Kaminishi: Four Seasons by Jan Suzukawa

Author:Jan Suzukawa [Suzukawa, Jan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63216-565-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

JIRŌ WATCHED as Ryōga and young Ryōta drove away.

He wondered if he’d ever see them again. Over the years he and Ryōga Shiromura had met in person a handful of times, usually when turf incursions got out of control. The agreement they’d reached today made it unlikely things would fall apart again soon.

He’d be gone by the time Ryōta Shiromura found another reason to hate Shintarō.

Shintarō and Ryōta talked in the hallway afterward. Jirō couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the atmosphere was calm. Shintarō had actually apologized to Ryōta at the end of the meeting; Jirō couldn’t remember Shintarō apologizing to anyone before.

It was always the small stupid things that caused the most trouble.

Jirō grunted. On the one hand, it wouldn’t be his problem for much longer. On the other—

He’d negotiated an opening for Shintarō to return to Kansai in exchange for the possible extension of Shiromura influence in Kawakami territory, despite Shintarō’s frown in his direction. Ryōga had no objections—Jirō had a sneaking suspicion the old man admired Shintarō, perhaps comparing him with Ryōta to Ryōta’s disadvantage. Or maybe Ryōga just preferred Shintarō to Takeshi as the Kawakami head he would have to deal with in the future.

Shintarō came out of the inn. Jirō shivered. The cold winter wind cut through despite his heavy overcoat. He waved to his men waiting by the short line of black Mercedes in front of the inn, and they got into the cars and drove off. The Shiromura men had already left.

His nephew checked his phone. Jirō noted the disappointed look on his face. It must have been a text that said something he wasn’t expecting—and didn’t appreciate receiving.

Shintarō’s car was brought around, and Jirō started walking to his own car where Yamada was waiting. “See you at the house,” Jirō said.

“I’m going back to Tokyo.”

“What?”

Shintarō gazed at him. “I’m sorry, Ojisan. I need to go.”

Jirō felt unsteady on his feet, like the ground had buckled under him.

Years ago, another young man had left. His son.

Born to Jirō and Shuko, a bar hostess. Shuko wasn’t suitable for the clan, so Jirō paid for their support, rarely visiting his son. Junya grew up a quiet and withdrawn boy; Jirō suspected abuse of some kind. Shuko was an alcoholic but put on a good face when Jirō was around, while Junya was barely a presence in the room, like a ghost.

When Junya was a teenager, Jirō tried to bring him into the clan. Junya stayed with Mariko at the house and spent time with Takeshi, but the boy passively resisted all attempts to groom him. Shintarō hadn’t been much help, either. Junya simply didn’t fit in with yakuza life.

One day Junya disappeared. He’d wanted to travel, saying that Japan didn’t suit him. That was six years ago. Junya would be twenty-four now.

When he left, Jirō barely noticed. He’d had his hands full with clan business, and Junya’s leaving was something he’d put on the back burner. Now, Junya weighed on his mind, and he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

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