unlocked the door to see an office of your own. A pink, girly office.

You stepped inside slowly, mouth parting in a silent gasp. It was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in soft morning light. White marble floors. Blush-toned walls. Shelves already stocked with delicate file boxes, soft leather notebooks, gold-trimmed pens, and what looked like a crystal lamp shaped like a cherry blossom. Then you looked around in the corner of the room, a plush carpet and loveseat with a mini-fridge. There was a glass desk in the center, wide and sleek, with your name engraved on a pink acrylic placard: Mrs. Nishimura—but underneath, in smaller script, it read:

Behavioral Intelligence Officer

Your knees buckled a little.

“Riki…” you breathed, turning around with trembling hands. “What is this?”

He stood at the doorframe like he wasn’t watching your entire soul ascend out of your body. His smile was slow, private. “This is where you’ll work from now on. The folder stays here. You get full clearance, unmonitored access, your own contact line with everyone, and burner accounts we’ll rotate weekly.”

You stared at him, absolutely speechless.

“You said you wanted to help,” he added softly. “But more than that…you wanted me to treat you like a partner. So here you go. This is me treating you like a partner.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time they didn’t sting. They shimmered.

“And I don’t have to…ask permission to come in here?” you asked, still stunned. Riki shook his head, stepping in and running his hands up your arms. “This is yours. It’s your space, your case, your decisions.” He paused. “I’ll still worry, and I’ll still protect you. That’s not up for debate. But this—” He looked around. “This is where I start learning how to let go a little.”

You threw your arms around his neck again, burying your face into his shoulder. “I’m gonna cry all over this expensive-ass marble.” He let out a breathy laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Don’t. I don’t want a slip and fall one day in.” Kissing your temple lovingly, his voice softening. “I love you, you’re Mrs. Nishimura. Not just in love, but in title and it’s time we all started acting like it.”

You peeled off and pulled him down a bit to lay your lips onto his. Resting your hands on his nape as you kissed him like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

Riki, letting out a groan as he picked you up off of your feet, grabbing your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. He smiled into the kiss as he massaged your ass in his large hands. “Should’ve done this sooner.”

“Mhm,” you hummed into the exchange as you tilted his head back to start showing his neck some attention.

Riki’s pulse thrummed beneath your lips, his head tipping back just enough for you to taste the faint salt of his skin and the trace of expensive cologne he only ever wore for you. His breath caught—low, rough, entirely at odds with the marble‑cold composure everyone else knew.

He shifted, pressing you against the edge of your new desk. The glass was cool, a soft contrast to the heat rolling off the two of you.

“Careful,” you whispered, teasing your teeth along his jaw. “That’s my desk now.”

He hummed, voice vibrating against your mouth. “Then I guess I’ll just have to get used to doing things your way.” His hands skimmed up the backs of your thighs, thumbs drawing lazy circles that made you shiver. The black folder still sat secure on the far corner—close enough to remind you why you were here, but far enough to keep from shattering the moment. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes—dark, dilated, a storm held only by sheer will. “Thank you,” you murmured. “For trusting me.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering at your cheek. “Thank you for demanding it.” The weight of those words settled between you—equal parts promise and permission. He leaned in again, slower this time, lips hovering at the shell of your ear.

“Lock the door, Officer,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “We must discuss business.” You squealed in glee as you hopped off the desk and closed the door, clicking the lock and scampering to your desk chair to sit dramatically. Crossing your legs like this was your throne and you were about to speak to one of your subjects. “Behavioral Intelligence Officer speaking,”

Riki smiled at your corniness. “Woah there, Powerpuff Girl. We gotta lay down the ground rules first.” He leaned against your desk, half sitting—his long legs in his signature black slacks looked you in the eye.

Raising your brows in curiosity, you knew this was coming. “Rules?”

He nodded once, “Rules. There are quite a few.”

“What are these rules?” You grabbed the folder to open it but he quickly took it from you, barely leaning forward as his long arms made quick work. “Hey!” You tried to grab it back.

He held the folder out of reach and held his hand up. “Nope, I need your attention.”

You huffed in frustration and leaned back in your chair. “Okay, you got it.”

He nodded, something behind his eyes switching. That domestic, loving, caring husband disappeared and now thunder, cold, and firm boss made an appearance. This is how you know he was being totally serious. “Rule one: you never—and I mean ever—do anything without consulting me. You report to me, you run things by me, you address me. This goes for everyone in the organization. I am the boss, I am your leader, I will be respected as such.” Your eyes widen at his unyielding tone; unsure whether to find this scary or sexy. But you concede, “Okay. Number two?”

Riki nodded, “Number two: one-way door policy. Do you know what that means?” He tilted his head.

You shook your head with wide eyes. “No,”

He smiled politely, “It means that whatever comes in here, stays here. That folder? Stays here. External drives, put it in the safe.” He points to the hidden safe behind the big picture frame of you two, the photo of him proposing to you in Cabo. “Don’t screenshot anything. Don’t even mention anything outside of here. The only other place that’s acceptable is my office. Understood?”

You nod, “That makes sense, I get it. Understood.”

“Good. Number three: when this button lights, pick up your phone. It means there’s an emergency and someone needs to get a hold of you.” He nods to the clear knob on your PC keyboard. “We haven’t had a situation where we’ve needed to do it for years. But it’s necessary. Simple.” He claps his hands as she slowly paces the room now. “Next rule: Every accusation needs proof. Time, place, motive. You can’t just say you have a gut feeling. I would believe you if you spat on me and told me it was rain. But here, we need proof. No baseless accusations. This goes for everyone, even me.” He put his hands in his pockets, as he looked at the marble floor. Letting himself think, doing that thing with his tongue-in-cheek. “Any questions thus far?”

Even with receiving all of this information, you shook your head. “No, keep going.”

“Beautiful,” he half-smiles. “Number four, this is a special rule: mental health days for you. Brains work better when they’re not being fried. Take a day to decompress, all of our problems will be there when you get back. And you will stop working at midnight, every night. No exceptions—I’m not going to explain it.” He said firmly. “A few more rules.”

He stopped walking to look you in the eye. “You only break rules to save a life, not for curiosity. It’s cute in a mystery film but people’s lives are at stake everyday here, don’t just do shit for the fun of it.” He comes back to his slow pacing.

“Third to last rule: this,” He gestured around the room, “is all yours. But this position isn’t a sure thing—”

Your jaw dropped, “Riki—” you whined in protest, finding it to be unfair.

“I’m speaking.” He held his finger up to silence you, to which you complied. Cowering in your seat as you looked at him with a pout.

“You’re going to be headed into this with little training. You’re not used to being under constant pressure, sometimes when you aren’t used to that…well…” He shrugged, “you can choke.” Riki sighed.

“You think I’m gonna choke?” You applied pressure to your tone, tilting your head in confusion. “I thought you said I was capable.”

Riki’s jaw flexed, eyes flicking up to meet yours—and for a moment, the weight of all this vanished. He looked at you like he always did: like you were the sun wearing heels, a hurricane with heart. But even so, his voice stayed firm.

“I know you’re capable,” he corrected. “But being capable and being ready aren’t the same thing. This isn’t a trust fall, baby. If you fall, someone could die.”

You stared at him. The silence between you stretched just long enough to feel like a power shift. Like you weren’t his wife at that moment—you were his kobun, his chosen partner, sure. But still…new.

You swallowed your pride and gave a tight nod. “Alright. Next rule?”

He sighed again, knowing this one would damper you a little. “No pet names. No ‘baby,’ no ‘my love,’ no ‘babe,’ ‘babe-arsaurus.’”

“Not babe-asaurus!”

He gave you a flat look. “Especially not babe-asaurus. We’re not at home. You wanna call me something cute, you do it in the kitchen.”

You snorted, arms crossed as you leaned back in your chair. “So dramatic.”

“I’m serious.” He circled back behind your desk, hands coming to rest on the armrests as he leaned in close. “Pet names blur the lines. And here, we don’t blur lines.”

You blinked. “Okay, edgelord.”

He grinned against your cheek, voice dropping again into that teasing warning. “Keep it up and the next rule’s gonna be ‘no lip gloss if you’re gonna talk back.’”

You raised your brows, daring him. “You gonna confiscate it?”

He took your gloss right out of your shorts pocket like he knew exactly where it was. “First offense: warning. Second offense? I keep it. Third…” He leaned in and whispered against your jaw, “You come to my office to earn it back.”

“Ooh…” you smile as you nuzzle his neck then pull back. “Am I speaking to my husband or Kaminari?”

He smiled back, “Both…but I’m serious.” He raised his brows, “No names.”

You smacked your teeth, “Okay ba—I mean—sir.”

Riki smiled kneeling in front of your chair now. “That turns me on too, but final rule. And it’s the one I’ll break before I ever let you break it.”

He leaned forward, holding your face in his hands. His cool rings melted against your cheeks as he looked you in the eye. “No lying,” he said. “To me. Ever. If you’re scared, tell me. If you messed up, tell me. If you don’t know what to do, you come to me. We do not lie to each other.”

This was an unspoken rule, not only in your career but in your marriage too. The only lie that Riki had ever told you was that he was going to work but was going ring shopping instead. With the candor of his own family—meaning that Riki’s family physically never lied to each other—he saw that lying was the ultimate form of betrayal. The only time that lies were acceptable were under moments of extreme duress (e.g. his job). When you two had discussed deal breakers on your first date he had said ‘lying’ before the question even left your mouth. And funnily enough, he never lied to you. He just withheld things or simply never brought things up until you asked. He never spoke about work, and if you asked about his day then it was: “Today was shitty.” Or “It was good. Just work.” Or “Productive, fortunately.” He never wanted you to know anything because knowing means danger and danger means you die. And it’s not paranoia! No. Never.

If you asked how a pair of jeans looked on you and he didn’t think they suited you then he’d give a simple “You’ve got better ones, my love.” Riki’s brand of honesty wasn’t mean—just wrapped in a velvet glove with iron beneath. Never cold, never cruel, never abrasive. He just valued the truth and gave it to you whether you liked it or not. Simply, he’d want the same thing from you. He’d rather you hurt his feelings with the truth now than hurt it even more with a lie if—and when—he found out. You never lied to him, even when the truth would hurt more. So now, as he knelt in front of you, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like you were made of glass and fire at the same time, it wasn’t just a rule. It was another vow. Not just for the sake of your marriage but your new dynamic.

“Not even if it’ll hurt you?” You whispered, leaning your forehead on his.

He closed the gap a little, leaning to place a gentle kiss on your lips; letting it linger. “Especially then,”

“…Is this the part where I get my badge and cool-girl gun holster?” you mumbled against his mouth.

He snorted, pulling back. “You are so annoying.”

“Hot and annoying,” you corrected, poking his chest.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” he sighed, mock-disappointed, before grabbing the case file from the desk. “Alright, dude. Let’s ruin someone’s day.”

—

Riki sat on the edge of your desk again, this time with the folder open in his lap, flipping through it casually—composed as usual. “We have a leak,” he said simply.

Your brows pulled together. “Internal?”

He nodded once. “High-level. The kind of leak that gets people killed.”

You leaned forward in your chair, pulse ticking up. “What kind of intel got out?”

“Shipment logs. Safehouse rotations. Even a few agent profiles,” he said, tapping the page with the back of his ringed hand. “All routed through dead drops in Nishiyama territory. No digital trail. Clean. Old-school.”

You scoffed under your breath, “So we’re dealing with a professional.”

“We’re dealing with a mole.” His voice hardened like concrete setting. “Someone inside Kaminari is feeding information to the Nishiyama syndicate. Which means one of ours is playing both sides.”

You blinked. “A double agent?”

He met your gaze with a heavy look. “Exactly.”

You swallowed. This wasn’t just a briefing. This was serious. “You already have a suspect?”

“I’ve got three.” He flipped to the next tab. “Some important people. Social Liaison, Yuna. Logistics, Jo. Then Sohee, the Accountant. All had access to the stolen intel.”

You reached out, but Riki didn’t hand over the folder yet. “Your objective,” he said, his tone dropping into something deadly smooth, “is to make contact with all three. Casually. I want your read on them. Behavioral patterns. Speech tells. Any inconsistencies.”

You raised a brow. “You want me to profile them.”

“I want you to read them like a book, baby,” he said, before catching himself—then exhaling. “Sorry. Not on the job.”

You smiled a little. “Slipped out. I’ll allow it.”

He looked at you, seriously now. “You’re not just my wife here. You’re the only person I trust to do this clean. No bias, no noise. I don’t need proof yet. I need instinct. Which might contradict a rule but you aren’t making a move yet. That’s up to me…or maybe you depending on how this goes.”

“And if my gut tells me who the leak is?”

He nodded. “Then we build the case. Surveillance, comms trace, movement logs. But you’re the first step.”

You inhaled. “Understood. Where do I start?”

Riki handed you the folder at last.

“Page one. Then you come to the compound with me tomorrow morning.” He smiled, tilting his head. You stood with slight nervousness, shaking your hands as if the feeling was water and you needed to let it dry. “Tomorrow?” You muttered as you paced in front of him slowly. “I’m going tomorrow?”

Riki smiled at your demeanor, “Yes, you will be coming with me tomorrow.”

“What? So like, do I go in a disguise or something?” You stopped and put your hands on your head dramatically, cropped shirt lifting just a tad to reveal the hem of your bra. Not that you cared, Riki had seen you as naked as the day you were born. Letting out a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners and that was enough to soothe you. Hearing him laugh. “Sure.” He crossed his arms. “Your disguise will be ‘my wife.’” Riki leaned off of the desk as he approached you. “You’re just going to talk to them. Like I said…read them. Point out red flags, assess a possible motive. But even then, you are not to engage further. No strong-arming. That’s my job.”

“Because you’re mean to people.”

Riki snorted. “I’m not mean. I’m...assertive.”

You raised a brow. “You once threatened to staple someone’s tongue to a desk.”

He held up a finger. “Because he lied. With confidence. That’s worse.”

You blinked. “You smiled while doing it.”

“And I was right,” he replied, smug as hell.

You muttered something about psycho husbands under your breath and flipped open the folder anyway. Inside were three crisp profiles: one woman, two men. All clean-cut. All smiling in their ID photos. Like one of them could’ve handed someone a kill order and then gone out for ice cream after.

Your stomach twisted just a bit.

“You good?” Riki asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just a lot to take in.” He paused, reading you again like he always did—too carefully, too much like someone who knew every version of you. The tough one. The soft one. The one who panicked over brunch menus and the one who could lie on cue if called for it.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said quietly. “To me. Or anyone else.”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “That’s funny. I thought this whole thing was a test.”

“Oh it is,” Riki pursed his lips. “And you do have something to prove, I just wanted to make you feel better.”

“Whatever happened to not lying?” You furrowed your brows, now getting irritated that he was making a joke of you.

Riki didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. I’m softening the blow. Totally different.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Feels the same from where I’m standing.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your spine straighten. “If I didn’t think you could handle it, you wouldn’t be here. I don’t hand out assignments because of marriage certificates.”

You held his gaze, jaw tight.

“So yeah,” he continued, “it’s a test. But not of your worth. Of your readiness.” Your heart beat just a little harder at that. Not because you were scared—but because you hated how much you cared about passing. How much you wanted him to see you pass.

“…Still feels like lying,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

“Then lie back,” he said, almost a whisper now, brushing a knuckle down your arm. “But I owe you a receipt, though.” Riki pouted his lips mockingly.

“A receipt?” Your eyes flitted to the side for a moment in confusion.

“Mhm,” he hummed as he sharply pulled you in by your biceps, your chest meeting his upper abdomen as he towered over you. “Don’t think I forgot the tone you took with me yesterday morning.”

Your heart raced and the breath caught in your throat like it had something to lose. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm enough to remind you: Riki didn’t bluff.

“I had to assert myself,” you said, chin tipping up even as your voice dipped lower.

Riki smirked, eyes flickering between yours. “Oh, you asserted something, alright. Had me rethinking our marriage vows halfway through my eggs.”

“Should’ve read the fine print,” you quipped, trying to deflect the way your pulse was going off like sirens under your skin.

His smile widened just a bit—dangerous and sweet, like a dare in the dark. “Fine print said mutual respect,” he murmured. “And you disrespected your superior officer, baby.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Superior officer? That’s what we’re doing now? You get off on that?”

“I get off on putting you in your place.” He stroked your cheek with his knuckle as he leaned in, grazing his nose with yours. “I think you forgot who you married.” Something behind his eyes flickered, something dark, menacing, and slightly sinister. He leaned back as he scanned your body. “Go to our room,” he said, voice low and unshakable. “Lose the attitude—and the clothes. I want both off by the time I walk in.”

—

Getting ready the next morning at six ante meridiem was the hardest thing you’ve had to do in a very long time. You don’t know how Riki did it. If it was a solid nine then that was right up your alley. And considering the events of last night, your husband wasn’t exactly forgiving. You were sore as a bitch, with every part and limb aching. Nevermind your glorious dream about riding unicorns in the rain. It didn’t matter because it wasn’t rain, it was your despicable husband shaking his wet hair in your face as your wake up call.

“Grand rising, beloved!” He beamed with a boyish smile.

You jumped up, clenching the linen sheets to your bare chest and gasping for air. “Oh my God.” You grunted as you swung on him, hitting his bare arm. “You’re such an asshole! Fuck you, you scared the shit out of me!” You’re still spent for air as you fell back on the bed and he was towering over you from beside the bed, laughing from the pit of his gut. He grinned, completely unbothered by your assault. “Don’t be mad. You looked peaceful. Like Snow White, but, like...if Snow White had a felony record.”

You tossed a pillow at him, which he caught easily with one hand, the other holding his towel around his waist. “I’m not the one with the felony fucking record.”

“Well technically I don’t. But if I did then I’ll add something else to my list if you don’t get up.” He tossed the pillow back at your face. You launched yourself at him like vengeance itself, arms wrapping around his neck as you tackled him backward. The towel slipped just enough to make it personal.

“I hate you,” you growled, even as laughter bubbled in your throat.

He caught you mid-flight with that irritatingly perfect upper-body strength, stumbling a little before regaining balance. “Lies,” he muttered against your shoulder. “You were just singing my praises last night.”

“That wasn’t singing, that was—” you cut yourself off, groaning as you buried your face in his collarbone. “I’m too tired for this. Let’s call in rich.”

“We are rich,” he said, smug. “But we’re also very much still showing up, because I’m not digging the ‘sore and cranky’ excuse from you today.”

You sighed and looked up at him, “I would kiss you but you pissed me off and I have morning breath.”

Riki smirked, unfazed, and leaned in anyway. “Lucky for you, I have a piss kink and no sense of smell.”

You smacked his chest, scandalized. “Riki!”

He just laughed, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Relax, I brushed my teeth for both of us.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not how hygiene works.”

“It is in marriage,” he said, already walking away like he didn’t just say the most obscene things before the Lord Himself was awake. “Now move it. We’ve got a mole to sniff out.”

You stared after him. “I swear, I’m calling HR.”

“I am HR.” he yelled from the bathroom. “You have two hours.”

God help you.

—

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” You exhaled shakily, trying to rub the sweat off of your palms and onto the leather seats of black car.

“My love, you asked like twi—”

“I don’t care, I’m asking again.” You looked out of the car window, watching the trees turn to mush and blur as the car sped through the highway. “Three people, one woman: Jung Yuna. Two men: Asakura Jo, and Lee Sohee.” He said, carefully, as he soothed your nerves, gently massaging your thigh. “Leak. You’re going to talk to them, get a feel for their personalities. Just…get to know them. That’s all.” He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder.

“Okay,” you huffed. “Simple enough.”

Riki gave a soft hum. “Simple, yes. Easy?” He flicked his eyes toward you, a warning there. “Not even a little.”

You glanced at him. “What’s the catch?” He didn’t answer immediately, just adjusted his grip on your thigh and dropped his voice. “One of them’s working with a third-party buyer. We don’t know who. We don’t know why. But we know it’s internal.”

Your brows furrowed. “And they don’t know we know?”

“Exactly. As far as they’re concerned, I’m bringing my sweet, unassuming wife for a fun day at work. Yuna knows me. Jo doesn’t trust me. And Sohee…” he trailed off, pausing. “Sohee thinks he’s smarter than everyone in the room.”

You clicked your tongue. “So you want me to play dumb.”

Riki’s lip curled into that crooked smirk—the one that always meant trouble. “Not dumb. Charming. A little naïve, maybe. But observant. You’re not interrogating them. You’re studying them. I want your instincts, not your analysis.”

“So this is ‘vibes-based’ intel?” You made quotation marks with your fingers.

“This is you-based intel.” His hand slid up your thigh, fingers curling gently. “You see people. You’ve always seen me—even when I didn’t want you to. That’s your edge.”

You fell silent for a beat. “If I’m the edge, what are you?”

“The blade,” he said simply. “So keep it cute. I’ll do the cutting if we have to.”

You let out a breath, heart pounding as the trees blurred past faster now. “Okay. Let’s find our mole.”

—

You entered the expansive compound, smiling and waving at the different people. At times—and the very few times you’ve been here—you forget that this is an organized crime group and not an organization, a conglomerate even. And seeing Riki walk in here was like seeing a switch flip and the light turn on. Gone was your generous, funny, doting lover and now straight-faced, strict, articulate Komichō. It was slightly overwhelming to be able to see someone just turn themselves on and off like that.

So when he walked in, every person lined up to greet him. His kobun, bloodbound kobun. Trained, loyal, and unshakably his. They bowed—not out of introduction, but acknowledgment. You weren’t a stranger here, not technically. They knew your face. They’d watched you stand beside Riki in silk and gold, watched you kiss him with a thousand eyes on your back. But none of them knew you.

Not really.

So when you walked in today—no veil, no curated elegance, no fanfare—there was a shift. A flicker in the way some of them looked at you. You were here, which meant something had changed. You weren’t just the wife anymore. You were part of the inner workings now. At least you and Riki knew that. Still, he said nothing else. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough to quiet any question before it could rise. But the way his hand hovered at your back—subtle, protective, claiming—told the whole room that you weren’t just tagging along. You were trusted.

A few of them looked surprised.

One or two looked uneasy.

And at least one looked curious.

You kept your posture steady, offering a nod of acknowledgment. Cool. Collected. Just another day casually stepping into your husband’s criminal empire. Totally fine. Absolutely fine. Zero panic. Riki leaned in just enough to brush his lips against your temple. “They remember the wedding,” he murmured, “but they don’t know you.”

“Good,” you replied under your breath.

He smirked. “That’s my girl.”

—

You strolled into one of the lounges, making decent use of your time here. You were careful to not immediately get to work as you didn’t want to make yourself super obvious. So here you were, walking around, scaring Heeseung—head of operations—every now and then just because you could. But after about thirty minutes, you decided to pull the trigger on this. Your eyes found Sohee sitting at one of the many tables, tip-tapping away at something on his laptop. Presumably not work-related because this was considered a breakroom. But Riki wasn’t that strict, he didn’t care where the work got done—as long as it was in the building and nowhere else.

Putting on a friendly smile, you approached the table with politeness. “Hi, Sohee. How are you?”

The guy looked up from his laptop, the blank stare turning to a smile that mirrored your own. “Okaasan, I’m doing fine. You?”

You waved him off with a smile, telling him to drop the formalities and that calling you by your name was more than fine. But he didn’t comply, stating that Riki insisted that they call you Mrs. Nishimura or Okaasan.

“No, I’m telling you to call me by my first name. Please, it’s okay.” Smiling, nodding your head to ensure he felt a little more comfortable in this exchange. Being on a first-name basis establishes comfort. If there’s that then the conversation won’t be so rigid. Sohee smiled gently, being slightly flustered at your friendliness. He hadn’t spoken to you ever and only knew you in passing. He was at the wedding like most of the group but besides that there were very little interactions between you and the other affiliates. No one knew about you aside from Riki’s close friends—some of whom were a part of the group and his groomsmen, and his family by the time of the ceremony. “Of course…” He rubbed his eyes, “But yeah, I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Tell me about married life, how’s it treating you?” You slid into the seat across from him, adjusting your blouse just slightly as you crossed one leg over the other. A friendly smile stayed on your lips, but your eyes had already started their sweep—watching his fingers, his posture, how fast he minimized whatever was on his screen.

“Oh, you know,” you started, tone breezy like the back patio of a brunch spot. “We argue about whether the AC should be at sixty-eight or seventy-two, and then he kisses me. Classic honeymoon phase stuff.”

Sohee laughed politely, but you noticed the slight tug at his lip—like he was trying to decide if it was okay to really laugh. That was good. You liked that.

“It’s different though,” you continued, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Being someone’s girlfriend, and then suddenly you’re…really a part of their life. Your world is one, I guess. Still getting used to the perks.”

He snorted at that, relaxing a little. “I mean, if by perks you mean the estate and a guy named Chan who opens your car door every morning—yeah, not bad.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Exactly. And the complimentary paranoia’s cute too.”

Sohee’s eyes flicked up at you, and for a second, you saw the calculation behind the smile. He was smart. They wouldn’t have put him over logistics if he wasn’t. “You say that like you weren’t built for this. I mean, most people around here kind of expected you to be the accessory. No offense.”

You smiled wider at that. “None taken. Accessories don’t walk themselves in here and sit across from the guy who tracks where all the money goes.”

He stilled—just barely—but you caught it. Bingo.

Before he could volley back, you softened your voice, brushing invisible lint off your sleeve. “Anyway. I’m not here to scare anyone. I’m here to get to know people. Riki’s always talking about how tight-knit the team is. Family, right?”

Sohee nodded slowly, and you could practically hear the mental gears clicking. “Yeah. Family.”

“And family talks,” you said lightly. “Even if it’s just about what’s stressing them out…or keeping them up at night.”

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head. “That’s a very specific way to phrase that.”

You looked at him with a half-smile. “Well. I’m a very specific kind of person. Plus, I spend his money, I gotta make sure it gets where it has to be right?” You try to break the subtle change in vibe with a joke. He bites, somewhat relieved that the woman who has the power to either put him on the unemployment line or in a body bag wasn’t taking him too seriously.

Despite that, you took it for what it was and whatever he was giving you. Before either of you can stretch the silence too far, the door swings open.

“Heard there were pastries in here,” a voice calls out playfully, and in walks Yuna—light on her feet, dressed like her outfit alone had a LinkedIn profile, and confident like someone who always gets the last word.

Her gaze slides over the room, landing on you and Sohee.

“Oh,” she says, lips curving upward as she closes the distance. “Didn’t know this was a members only table.”

You gesture to the seat beside you. “Not at all. I was just catching up with Sohee. Join us.”

Sohee stands halfway out of his seat in reflex—a gentleman or a little afraid, who’s to say—before awkwardly sitting back down once Yuna waves him off. “So,” she says as she takes a seat, folding her arms on the table and angling herself toward you. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. You were a vision by the way. I mean, the ceremony? You two could’ve had a Vogue cover, just stunning.”

You chuckle, nodding politely. “Thank you. It was a blur, but I do remember crying over my lashes right before walking down the aisle.”

Yuna laughs, then tilts her head a little. “So, married life? How’s it been? I imagine being Mrs. Nishimura is…an adjustment.”

The way she says it—like she’s biting into something sweet just to test the aftertaste—tells you she’s digging. Not cruelly. Just…curious. Or pretending to be. You tilt your head, mirroring her. “We were just talking about it.” You gesture to Sohee with a smile. “It’s been good.” You always loved to overshare, but it was no one’s business what consisted of your relationship. Namely how well your husband treated you. You had to learn that lesson better now than later.

Yuna hums. “Right. He’s always had that...edge. But seeing him soft for someone? Kind of wild, honestly.”

You smile, gentle but unmistakably proud. “It’s a side of him you have to earn.”

That lands. You see it in the way her jaw shifts just slightly, like the compliment doubled as a subtle door slam.

She nods slowly, playing it off. “Must be nice—being the one person who gets let into the inner sanctum. He doesn’t really do vulnerability.”

You rest your elbow on the table, your chin on your hand. “No, he doesn’t. Which is why I don’t take him for granted.”

And that right there—that soft, unapologetic weight behind your words—is when the intimidation really hits.

Yuna smiles, but this one doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You make it look easy.”

Sohee clears his throat, trying to reroute the conversation back to safer shores. “You always had that energy, though,” he says. “Even at the wedding. People were talking more about you than the cake.”

You grin. “Then I hope they weren’t talking about the dress fitting too tight. I ate like four slices of that cake myself.”

“Bold,” Yuna murmurs, sipping her drink. “That cake was like five hundred a slice.”

You glance at her. “When you marry a man who owns the bank the baker owes a loan to, cake isn’t a concern.”

Sohee chokes on a laugh, half trying to hide it. “She’s not wrong.”

Yuna raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “That sounds like something Komichō would say.”

“He’s rubbing off on me,” you say.

“Definitely rubbing,” she mumbles beneath her breath as she sipped her tea again, you barely heard it but it was definitely loud enough for you to catch. Your ears perked up at the comment, “I’m sorry?” Tilting your head with a small smile, acting as if you didn’t really hear her.

Yuna blinked, playing it off, though her smirk didn’t quite fade. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

You let out a soft chuckle, resting your elbow on the table and your chin in your hand. “You should be careful doing that around here. People might think you’re losing it.”

Sohee glanced between the two of you, sensing the invisible knife sliding onto the table. “Right, well, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything either.”

“No need,” you said smoothly, eyes still on Yuna. “I just thought I heard something interesting. Wouldn’t want to miss out.”

Yuna gave a small shrug, eyes cool. “Guess my mind wandered.”

“To Riki?” you asked lightly, no edge to your voice but every word precise.

Her lips parted like she might defend herself, but instead she laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re good.”

You smiled wider. “I know I am.”

Sohee cleared his throat again—less out of nerves, more out of self-preservation. It seemed so with him, Riki said he always thinks like he’s the smartest in the room but it might not even be that. Maybe, but he shrinks beneath the gaze of someone bigger. Though, intelligence and bravery aren’t mutually exclusive in this case. Or any of them for that matter. But you didn’t break your gaze from Yuna, not just yet. “Don’t worry,” you finally said, sitting back in your seat with a gracious tilt of your head. “I don’t bite unless I’m hungry.” Your eyes glinted, like the once inquisitive look was suddenly demoted to annoyance. But you knew better than to let her get the best of you. Yuna lifted her tea, trying to cover the shift in her posture—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened for just a second. “Good thing I’m not on the menu.”

“Of course not,” you said sweetly. You stand, brushing off your skirt as you slide out of your seat. “I’ll be going now, guys. Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“No problem,” Sohee said with a gentle smile as he stood up to shake your head. To which you nodded respectfully, returning the gesture. “Hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you around here.” You laughed with a nod, “For sure, I’ll definitely be around.” Glancing at Yuna, you smiled gently. “See you around, little one?” You reached out and rubbed her arm, to other eyes it was friendly. Between you two—and maybe Sohee if he squinted—it almost seemed like you were rubbing the metaphorical snot she sneezed onto you, back on her. Sonning her, ‘little girl-ing’ her.

Nonetheless, she smiled. She nodded. And just took it. “Yes, see you around.”

And off you were.

—

Speaking to Riki after that little exchange was definitely on your mind. Seriously it was, every aching part of you was determined to run down on him and question him until he physically choked on his every word. Because for real, what the fuck was that? Why was Yuna so comfortable speaking about your relationship and Riki in such a way? How has Riki made her so comfortable? When has he done that? How did it happen? Who even brought this up to her in the first place? As the five W’s were this close to the edge of your tongue, you decided to save it for later. Not now, no. And it’s not even like you were shy about your marriage. If one couldn’t tell by now, you took any and every opportunity to mention Riki. You swore to your friends that once you got married you would ‘my husband…’ the fuck out of them and everyone else around you. But you didn’t know Yuna, hardly even. You’d known her as one of the heavy hitters—essentially the PR for the group. The Social Liaison. She was delicate, yet biting. Subtle, yet direct. She was gorgeous and that’s exactly why she was appointed, because she was easy on the eyes and no one could dare turn away a beautiful woman. You didn’t feel inferior, there was no reason to. Yuna was Yuna and You were You. Both of you were beautiful young women in a field dominated by men no matter how you sliced it. So to see her be so combative when you didn’t do that to her made you feel like you lost a friend before you could even make one. So as you were on the hunt for Jo, passing through each hallway and scouring every nook and cranny for this guy. You peeped Riki a few feet away in the broad, wide-ranging room. Speaking so firmly to one of the kobun, not making eye contact but nodding along as he walked and they briefed him on something. They were too far for you to hear but he had noticed you, almost like he felt you from ten feet away. He didn’t stop what he was doing, didn’t pause, he was slick as always. Riki kept walking and as he was listening but he made eye contact with you. His gorgeous, alluring eyes followed you as you kept moving but he didn’t smile. He just poked his tongue out—quick, barely there, a flicker of his usual mischief. The kind of look that says I see you, and I know you see me, without saying a single word. It wasn’t apologetic. It felt more like a challenge. Like he was telling you to come find him. To press him. To demand what you wanted to know. At least to you because that’s what you felt like doing. But knowing him, he was just teasing. Letting you know that beneath the hard shell of the Komichō was your childish, teasing, yet loving husband. You held his gaze for a moment longer, then kept walking. Because no matter how much your fists itched to grab his collar and ask him what the hell Yuna meant by that, you had other business to handle. Logistics came first. And Jo—well, Jo was never easy to find. Which was kind of the point.

So you tucked Riki into your back pocket for now, like a loaded question you’d pull out later.

Jo was somewhere in this damn compound, likely holed up with blueprints, phone calls, and at least five burner devices. And if there was anyone (sans Riki) who could give you the real lay of the land—or shift it completely—it was him.

Riki could wait.

You pulled out your phone to shoot him a message, though:

thorn in my side: do yk where jo would be right abt now?

He replied back in a split second.

idiotbox: should be in his office. upstairs, 5th floor. 509.

thorn in my side: thanks

idiotbox: i love you

…

???

i said i love you

i love you baby ????

now girl…

You didn’t even care to respond, you were mad at him for something you only assumed he did and that was childish, of course. You were petty, but so was he and that was how you two worked so well. He’d pick up eventually, but you hated the fact that such a menial exchange had irritated you this badly. But you knew better than to put him in a bad mood at work.

thorn in my side: i love you more babe-asaurus

idiotbox: hm

we’ll talk later

You rolled your eyes at how easily he was able to read you even without seeing you. But whatever, you have a guy to find and Riki was close to your heart as always; but the least of your worries.

Taking the elevator was intense because you hoped that it would be slower, honestly. Like how much of a rush were these guys in? You reached the first to fifth floor in less than two seconds. Now, here you are, scanning the doors and you finally reached Jo’s appointed office and you politely knocked. Waiting for a ‘come in’ or ‘enter’ or ‘who is it’ literally anything. But nothing. You scanned the hallway, peering both ways up and down. No one was around, no one seemed to be passing through and you stepped forward a little bit to put your ear to the door. Also silence.

Racking your brain, Riki’s words kept ringing in your mind: you are not to engage further.

You are not to engage further.

You are not—fuck it.

Without another thought you twisted the knob to Jo’s office and as fate would have it, the door was unlocked. You pushed through the door and peeked your head in.

Empty.

So as you slipped in, gently closing the door behind you before locking it, you reminded yourself of what you came here for. It was to get a hold on behavioral patterns, but there’s no harm in scanning. With a shaky exhale, your eyes followed through the space. Very minimal. Only necessary items here: desk, chair, file cabinet, desk lamp, simply essential office gadgets. But as you neared his desk, you spied a ton of papers scattering across it. You hovered, unsure whether you should touch them, but then again, Riki did say not to engage further. He didn’t say anything about observing. Which, in your opinion, made this a grey area. And what were grey areas for, if not you skating through them with barely plausible deniability? The first sheet that caught your eye was a layout of the compound—more detailed than the blueprints you’d seen before. Color-coded zones, timestamped patrol shifts, even ventilation system routes. Jo is definitely playing chess while the rest of these guys are just showing up to the board. The next paper underneath made your stomach pull a little tighter. It was a list. Names. Some you recognized, some you didn’t. Some were marked with symbols: asterisks, slashes, question marks. What you did know was that this was the definitive roster—essentially—for everyone in Thunder.

Sans one other: Yuna.

Weird.

Then you saw it.

A manila folder tucked half underneath a blueprint sheet. You knew you shouldn’t, but girl—curiosity is a disease. You slid it out just an inch, enough to see the label written in Jo’s tight, deliberate handwriting:

“INCIDENT REPORT — LEAK”

Then another:

“NISHI — CONFIDENTIAL”

You didn’t let your initial shock cloud your common sense. Without another thought you grabbed the two files and shoved them inside of your shirt. Dumb decision, yes. Strange, absolutely. Just as you were heading to the door to make your graceful exit (you’ve been doing a lot of those lately it seemed), you heard footsteps and jingling keys right outside of the door.

“Fuck!” You mouthed in panic and scanned the room. A sliding closet was your best bet so you took shelter there, squatting at the floor and hugging the cloth covered folders to your chest. Knowing better, you ensured your phone was on silent and not on the hard floor to make noise.

And not a second too soon.

The lock clicked, the door swung open, and Jo entered—as leisurely as one can be. You watched through the thin slits in the closet door as he moved with practiced ease, the way only someone who expected to be alone did.

He muttered something under his breath, inaudible, as he tossed a USB onto the desk and rolled his chair out with a squeak. You swore your heart was doing parkour in your chest, beating a rhythm so loud you were sure he could hear it.

He started typing.

Clicking, clacking, clomping. Jo hands had left the keyboard to feel for his folders—the absent ones.

His hands patted the desk once. Then again. Slower.

You could hear the moment he realized something was off.

Click, click.

Rustle.

Click.

Pause.

“…Huh.”

He stood up. You could see his silhouette shift through the closet slats. Jo leaned over the desk again, rifling through papers, lifting one corner of the blueprint like the folders might be playing hide and seek with him.

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then he muttered, low and sharp: “Motherfucker.”

Busted. Not completely, but the clock was officially ticking.

Jo paced once, then sat back down hard, fingers drumming against the desk in a rhythm that screamed calculating. You knew Jo very vaguely—this wasn’t confusion. This wasn’t panic.

This was inventory. This was war.

And you were right there in the middle of it, like a roach under a glass.

He pulled his phone out. Tapped. You didn’t hear the call ring—probably encrypted, burner-to-burner. Probably to someone way too important to be talking about two stolen folders and a potential mole crouched three feet away.

Still, his voice was ice when he finally spoke:

“They’re gone. Both of them. Yes. Both. Folders. No. Nobody else’s been in here.”

He huffed as he slammed the device down on the desk and left without another word. Closing the door behind him.

You didn’t move for a full thirty seconds.

Just breathed.

Slow and shallow, trying not to make even your lungs betray you. Your heart was doing a drum solo in your chest, and the folders clutched to you suddenly felt like live explosives. Your knees were screaming. Your brain was screaming.

But Jo was gone.

And you were still here.

When you finally uncurled yourself and opened the closet door like it might squeak out a betrayal, the coast was still clear. The office was eerily quiet, save for the dull hum of whatever sinister programs Jo had left running on his screen.

You grabbed his phone too, along with the USBs. Leaving that behind, what a dummy.

You crept out like a cat burglar in a heist movie, glancing around one more time before heading to the door.

No one.

No shadows.

You slid out and shut the door behind you, just as quietly as you came.

And then booked it.

—

Muscle memory had you headed there before you could even second-guess the idea. Ninth floor, west wing, room 920. You’d memorized it months ago without even meaning to—like the curve of his signature, or the way his voice dipped when he was serious. The folders were still tucked under your shirt like contraband, stabbing awkwardly against your ribs as you power-walked. You probably looked suspicious. Not that anyone was around to clock it—yet. But paranoia was creeping in like a slow leak. Any second now, you were sure alarms would start blaring.

You rounded the corner, heart racing. Riki’s door stood at the end of the hallway, clean and unassuming. You didn’t knock. Just turned the handle and slipped inside like a shadow.

He wasn’t at his desk.

He was standing at the window, back to you, hands in his pockets like some tortured antihero. Of course. Of course he was being dramatic today.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, without turning around.

You rolled your eyes and let the door click shut behind you. “This is where my man is, this is where I’m due. Thank you very much.”

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable until his eyes landed on your shirt—and what was very obviously not a very lumpy new bra.

“You didn’t,” he said flatly.

You didn’t say anything. Just reached under your shirt, pulled the folders and phone out like a magician producing a rabbit, and dropped them onto his desk with a soft thump.

Riki stared at them.

Then at you. “...You’re insane.”

“I love you.”

He pressed his fingers to his eyes, already visibly aging five years. “I love you too. But I told you not to engage.”

“Yeah, well.” You walked to his side of the desk as he sat. “I’m starting to think you only say that when you don’t wanna deal with the fallout.” You lifted yourself to sit atop his desk, folding your legs.

He didn’t argue because a part of him knew better. But he was going to ask questions.

“Before I open these, Oracle.” He smirked as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing your bare calves. “You are going to tell me how you got these.”

You tilted your head, half-smirking, half-daring him to press. “Before I tell you,” you said, voice sweet as poison, “you’re going to tell me who Nishi is.”

He paused, the playful squeeze he gave your leg faltering for just a second. Just enough for you to catch. Just enough to confirm that the name meant something. Something serious.

“That’s not how this works,” he said slowly, like he was weighing each word. “You first.”

You leaned back on your palms, eyes dragging lazily across the office like you were bored—like you weren’t high off adrenaline and one bad decision away from spiraling. “Door was unlocked. Papers were out. Your little friend Jo doesn’t have the cleanest filing system.”

“You broke into his office,” he said, amused but exasperated, like a teacher trying not to laugh while writing you up. “You hid in his closet.”

“And you told me not to engage, which is very different from telling me not to investigate,” you quipped. “And how do you even know I did that?”

His hands were warm against your skin again, this time steady. Grounding. He sighed, and there was something tired in it. Like this day had finally worn him down. “First off, you came in here winded. Which means you were running. Something you never do.” He nodded affirmatively, like he had seen this scenario a million times before. “Then you have extra padding in your bra like you don’t have enough going on there alrea—”

You squinted at him, offended but mostly appalled. “Excuse me?”

Riki had the audacity to grin, all smug and unbothered, like he wasn’t skating on the thinnest ice imaginable. “What?” he said, lifting his hands in fake innocence. “I notice things. You weren’t exactly subtle and I’ve seen them enough to know what they do and don’t look like. The folders are poking out like a second set of ribs.”

You smacked his arm. “You are insufferable.”

“Observant,” he corrected, laughing under his breath. “And I know you. You only get this chaotic when you’re pissed or nosy. Or both.”

You rolled your eyes and slipped off his desk, pacing a few steps to blow off steam. “Well, congrats. You know me. You want a medal or a map to Jo’s shitty closet?”

“I want you to tell me why you went looking for him,” he said, the smile in his voice gone now. “What made you dig?”

You paused, fiddling with the edge of a stray paper on his desk, not looking at him. “I was just making my way down the list.” You shrug with a slight pout. “I had already spoken with Yuna and Sohee. Conveniently they were both in the same room. Then I saw you enroute to Jo, knocked on his office. Nobody home. So I took it upon myself to find what he wasn’t there to tell me.” You sighed with a firm nod. “Who’s Nishi? Is it short for Nishimura? Or short for Nis—” You paused as something in your brain had clicked, the lights weren’t dim anymore. “The Nishiyama syndicate that you were speaking of.” Humming in understanding finally as you leaned against the desk. “Is that it?”

Riki’s then blank expression shifted to a smile, not devilish. But kind, almost…proud despite the weird situation. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Somehow you felt small beneath his gaze, so your eyes shifted to the files and phone. “Are you gonna open the files?”

The raven-haired man sighed, leaning back into his chair. He was entirely too cavalier for your liking but you kept your lips glued. This was his world, not yours. At least not yet. “No.” He shook his head gently. “You’re gonna read them and tell me what you find.”

You blinked. “Okay,”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Riki leaned up and handed you a new notepad and pen. “Don’t write on his stuff. I’m sure he knows they’re missing.”

“He does,” you took the items with both hands. “Is he going to hurt me if—”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Your breath caught—not because you didn’t believe him, but because of how fast he said it. Like it wasn’t a question. Like the very thought of Jo trying anything had flipped a switch in Riki’s brain that only lived between rage and devotion.

You stared at him. “That’s dramatic.”

“I mean it,” he said, and this time there was no smugness, no teasing. Just that low, steady tone that made your spine straighten and your chest feel way too small. “He touches you, he dies.”

Laughing him off, you waved your hand. “Again, dramatic.”

“There’s nothing dramatic about it. I have no problem putting anybody six feet under if it’s about you. I’m telling you now, I will kill him. Myself, with my bare hands.” He nods calmly. You nodded, lips pursed as this weird feeling of not believing him but absolutely believing him came over you. Now you aren’t stupid, there’s very few people in this life that have clean hands but since you never saw that side of Riki—it was hard to fully compute that. You were used to the version of him that bit you when he just found you cute. The one that whenever he ate french fries, he would put them in his mouth and act like he was a walrus. The part of him that whined whenever his food touched.

The Riki that kissed you like it was his first and last, everytime. When he made love to you it was passionate, like he cared. Savoring every part of your body and ravishing it like a starved man. And even though you’ve been together for as long as you have, he still makes you feel like you’re in high school. Both his and your inner child’s connect and that’s what makes every part of being with him so worth it. Hearing him talk about putting someone in the dirt for hurting you didn’t scare you. At all, if anything a depraved part of you loved that he was so ready and willing to take care of you. But because he had kept you so far from this life—to the point where you never saw him right when he came home from work. You only ever saw him after a shower when he got back. The house was big enough for him to avoid you and he didn’t want you to even see him in any other way aside from put-together or casual. He simply wants to keep your perception of him one way. Now he’s at the point where he doesn’t need to get his hands dirty, but he’s not above it. He knows he’s not but he doesn’t want you to know that. Maybe because you’re pure, the only clean thing in this world and he wants to honor that sanctity.

Thus you nod with a tight-lipped smile. “Aye-aye captain,”

Riki nodded curtly, “Thank you, now sit.”

“Can I take this home with me—oh wait, no, the rule.” I sighed as I sat down on his couch.

He laughed, “Right, good, good. But…” He breezed past his desk to now sit beside you. “Why didn’t you tell me you loved me?” He leaned back against the back of the couch, crossing his arms as he peered at you with patient eyes.

You furrowed your brows, snorting at his ridiculousness. “I tell you that multiple times an hour, Riki. I just said it when I came in. What are you talking about?”

“Babe—sorry—” He covers his mouth, trying to muffle a smile at the minor slip-up.

You point at him, “Ah-ha! You broke your own rule, genius.” Laughing as you twirl the pen between your fingers.

Riki groaned dramatically, tipping his head back against the couch cushion like the weight of his love-induced hypocrisy had just crushed him. “God, I’m so weak,” he mumbled into the ceiling.

You giggled, nudging his leg with your knee. “You made a rule you couldn’t keep. Who does that?”

“A man in love,” he sighed, hand flopping over his heart. “A fool. A slave to your eyes and...whatever scented oil you’re wearing today. Beautiful gourmand.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your past mistakes. “You suck so bad.”

He turned to look at you again, his playful expression softening slightly. “You didn’t say it earlier. In the texts. Well you did, but I just had to pull it out of you. Which is unusual because usually it happens easily. Like a nice, well-lubricated machine.”

You paused, the smile still on your lips but tinged now with something quieter. “I was annoyed.”

“I figured,” he said.

“And don’t use ‘well-lubricated’ like that ever again.” You laughed as you adjusted your position, kicking off your shoes just because you could. Placing your legs on his lap as he instinctively went to massaging your aching feet.

Riki laughed beneath his breath, “Mmm, how else should I use it then…?” He trails his hand up your calf.

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” you said, pointing the pen at him like it doubled as a taser. “I’m in work mode now. No nasty metaphors.”

Riki smirked, thumb dragging slow circles into your ankle like he was trying to hypnotize you. “You sure? I’ve got a whole glossary. Synonyms. Imagery. PowerPoint, even.”

“PowerPoint?” You quirked a brow. “Wow. And here I thought this organization was low-tech.”

“We save the advanced tech for seduction,” he deadpanned.

You threw your head back in a laugh, letting your legs go slack against him. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”

“I know.” He smiled proudly, then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your knee. “But seriously...I knew something was bothering you. I felt it.”

You nodded, brushing a bit of lint from your lap like it was your own way of smoothing down your thoughts. “I didn’t like the way Yuna talked about you. Like she knew you. Knows you. I know it’s stupid—”

“It’s not,” he cut in gently. “Whatever it is, it’s not.”

You looked at him. “I didn’t want to make it a thing while you’re working, but...she got under my skin.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing really,” You shook your head as confusion plagued your expression. “Like she was just throwing jabs at our marriage. Like—”

“Do you want her gone?”

“Wait–damn! Can I at least tell you what happened?” You put your hands out in panic.

Riki blinked, caught between his gut reaction and your clearly not-yet-finished train of thought. “Right. Sorry.” He held up his hands, leaning back slightly. “Continue. Full dramatic reenactment, if you will.”

You gave him a flat look. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am. Devoted. Foot-rubbing. Ready to commit crimes in your honor.”

You fought back a smile, exhaling sharply before continuing. “She just said some things. Made it sound like she knew you in a way I didn’t. Nothing direct, but it was all…in the way she said it. Like she was watching me, waiting to see if I’d flinch.”

Riki’s jaw ticked just slightly, and his hand stilled again on your leg. “What did she say exactly?”

“She joked about you being soft for me. About how it must be wild seeing you like that. And then she muttered something under her breath—‘definitely rubbing’—after I said you were rubbing off on me.” You rolled your eyes. “While it was funny,” you smiled as you reflected on the moment. “It was just the tone she took, it was petty.”

His voice had that eerie calm again—the kind that made you picture storms on the horizon. “And do you want her gone?”

You hesitated. “I don’t want to make you cut people loose just because they annoy me.”

“Not just anyone,” he said slowly. “Her. You disrespect my wife, you disrespect me. End of discussion.”

You sighed. “I just didn’t like feeling like I was being tested. Like I had to prove I was worthy to be here. That I deserved you.”

“No. You don’t need to prove shit to anyone. She works for you, baby. Not the other way around.” He scoffs in irritation, not at you. Just at the situation.

“You think she wants you or something?”

Riki rolls his eyes, “Please,” he waves off.

“No, I’m being serious.”

He furrowed his brows, “That has nothing to do with me, I chose you. I love you. Yuna is just…Yuna.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, folding your arms across your chest as your legs stayed propped on his lap. “That is the vaguest, most non-answer answer I’ve ever heard.”

Riki groaned, tilting his head back like the ceiling was somehow responsible for your suspicion. “Baby, come on. You want me to what—spell out that she probably has some weird little crush from back in the day? Okay. Maybe. Possibly. Who wouldn’t? But that doesn’t matter. I don’t want her.”

You blinked, lips parting just slightly. “Weird little crush from back in the day?”

He froze. Froze frozen. Like someone had just hit pause on his entire soul.

Then slowly—painfully slowly—he sat up straighter and scratched the back of his neck like a man about to give a deposition. “...I mean, like…a crush she invented in her head. You know how people do. Delulu culture. She’s a millennial. Or—whatever she is.”

You gave him the most unimpressed stare humanly possible. One that could suck the air out of a room if you held it long enough.

“You’ve been avoiding answering straight for two full minutes,” you said, your voice sharp but cool. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He let out a deep sigh, eyes flicking briefly to your legs across his lap—like grounding himself with you physically would make the words come easier.

“Nothing happened,” he finally said, slow and careful, like laying down a live wire. “She flirted. Years ago. Once. I didn’t flirt back. I shut it down. It didn’t become a thing because I didn’t let it become a thing. Plus by that point, I had just started seeing you.”

You stared, not blinking, not speaking. Just letting the silence stretch until it felt like your heartbeat was echoing off the floors.

“And now?” you asked at last, voice like velvet over a blade.

His gaze lifted to meet yours, firm and unwavering. “Now she’s someone on payroll who will never get that close again. You have my name, my ring, everything. And if I could give you more of me, I would. She’s noise. Vapor.”

The words settled in your chest like something warm and weighted. The kind of thing that wasn’t just sweet, but true. You didn’t nod. You didn’t smile. You just breathed—and it came easier after that.

“Good,” you murmured.

“Good,” he echoed, reaching up to squeeze your ankle gently.

Riki had never given you any sort of reason to doubt his loyalty to you. But something about Yuna just made you feel some sort of insecure. And that’s never a good feeling. “Okay, so back to work on these thingies.” You sighed as you grabbed all of your things, the files and notepad.

—

You settled deeper into the couch, the file balanced on your knees, pen in hand. Riki stayed quiet beside you, hands behind his head like he wasn’t five seconds away from snatching the folder and reading it himself. But this was your job now. He gave it to you. He trusted you. And trust in this world was rarer than sleep.

The first folder you opened was the one labeled:

“INCIDENT REPORT — LEAK”

Your eyes scanned the top page. Neat, efficient language. Jo’s writing was all business. But beneath that business tone… was tension. A lot of it.

Summary: On 05/23, it was confirmed that classified movement data regarding the Nishiyama holdings in the Shibuya district was compromised and intercepted by an unknown third party. The breach occurred between the hours of 03:00 and 05:00 JST.

Method of Leak: Evidence points to an internal device tap. Most likely wireless, planted within the logistics room (3rd floor).

Potential Suspect(s):

T. Nakamoto (denied access two weeks prior but showed up in building security logs 24 hours before the breach)

Sohee Lee (recent behavioral inconsistencies; requires further monitoring)

UNCONFIRMED: External syndicate involvement possible (see cross-file: “NISHI — CONFIDENTIAL”)

You sucked in a breath. “Sohee?” you said aloud, almost in disbelief.

Riki’s voice was low. “Keep going.”

You flipped to the second page—grainy black-and-white images from security footage. A figure moving at 4:12 AM through a hallway near the logistics room. Hood up. Face obscured. But the time stamp matched Jo’s report exactly.

You shook your head. “This is bad. Whoever this is knew where to go. No camera catch, no chatter, just straight infiltration. Like a ghost.”

Riki didn’t speak—his jaw was tight. He already knew this. He’d probably seen the footage himself.

You flipped to the next folder:

“NISHI — CONFIDENTIAL”

Your stomach clenched.

This one wasn’t a report. It was…a dossier.

A breakdown of an entire group.

The Nishiyama Syndicate. Or, as Riki had called them before—“Nishi.” A former rival organization that went dark years ago.

Overview: The Nishiyama Syndicate—presumed inactive by 2017—has begun resurfacing under new leadership. Not confirmed, but rumored to be operating under a splinter faction using legitimate business fronts. Possible laundering through offshore holdings (Monaco, Belize, Singapore).

Recent Activity:

Acquisition of real estate adjacent to Nishimura holdings.

Shadow-bidding on construction contracts connected to your family’s public-facing properties.

Unusual surveillance patterns noted around Nishimura residences.

Notable Names:

A. Nishiyama (deceased, patriarch)

M. Nishiyama (???) — identity redacted

“Subject N” — possible mole or double agent; suspected to have contact with active Nishimura staff. (PRIORITY)

You looked up at Riki. “This reads like they’re trying to move in. Slowly. Quietly.”

He nodded, lips pressed tight. “I think the breach might’ve come from a mole inside the building. Someone feeding info.”

Your pulse spiked. “Who do you think it is?”

He looked at you carefully. “I haven’t ruled anyone out. Neither has Jo. But everyone’s guilty until proven innocent.”

“It’s inno—”

He held his hand up, “I know what it is.”

You snorted as you looked back down at the file but then suddenly looked back to him. “Hey, did Jo call you at all today on one of the burners?”

He frowned in thought. “No, why?”

Your eyes widened in slight fear, feeling adrenaline pump through your veins. “His phone is on your desk.” Pointing to it with urgency. “He called someone earlier, letting them know the files were missing.”

You felt like the floor shifted under you.

Riki stood up and grabbed the phone, unlocking it as he sifted through it. “Go. Continue, let me do this.”

Then you flipped one last page in the NISHI folder—and your heart stopped.

REDACTED TARGET LIST [photo attached]

R. Nishimura (active)

“Okaasan” (active, unnamed spouse)

Status: Tracking active; no confirmed contact attempts. Maintain passive surveillance.

There was a picture.

Of you.

A candid photo. Leaving your favorite coffee shop. Hair in a bun. Not even looking at the camera.

They knew who you were.

They were watching.

“Oh my fucking…” You whispered as your hands started to shake.

Riki didn’t look up—yet. He was still going through the burner phone, locked in, muttering something under his breath. But the second your voice cracked, just the edge of that whisper, he froze. Your hands were trembling around the paper, your breath shallow as if the photo alone had stolen the oxygen from your lungs. “They’re watching me, Riki,” you said quietly. “They know. They know who I am.”

That’s when he looked up.

His gaze flicked to your face first—then to the folder in your lap. You didn’t even have to show him. He crossed the room in three strides, dropped the phone without care, and snatched the folder from your lap with steady hands but a murderous edge in his jaw.

He saw it. The image. The note. The label: “Okaasan – Active, unnamed spouse.”

Your face. Your fucking face. On a watch list.

Riki’s breathing changed.

Not heavy. Not loud.

But measured. Controlled. The kind of breathing someone does right before they explode.

“No contact attempts,” he read aloud, barely above a whisper. “Passive surveillance. Maintain.” His jaw flexed once. Twice. “That means they’ve been watching. But not enough to tip me off. Or you.” You still couldn’t speak. Your mind was spiraling, thinking back—every time you thought someone was staring at you too long in the coffee shop. Every car that took a little too long to pull away. The time your key fob didn’t register on the first try and you swore you saw someone standing at the edge of the parking lot.

You knew. Felt it more than anything.

Riki stepped back, slowly. “You’re done,” he said, coldly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re done with this.” He gestured to the papers—everything. “I don’t want you involved anymore.”

“No—Riki—”

“I said you’re done.”

His voice wasn’t raised, but it was final.

You stood, breath catching again—not out of fear this time, but out of frustration. “You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will.” He looked at you, eyes flashing with something deeper than anger. “They put you on a list. A list with my name. They put a target on your back for being married to me.”

“You said you’d pull me out if I couldn’t handle it. I can and—”

“No. You said that,” he bit out. “Thank you so much for your interpretation of how you think this works. But I’m telling you now, sweetheart. You’re finished.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. “So what, you’re just gonna hide me away like a secret? Lock me in the house?”

“If I have to,” he said without hesitation. “I’d rather you hate me than end up in a morgue. You think I give a fuck about being the bad guy in your story if it keeps you alive?”

And for the first time, you realized—he wasn’t just angry.

He was scared.

Riki Nishimura, the man who ran empires with a flick of his fingers, the one who made people disappear without batting an eye—was looking at you like he had already lost you. Like he was trying to stop the bleeding before the wound even opened.

And you didn’t know whether to fight him or fall apart.

—

Within the next hour, Riki sent you home.

No yelling. No begging. No stomping down the hallway with your shoes in hand like you wanted to. Just a tight-lipped goodbye, a long look that said please don’t fight me on this, and the subtle pressure of his hand on the small of your back as he walked you to the elevator. Kissing your cheeks and temple as he guided you.

“I’ll be home later, I love you.” he said, eyes fixed on the elevator door as it closed, locking you in. Locking you out.

You didn’t say anything. You just nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek like it’d keep your heart from leaping up and making a scene.

And now here you are.

In the house. Your house. His too. That same massive, almost-too-silent house where the floors were spotless, the air always smelled faintly of clean linen and sandalwood, and the fridge was somehow always stocked but never truly full. You hadn’t even changed clothes. You hadn’t moved much. Just sat on the edge of the bed for a while, fingers interlaced, something so mundane like Riki’s silver watch still on the nightstand like it might grow teeth.

Because it could’ve been anyone.

Anyone watching you. Anyone taking that photo.

You didn’t even realize you’d started crying until you saw the wet spot on your blouse. And then more tears followed—not because you were scared. But because he had known. About the business. The threats. The danger.

And he kept you out of it. You were so proud. Marching into lounges. Reading body language. Toying with people like you were ten steps ahead. But the whole time, you were in a different game.

A different arena.

You weren’t playing chess. You were the queen piece. And someone had started planning your checkmate.

You wiped your face and reached for your phone.

Nothing from Riki yet. Of course. He needed time. To clean up. To cover tracks. To burn things down.

You opened your texts anyway. Clicked on the chat.

thorn in my side: i’m home

i love you, baby

Message delivered. No reply yet.

You stared at the phone until the screen went dark.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence in your house didn’t feel safe. It felt like someone else might be listening too.

—

Riki came home and the house was equally as silent.

He’d come home to a quiet home almost everyday, nothing new. Most times you were in the bath, in the living room buried in a book, or on a good day—you’d already be in bed. And by this time, he’d shower before he came to greet you but the weird thing about being with someone for so long—you feel them everywhere. Your warmth, your mood, he feels it all.

But this time he felt nothing.

Immediately his mood dampened, the intuition that he had relied on so heavily over the last twenty-four years of his life already letting him know something was amiss. “Baby?” He called out as he slipped his shoes off.

No response.

He smacked his teeth, “My goodness, I shouldn’t have gotten her those fucking headphones.” He placed his jacket on the coat rack and skimmed the area. Your keys were by the door, as usual. The sweater you wore today, okay fine. Your Mary Janes—your favorite shoes that he always tripped over and threatened to throw away. Huh.

Again, that strange nagging feeling in Riki just never went away. He padded over to the kitchen, seeing dinner spread out on the table. Wrapped up and ready for yours and Riki’s consumption, there was a serving taken out of it which meant you ate something. Good.

But you weren’t in the kitchen. And you weren’t in the living room.

The staff not being around makes sense, he sent them home for the day. Clara wanted to spend time with her son so who was he to tell her no?

And now, the fucking office that he had built with his own hands—empty.

This house was huge, humongous—but there would’ve been some way you heard him already.

He called your name firmly. Riki never says your name, that’s like the rule. Still, no response. He calls your phone because knowing you—it’s never too far. Straight to voicemail.

“What the fuck.” Riki Nishimura doesn’t panic—but something cold and venomous slithered up his spine as he stood in the middle of that pristine kitchen as he now made his way back there, fists clenched, jaw ticking.

And then.

Then he saw the note.

Sitting prettily on the marble counter—in a little nook. Surprised he had missed it before.

Simple. Clean. In all capital letters.

YOU WANTED HER OUT. SO WE TOOK HER OUT.

And on the back of the note was a photo of you. Gagged, tearful eyes, messy hair, scratched face. You had put up a fight that was for sure, it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.

The marble counter shattered first.

He slammed his fists down, hard enough to crack the stone. The note crumpled beneath him as he shouted, loud and hoarse, like it had been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

“FUCK!”

Everything after that was instinct. A storm. A full-blown implosion. He threw the nearest chair across the room. It smashed into the wall with a satisfying crack, splintering on impact. Plates followed next, flying off the table with a feral sweep of his arm. Food hit the cabinets, the fridge, the floor. A glass shattered under his heel. He didn’t even flinch.

“I told her to go home!” he roared. “I sent her home!”

His eyes were wild. Drenched in something between fear and fury. The kind of look no one ever saw and lived to describe.

He yanked open drawers. Punched the fridge. Tore the cabinet door clean off the hinge and hurled it across the room. A vase hit the floor and shattered—porcelain flowers slicing across the floor like confetti made of rage.

And then—his voice broke.

“Fuck—fuck, fuck—”

He grabbed the sink with both hands, chest heaving, eyes squeezing shut like maybe, if he tried hard enough, this would all vanish. That the note would disappear. That you’d walk out from your office and ask what the hell happened to the dining room. But all he heard was silence. All he felt was the absence of you. The kind of stillness that only existed in grief. He sank to the floor—only for a second—hands gripping his hair. And then the door creaked open.

Clara opened the door with glee, bags from the nearest arts and crafts store. “Riki—?”

She froze in place.

The kitchen looked like a warzone. Dinner ruined. Furniture destroyed. Her boss—on the floor, shaking, breathing like a wild animal trying to hold in a scream.

She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t have to.

Because then she saw the note.

The note.

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness.”

Riki slowly stood. There was a line of blood down his knuckles—he hadn’t even noticed. His breathing was low now. Tighter. Like someone was holding his lungs closed.

He didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“Tell everyone to get on the line. Now. I want every runner, every affiliate, every fucking rat with ears in this city looking.”

Clara nodded, frozen.

“If she’s not found by midnight—” He turned to her. Eyes glassy. Voice cold. As he stepped beside her, venom in his eyes as he looked down at her with nothing but truth in his eyes.

“—Everybody’s fucking dying, Clara. You included.”

Clara didn’t say a word. Just nodded, pale as a ghost, and scrambled to grab her phone. Riki didn’t even watch her leave. He turned on his heel and stormed toward his office, blood trailing faintly from his knuckles and dotting the floor like red ink.

He slammed the office door behind him so hard the glass panel trembled.

Without hesitation, he slammed the heel of his palm down on the black switch embedded into the side of his desk—an unmarked button that immediately turned the room red. Not metaphorically. The lights literally shifted into emergency mode, casting the entire office in a crimson hue. The kind of red that let every handler in his operation know: This is DEFCON 1. Life or death. Burn everything if you have to.His jaw clenched so tight you could hear the creak in his teeth. Then he yanked open the bottom drawer, reaching for the sleek matte tablet hidden beneath a stack of decoy files. With a swipe and a facial scan, he opened a security interface. His fingers flew across the screen.

“Tracker,” he muttered under his breath. “C’mon, c’mon…” He clicked into a discreet sub-menu, one labeled ‘PRIVATE ACCESS – VELOMY.’ The screen lit up, pulling a location from a hidden signal.

Riki’s chest stopped moving for a full beat. The blinking dot that represented you was there—active.

“You’re still wearing the ring,” he whispered to himself. A dark smirk twisted his lips, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “You stubborn little thing…”

That ring. The one he gave you at the altar when he promised to you, his family, and yours that he would love you during your highs and lows. The ring that tethered you to him forever.

He put a chip in it. Just to be straightforward.

Riki’s paranoia ran so deep that it became difficult for him not to. And funnily enough, he remembers he didn’t tell you that it was in there until your honeymoon.

You both were lounging on your private beach in front of the newly bought property in the Maldives. Sun setting, breeze flowing through your hair as you both laid on your stomachs. Simply gut-laughing at any and everything, everything was funny at this moment. You’re newlyweds.Riki smiles as he plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the end of a braid. “You know,” he glances down at your left hand. “I’ll be able to find you anywhere now.” His smile settles into something soft, something more than just teasing. “What do you mean?” You tilt your head in confusion. The sun hitting your face at the perfect angle.

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing the ring. “I put a little locator in your ring.” Riki’s heart raced, using your conjoined hands to cover his mouth as he nervously awaited your reaction. “See? You can’t even tell.” You brought your hand back to inspect the enormous rock and he’s right. You really can’t tell. And you weren’t going to ask why he put it there because you knew why. Again, you knew who you married. Plus you didn’t even have the energy to be mad at him right now. You couldn’t be mad after you just swore to forever with your best friend.

“Okay, but I still need privacy, Riki. I don’t just want to be a—”

He shook his head, “No, no, no. It’s not even activated. I just…in the event that something would happen to you—hopefully that’s never—but it gives me peace of mind that I can always find you, baby.” Riki smiled gently as he carefully caressed your cheek. “Only I can activate it. It just tells me where you’re positioned but it only works if you…” His chest caves slightly as his words tremble at the thought.

“If what?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, holding yourself up on your other arm.

“It only works if you have a pulse.”

“What if I take it off?”

Riki laughs.“You wouldn’t though, and I know you wouldn’t. There’s nothing you do that warrants taking it off.” He shrugs as he lays on his back and pulls you on top of him swiftly.

You yelp at his almost reflexive motion, putting your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself. “You’re right. But it’s not like someone’s gonna want to snatch me up at the grocery store or something.”

Riki had laughed with you then.

Really laughed—head tilted back, his arms wrapping tight around your waist as if just the idea of losing you was so ridiculous, so farfetched it barely warranted a real thought.

But now?

Now that blinking dot on his screen was the only thing keeping him from collapsing into the marble floor of his office.

His hand hovered over the location map, the tracker still active. Still moving.

You were alive.

That was the only thing keeping the wrath at bay—barely. Because while the dot pulsed, it wasn’t close. It was on the far edge of the city, in one of the zones they rarely used. Industrial. Warehouses. A part of town they had all but erased from operations.

Which meant someone wanted you hidden. Not hurt. Not yet.

Still…the bloodlust was roaring now. In all of his life, he had never felt such an insatiable, primal urge to kill like he did now. It was truly like the spirit of the devil ran through his veins and possessed him. That thirst wasn’t going to be quenched until you were back in his arms. Riki stood from his desk, shoving his chair so hard it crashed against the wall. He pressed the emergency button again—just in case. Red lights flashed once in the corner of the ceiling. His hands moved on autopilot, grabbing his bulletproof vest to put on over his compression shirt, his sidearm, his second piece, and the long black blade he hadn’t used in years. The blade that had started it all. The blade they said made him infamous. The one he swore he’d never need again.

He strapped it to his back. Along with one of the embossed Kaminari guns.

Grabbed the note again from the kitchen and stuffed it in his pocket—not because he needed it, but because he wanted to burn it on whoever sent it. By now, Clara had rallied his top men. Jake was on standby, speaking through the comms with a strained voice—he had been yelling at people relentlessly within the last twenty minutes.

Riki didn’t even look at the others in the room as he walked toward the front entrance, eyes locked on the car waiting just outside.

He paused only once.

To grab a bottle of your favorite perfume.

He sprayed it twice across his collarbone, once across his wrist. Something grounding. Something to carry you with him while he burned everything else down.

As soon as he stepped outside, he made contact with the two security guards meant to get you back here. They stood at the base of the steps—nervous, unsure if they should speak first. Their eyes flicked from the tension in Riki’s jaw to the fine mist of blood still drying across his knuckles.

He didn’t blink as he approached them. “You were supposed to bring her home and ensure she was safe. I gave explicit instructions.” His voice was eerily calm, but it buzzed like a live wire underneath.

“We—we did, sir,” one of them stammered. “She went inside. We locked the door right behind her—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you did!” Riki stepped forward, face to face with the buff man that cowered in the face of his lean figure. “My wife is not in my fucking bedroom because you failed to do your job.” He leaned in now, nose hardly touching his—his cologne and your perfume clashing between their senses.

The other guard interjected, “Sir—”

Before he could utter another word, Riki placed the barrel to his forehead. Squeezing the trigger and letting a metal bullet ripple right through his brain. Watching his body fall to the ground with a thud.

The echo of the gunshot rang out like a death bell across the courtyard. Riki didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His jaw tightened as he watched the second guard freeze, paralyzed by fear and disbelief. A splatter of red stained the granite steps, and he finally looked down—then calmly wiped the barrel of the gun with the hem of his shirt. No one moved. Not even the wind dared.

“Let this be the part where you realize,” he said slowly, eyes locked on the remaining guard, “that I don’t make idle threats. I don’t give second chances. And I don’t tolerate incompetence.” The man nodded furiously, hands trembling at his sides.

“Good. Now get your shit together and get in the fucking car. If she loses a single hair on her head, I’m putting a bullet in your mouth. Understand me?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Riki exhaled sharply through his nose, holstering his weapon. His knuckles were cracked and bleeding again from how tightly he’d gripped it. It didn’t matter. He turned back toward the house and grabbed your scent once more—letting it wrap around him like armor. The tension in his shoulders didn’t loosen; it hardened. Sharpened. Weaponized.

He climbed into the car.

Clara’s voice came through the comms again: “Riki. We’ve found the tunnel entrance. Sealed off, looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. But the tracker’s pinging beneath it.”

His fingers tapped against his thigh—once, twice—before he answered. “Good. Blow it open.”

“Already on it.”

Riki leaned his head back, eyes half-lidded. “And tell someone—I don’t care who it is—to get rid of what’s-his-name from in front of our door. I don’t want her seeing that when she gets back.”

—

The floor was frigid as ever. To which you didn’t understand, it was springtime. But Earth’s crust wasn’t something you took time to worry about. The left side of your head was throbbing and you were barefoot. Only your white nail polish is visible in this dark room. Your arms were bound to some wooden chair with…you jostled in the chair as best you could. Zip ties. Of course they were zip ties. Your feet too but your mouth wasn’t covered, big mistake on their end.

You smelt of debris, cinders, and a bit of blood. But none of that mattered, you had to get the fuck out of here despite you not being able to see shit. Before you could concoct some sort of plan, the lights were turned on. Stinging your eyes as your pupils had to adjust to the new sensation.

“Oh, babygirl. Are you okay? I know it’s been a long day.”

That voice. Sweet. Familiar. The kind that once called you baby while handing you fresh towels. The one that scolded Riki for forgetting to eat. The one you trusted.

Your blood ran like ice.

“Clara?!”

It didn’t compute at first. Your brain tried to reroute it, convince you that maybe she’d been kidnapped too. Maybe she was checking on you. But then you saw her. Heels clicking across the concrete. Calm. Clean. Untouched.

Her hair was neatly pinned up, her blouse spotless, not a wrinkle in sight. She looked like she just came from brunch—not your kidnapping.

You blinked. “Clara?” you croaked. “What the hell—”

“Shhh.” She crouched down in front of you, cupping your chin like a parent checking a child for fever. “You poor thing. That gash on the head looks awful.”

You were too stunned to move but you quickly snapped out of it and jerked your head out of her grasp. “The fuck is this?”

The older lady stood up straight, towering over your torn figure. “This is retribution,” she gestured around the shithole bunker you were in. You stared up at her, heart pounding so loud it nearly drowned out her words. “Retribution?” you echoed, like your brain was lagging ten seconds behind. “Clara, are you out of your fucking mind?”

She chuckled softly. Not like a villain. Like a teacher. Like a mother. Like someone who believed she had the moral high ground. “Don’t worry, your knight in shining armor is on his way here. Right to where you’re sitting. I can’t wait to inform him of his wonderful test results.”

Clara’s voice lilted like she was presenting a prize at a company banquet—like this wasn’t some underground dungeon and you weren’t zip-tied like a prop in a cautionary tale.

You scoffed, full of disbelief and blood in your mouth. “You’re sick.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said with mock sympathy, “you’re not the first girl who thought she was special.”

She circled you slowly now, her heels echoing through the cold, damp space.

“You think I didn’t know about the tracker in your ring? You think I didn’t let him find you? This is about control, baby. Not chaos. I want him to come. I need him to.”

You snickered, “Yeah well, I like it when he does.” If nothing else, you were great at pissing people off.

Clara paused mid-step.

And then she laughed. But not in amusement—in disbelief. A short, sharp sound, like a knife testing the surface before a deeper plunge.

“You’re really going to joke?” she said, turning toward you slowly. “Tied up like a pig in a butcher’s shop, and you’re making sex jokes. You really think you matter that much?”

You leaned forward as far as the zip ties would allow, blood crusting against your temple and your vision still swimming slightly. But your smirk was solid as a rock.

“He’s killed for less, Clara.”

Her nostrils flared, but she kept her composure. Barely. There was a twitch in her jaw now. You’d landed a hit.

“He loved me first,” she hissed. “He respected me. I built him. I made him.”

“No,” you said calmly, with that lethal kind of clarity only someone truly protected by love can wield. “You trained him. I made him human.”

For a beat, the only sound was the hum of the overhead lights and the crackle of Clara’s rage simmering just below her ribcage.

Then she smiled, too wide.

“Let’s see how human he stays when he finds your body,” she said sweetly, almost like she was offering a bedtime story. But you didn’t flinch. You nodded for her to come closer. Closer. Now your nose was nearing hers. “I fucking dare you to touch me.”

Two of her personal goons come in behind her, standing on either side of the door Riki was due to come in through. Clara’s eyes flickered to the guards like a general surveying her troops—calm, collected, but every muscle ready to snap. She stepped back, smirking like she’d already won some invisible game.

“You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” she said, voice silky but dripping with menace. “But this is my battlefield.”

The two goons cracked their knuckles, eyes cold and hungry, shadows stretching long across the concrete floor. The tension in the room thickened like fog, suffocating and heavy. You kept your breath steady, every nerve screaming fight or flight—but you knew better. The fight wasn’t here. It was coming. And it was coming fast. Outside the heavy steel door, you could almost feel the air shift—the calm before a storm that would shake foundations and burn everything to ash.

Clara glanced toward the door, lips curling.“Tick tock, babe.”

The door exploded inward, steel shrieking on its hinges as Riki stormed through like a bullet—rage crackling in his bones like wildfire.

His eyes locked on you instantly, wide with fury and fear, scanning your face for injury. “Baby—”

“Riki, watch out!” you screamed, voice cracking.

But it was too late.

One goon came at him from the left, the other from behind. Riki ducked, twisted, managed to land a vicious punch to the first one’s jaw—crack—but the second was already swinging with a steel baton, catching him in the ribs with a sickening thud. Riki stumbled, grunting through clenched teeth, his fury barely contained. He went for the blade tucked in his boot—only for a third man, hidden just outside the door, to grab his arm and twist it savagely behind his back. Another punch came flying, this one straight to his jaw. The force knocked him to the floor.

You cried out, struggling against your bindings, your wrists screaming in protest.

Clara watched it all unfold with the elegance of a queen watching gladiators bleed for sport. “Tsk. You boys and your dramatics.”

“Don’t fucking touch him!” you yelled.

They did anyway. Stripping him of every weapon on him—blades, a small pistol, even the tracker cuff on his wrist. Riki didn’t stop fighting, even as they dragged him up and slammed him into the chair beside you. Blood was already trickling down the corner of his mouth, but his glare was wildfire—aimed directly at Clara.

One of the goons zip-tied his hands to the arms of the chair with force, tightening them until his skin burned red.

“I should kill you right now,” Riki growled through grit teeth, eyes trained on Clara like a blade.

She approached slowly, as if savoring his fury. “You’re not in a position to make threats, Riki.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” he snapped. “Touch her again and I swear to God—”

Clara only smiled sweetly. “Swear all you want, son. You’re both right where I want you.”

You turned to look at Riki, both of you battered, bound, but alive.

And somewhere beneath the weight of adrenaline and bruises, your fingers brushed the edge of his chair.

Even now—your pinky searching for his.

He found yours. Linked it. Tight.

You were still here. And so was he.

Clara sent the men out with a wave of her hand as she pulled up a chair to sit down and face the both of you. After a few moments of silence between both of you, she finally spoke. “Wow, fine couple.”

“Bitch, shut the fuck up.” You spat out, rolling your eyes. “What are we doing here? What do you want? More money? We got that. Status, you have it. What more do you want?!”

The older woman smiled at your state. “I want Riki.”

You turned to Riki, who was so far removed from any place you’ve seen him. Your husband was right next to you but the troubled, anxious boy that he’s done such a good job at hiding was making an appearance. But you didn’t know which version of it was.

He bounced his knee up and down with extreme fervor, so fast that you had hardly even seen it moving. Hunched over, the top of his head facing Clara as he shook his head with his eyes glued shut. Lap dampening as what you could only perceive as angry tears misted his eyes and relentless, incessant thoughts bombarded his brain. Riki’s breath was shallow as ever and you could only hear him mutter threats that stemmed from that same fury. More to himself than anyone in the room.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You’re dead.”

“You fucking—”

“I swear on everything I love, I’m putting you in the fucking dirt.”

His voice cracked beneath the gravel, barely audible through the grind of his teeth. Every muscle in his arms strained against the zip ties, his body trembling like he was trying to hold back an earthquake. The air in the room grew thick, like the moment before a downpour—or an execution. You watched him, heart breaking and raging all at once. You’d never seen Riki like this. Not even close. The man beside you wasn’t your husband—not the one who made silly faces behind menus or kissed your shoulder every time he passed you in the kitchen. This was the version buried deep inside. The one he kept scrubbed clean and locked behind five layers of steel. The version built from years of betrayal and bloodshed. The boy no one ever loved right.

And Clara had dragged him out.

“I want Riki,” she repeated calmly, as if she were choosing an entrée off a menu. “Not the man you married. Not this polished little husband of yours. I want the real him. The one I raised. The one who knows how to destroy.”

“You didn’t raise him,” you snapped. “You groomed him.”

Her lips curled into a faint smile. “Tomato, tomahto.”

“Let her go,” Riki muttered, voice low and vibrating with rage. “Let her go, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You turned your head so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. “Riki—”

He still wouldn’t look at either of you. His shoulders trembled, breaths sharp and quick.

“Just let her go,” he said again, louder this time. “This isn’t her world. She doesn’t belong in it.”

Clara leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Oh, honey. She entered this world the moment you put that ring on her finger. And now she’s in it until the end.”

Then she leaned forward slightly, that same maternal voice dripping venom: “Tell me, Riki…do you think your daddy would be proud of the little house pet you’ve become?”

That did it.

The room cracked open.

Riki lifted his head—slowly, deliberately—and his eyes found Clara’s with a fire that could level nations.

And for the first time since you met him, you were afraid of your husband.

You interjected quickly, “Seriously. Why are you doing this?”

Riki glanced at you with calmness behind his eyes momentarily, but something about hearing Clara’s voice sent the wrath of the scorned through him.

“I want my son back.” She hummed as she folded her hands on her lap.

Your brows furrowed, “He’s not your fucking son.”

Clara’s lips curled into a slow, venomous smile, like she was savoring every drop of poison she was about to pour.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she began, voice dripping with sickly sweetness, “you’ve been living a lie your entire life.”

She stood and paced slowly, every step echoing like a death knell in the cold room. “The woman you thought was your mother? The one who died when you were two? She was nothing but a convenient story.”

Your eyes locked on Riki’s, watching his jaw tighten, his entire body tense like a coiled spring.

Clara stopped just inches from him, voice low and deadly. “I am your mother. Your father’s mistress—the other woman. The one he never wanted you to know about.”

Riki’s fists clenched so tight the veins in his forearms pulsed visibly. “That’s a goddamn lie.”

“Is it?” Clara’s laugh was cold and bitter. “You want the truth? You’re my son, Riki.” She fished in her skirt pocket for a photo of her holding baby Riki as she had just delivered him.

You swallowed hard, staring at the photo like it was some kind of sick puzzle piece finally clicking into place. The baby in Clara’s arms had the same sharp eyes and yes—the unmistakable mole just below his lips. “I was able to hold you for fifteen minutes before you were taken from me, son.”

His eyes screwed shut, “I’m not your son! I’m your child. I am not your fucking son! Oh my go—baby you better say something before I—”

“What happened after? Why was Riki taken from you?” You chimed in, in an effort to calm your seething man.

“Because, I was the mistress. In love with your father, wanted a future with him. But he was married. And…”

Clara’s voice cracked just a little, the only crack in her otherwise steel mask.

“He made me promise to keep quiet, to stay in the shadows. But when my pregnancy came to light, everything exploded. The wife…she found out.” Her eyes darkened, haunted. “She made sure I lost you—took you away before I could even hold you properly again.” The more you looked at her, the more Riki favored her. The same mole, the same unwavering determination in their eyes. The eyes that can be kind when they want to be. “It was either I disappear from your life completely or I stick around as the help and swear to secrecy. And I couldn’t lose you again, Riki. Do you know how much it hurt me to see you call someone else ‘mama’ for the first two years of your life?”

“I don’t give a fuck what hurts! It hurts that you had three big ass men jump me. It especially hurt that you had my wife taken from the safety of my fucking house—that I pay for you to live at—and lay a finger on her when you know how much she’s relied on you.” Clara’s eyes glazed over, “But you did too. I was like a mom. You came to me all the time, I was your Claraboo. Remember?” She shrugged as she resigned, tears in her eyes. “When Fumiko died, I thought it was a blessing in disguise.” She stood up. “But then you found her!” She gestured to you with unadulterated disgust. “Saying how great she was, wanting advice on how to dress for dates. So I thought, ‘Okay, this is his first time really taking someone seriously, it’s fleeting. No big deal.’ But then she started coming around. Family dinners, game nights. Then it became her spending the day, then sleepovers, then hearing you two go at it like rabbits when you thought no one could hear you. Fucking disgusting.” She snarled.

You looked at Riki from the corner of your eye, as did he. Both of you purse your lips to refrain from laughter during this serious moment. Lives are at stake here. “Then, you got on one knee, Riki. At twenty-three, just throwing your best years away for one girl. And I kept thinking, ‘why does my son keep being taken from me? Why, why, fucking why?!” She grabbed one Riki’s pistol from a nearby table and whipped you with it.

The crack of metal against your cheekbone rang out louder than your gasp. Your head whipped to the side, pain blooming instantly along your jaw, your vision fracturing for a second. But you didn’t scream. You didn’t give her that.

Riki did.

“NO!” His chair thrashed violently beneath him, muscles flexing so hard the wood creaked. “Don’t you fucking touch her! Clara, I will fucking gut you—DO YOU HEAR ME?!” His voice cracked with fury, something animalistic and unhinged bubbling up from his core.

You spat blood, your lip split open now, and still you turned to Clara and hissed, “You’re not a mother. You’re just some bitter bitch who couldn’t let go.” Clara’s hand trembled around the gun as she stepped back, her mask cracking further. “I raised him. I wiped his tears. I was the only one who gave a damn when he cried himself to sleep when his dad would be too hard on him. And you? You think your soft little hands and pretty smile can compare to that?”

Riki had stopped shaking. Now he was still—dangerously still. “You’re right,” he muttered. “You did raise me. Which is exactly why I know how to destroy you.”

Clara froze.

“You forget who you trained, Clara,” he said lowly. “You made me this way. You taught me how to survive. How to outsmart. How to kill.” And then he smiled. Sharp. Unforgiving. Blood drying on his lip.

“So congratulations,” Riki growled. “You just signed your own fucking death certificate. Maybe I really am your son.”

Clara blinked, eyes glassy. The gun trembled again in her hand. And then she raised it. But it wasn’t pointed at you.

It was aimed at herself.

You froze. So did Riki.

Clara’s finger hovered over the trigger, her eyes blank. “If I can’t have you,” she said softly, voice almost childlike, “then nobody will. Not her. Not the world. Not even you.”

“No.” Your voice dropped, pleading “Put the gun down.”

Riki sighed, looking down and mumbling to himself. “Damn bitch let me do the shit myself at least.” Rolling his eyes, knowing only you heard him and you refused to laugh at this moment. You clenched your jaw to keep the smile from betraying you, even as the absurdity of Riki’s comment floated in the air like a cracked window letting in too much cold. Clara’s hands trembled now. The gun shook between her fingers, and though it was aimed at her own temple, the tension in the room wrapped around all three of you like barbed wire.

“You think this is funny?” Clara snapped, eyes darting between you and Riki. “I’m baring my soul, and you’re making jokes?”

“Clara,” you said gently, the steel in your voice only thinly veiled by the concern beneath. “This isn’t the answer.”

“I gave up everything,” she whispered. “Everything. For him. For a son who looks at me like I’m a stranger—like I’m some monster.”

“You are some monster,” Riki muttered under his breath again, then louder, “but we don’t need a whole song and dance about it. Just...step away from the trigger, Broadway.”

You shot him a look this time. “Riki, please.”

Clara’s expression fractured—like a mirror that had been held together too long by spite alone. “I could’ve been someone,” she whispered, lip trembling. “I could’ve had a life with your father. With you. But I was the side note. The servant. Claraboo. Never mom.” Her voice broke. “You don’t understand what it’s like to watch someone else raise your baby. To be called help by the child you gave birth to.”

Silence. Then—

“I’m sorry,” Riki said quietly.

Clara froze.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he continued, gaze steady. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the life you wanted. I’m sorry no one protected you when you needed it most. But this—” he nodded toward the gun, “—isn’t gonna bring any of that back.”

You took a breath. “Please,” you added. “Don’t make us leave here with another scar.”

You heard a low snap from your left where Riki was sitting, your eyes flitted that way. He had made free of the ties. Then, with every ounce of strength in his legs, jutted his calves out to free his legs. He slowly rose to his full height. Clara’s sobs only intensified, shaking as her eyes squeezed shut and pumped out tears. Her breathing shallow as she trembled, hardly able to even line the barrel up with her chin anymore. She pointed the gun at him mindlessly. Riki slowly edged to her, “Clara…please.” He nodded, “give it to me. I have a vest on, and I’m not going to let you do something you’ll regret.” His voice was low, steady—like a lifeline in the dark. Clara’s trembling hands faltered, the gun wobbled, and then, with a choked sob, she dropped it. The metallic clatter echoed in the cold room as it hit the floor.

You exhaled, relief crashing over you like a wave.

Riki quickly swooped up the gun as Clara plopped down on the chair in complete dejection. She looked up at her son, “are you going to kill me?”

He sighed, “I am,” he nodded with another smile he tried to smother.

She huffed out a laugh despite her tears and mucus, because if she taught Riki anything—it was that sometimes, survival meant knowing when to play the long game.

“Not today, son,” she whispered, voice raw but steady. “You’re smarter than me. You’ll make sure I pay in ways that cut deeper than a bullet ever could.”

Riki’s eyes flickered—half respect, half warning. “I’ll make sure you regret every breath you take until then.”

She nodded, somehow at peace with her fate. “Plus, if it makes you feel better—there was no real leak. I just used Yuna, Jo, and Sohee as pawns. Just distractions when I knew that Ms. Prada—” She nodded to you.

“Chanel.” You and Riki corrected simultaneously.

“...Whatever. But I knew that she was itching to get involved, I made you hyper aware of a leak. When there wasn’t anything to find. A perfect smokescreen to send you chasing ghosts while I set the real trap.”

“So how does that explain their weird behavior?” You leaned forward despite your restraints.

The older woman shrugs, “Sometimes people tell on themselves. But I did tell Jo to keep it from you. Said that you had other obligations and that if anyone got in the way you’d deal with them.”

Riki frowned, “Oh that pisses me off,” he pointed the gun lower and shot her kneecap. Eliciting a blood-curdling scream from the elder.

“Riki!” You yell, eyes wide as he just looks at you with humor in his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?!”

He waves you off, “Sorry,” he holsters his gun as he comes up behind you to free you. In oh-so-convenient timing, here comes Riki’s men down the bunker and into the room

The heavy metal door groaned open, and a squad of Riki’s men flooded in, their faces grim but ready. Flashlights cut through the dimness, illuminating the mess Clara had made trying to stall for time.

Riki didn’t waste a second—he tugged sharply at the zip ties binding your wrists, his hands steady but fierce. “You okay?” His voice was low, but laced with raw urgency.

You nodded, heart still hammering, eyes locked on Clara who was now clutching her injured knee, glaring daggers despite the pain. “Where were they?”

“The perimeter, you really thought I came solo?” He snickered, “I’m impulsive, not stupid.”

Riki’s men quickly secured the perimeter, eyes scanning every shadow. One of them whispered into a radio, “Target secured. Extraction ready.”

Riki glanced back at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re safe now. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

You exhaled, relief flooding through you even as adrenaline kept you wired. Riki called out to all of them in the room as well as on the walkie-talkie he grabbed from one of the men. “Kobun! Clean up the mess. No loose ends. Take the old lady to the infirmary—alive. She’s got answers we’ll need later.”

He turned to you, voice low and steady, “You did good. Too good.” He brushed a stray hair from your face, the heat of his touch grounding you after the chaos. As the team moved efficiently, Riki’s eyes locked with yours—fierce, protective, and full of unspoken promises.

You smiled, “How did you break free?”

Riki smirked, the tension easing just a fraction. He opened his mouth and lifted his tongue to reveal a tiny razor, glinting silver against the dark warmth of his mouth.

Your eyes widened. “You kept that in your mouth? What if you cut yourself?”

He shrugged, “Tongue is the fastest healing muscle. Plus, I’ve done it enough times to not get hurt.”

You blinked, “That’s not comforting.”

He took it out of his mouth and tossed it to the ground. “There. Let’s go home.”

—

Later that night

—

The dust had settled a bit, the kitchen was still destroyed but that was tomorrow’s problem. You and Riki had been patched up on the way here. The moonlight spilled through the blackout curtains, painting silver streaks across the sheets—cold and unforgiving. Riki moved around the room with his usual quiet precision, the soft click of his boots replaced by the muted sound of him slipping out of his clothes. You didn’t say a word. Didn’t even flinch when he pulled back the covers and settled beside you in just his briefs. He liked sleeping this way.

But you didn’t let it simmer, you sat up. “Are you okay, my love?” You whispered in the still room—the still house.“Mhm, just another day at work.” He yawned as he turned to face you with a gentle smile. But you didn’t buy it. He always did this so he could be a big-bad-strong boyfriend, now he’s a big-bad-strong husband.

“Riki, seriously?” You tilt your head in concern as you run your hand through his freshly washed hair.

He nodded, “Babe-asaurus, I’m cool as a cucumber.”

You snorted softly, the nickname breaking through the tension like a warm breeze. “Cool as a cucumber? More like a slightly burnt pickle after today.” He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand behind your ear. “Yeah, maybe a little crispy around the edges. But I’m here. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You purse your lips, you knew what he was doing. But you didn’t pry, you never liked to. “I love you.”

He sat up, pulling you in for a hug as he kissed your lips gently. “I love you more. You know I do.”

“I know,” You kissed his bare collarbone, nuzzling his smooth skin courtesy of the body scrub you made him use.

“Let’s sleep, yeah?” He laid down on the smooth, clean linen.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat sync with your own. “Yeah. Sleep sounds good.”

—

But for some reason, cuddling wasn’t on the agenda. Subconsciously, you two had parted—but it wouldn’t be you or him if you didn’t touch at least. But somehow, you felt the bed tremble a bit—shaking and quivering in the midst of the silence of the room. You sat up, turning around with furrowed brows. Feeling a little groggy from the meds you were given but still cognizant enough to know what was happening around you.

And with that, your husband is lying down with his back turned to you, on his right side. Chest caving in, breath shallow. You blinked, confusion curling into worry. That tremble wasn’t just from the meds—it was something else. Something deeper.

Riki’s shoulders shook slightly, the kind of subtle, silent tremor that only showed when no one was watching. Your heart tightened. The big-bad-strong husband was cracked open and raw underneath the armor you both pretended was unbreakable.

You reached out tentatively, fingertips brushing the edge of his arm. Before you could open your mouth, he turned around and fell right into your arms. Wrapping his arms tightly around you as he buried his face into your neck. Letting a sea of twenty-four years worth of pollution fall down your neck and onto your chest.

Finally the dam broke, the iron curtain. The wall of stoicism was no more.

And this one time, you said nothing. You let him have it.

His bare skin pressed hot against yours, every tremble shaking through the thin sheets. The cold night air met the heat of his body, exposed and raw in nothing but his briefs—the armor stripped away, leaving only a man unraveling.

You felt the wetness against your neck before you saw it—the slick, hot tears silently tracing down his cheeks, the first you’d ever seen. His breaths hitched violently, chest rising and falling in ragged waves, his shoulders heaving with a grief he’d never let surface before.

He buried his face deeper, clinging to you like you were the last piece of solid ground. Your fingers trembled as they traced the curve of his spine, as if trying to stitch together the pieces of a broken man. You held your love through the quiet like you promised—the good, the bad, the ugly. And this was the worst of it and even then you’d rather die than give it up. Give him up.

You rubbed his back as you scooted back to lie down. Letting him put half of his weight on you as his grip didn’t relent. Not that you wanted it to. Your cold hands pressed against his warm body in effort to cool him down. But you couldn’t as seeing the strongest man in your life was at his weakest.

Tears pooled in your eyes.

You kissed the crown of his head, silent and steady—a quiet promise without words. The night held you both close, broken but unbroken, fragile yet fierce. And in that stillness, you understood something true: love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just holding on when everything else falls apart.

And you married a yakuza, but most importantly you married a man who lets you see the cracks—and still chooses to stay.

fin.

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