Chapter 4: [4] Bang
Xavier sighed, a sound that carried the weight of every bad decision he'd ever made.
If I die here, I'm haunting Mila first. Then I'm haunting whoever invented security cameras. Then I'm haunting whoever decided husbands should come home early.
But wait. He'd survived Prague. He'd survived that clusterfuck in Montenegro where he'd accidentally seduced a warlord's three daughters simultaneously. He was Xavier fucking Valentine. He was him. And he was going to survive this.
Think, you beautiful disaster.
Xavier slowly rose from behind the sectional, ceramic blade palmed against his thigh. His free hand smoothed his disheveled hair into something resembling respectability. Nine men filled the entrance—eight in matching black suits with the subtle bulges of concealed weapons, and one in a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece that screamed money and menace.
Hiroaki Takeda stood at the center like a spider in his web. Silver hair swept back from a face that belonged on ancient coins—all sharp angles and cold calculation. His dark eyes held the kind of emptiness that came from watching too many people die.
Xavier gave his most sheepish grin, the one that had gotten him out of trouble with angry fathers, jealous boyfriends, and at least three different mafias. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, catching the lingering taste of Aiko's sweetness.
Damn. Even facing death, she tastes incredible.
"Mr. Takeda!" Xavier's voice pitched perfectly between surprise and embarrassment. "You're home early. I was just—"
"Fucking my wife."
Xavier spread his hands, the picture of wounded innocence. "I was appraising your collection. Mrs. Takeda mentioned you had some remarkable pieces, and as an art dealer, I couldn't resist a private viewing."