The Enforcer and his Princess Ch. 01

Hello fellow readers,

I wanted to write a small note before my new story. Its been one of the worst years of my life and that has drained out every ounce of creativity I had within my being. Im trying something a little new: I'm writing and just submitting for publishing. I normally take weeks to edit each chapter, but I fear if I allow myself that much time I wont finish. So, any mistakes (mixed up words, typos and maybe plot holes) are 100% mine. Im just trying to find love and passion in writing again. Thank you,

-Opal

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"Kenny, my boy!" The loud voice of the boss boomed from his study as Kenji walked past. "Come in here for a moment."

Kenji swiveled on the heels of his smart black leather dress shoes and walked into the study. He unconsciously straightened his thin tie and adjusted his suit jacket.

"What can I do for you, sir?" His husky voice asked professionally.  

Kenji Oba was a 32 year old Japanese-Canadian man with long black hair, freckled with grey, and dark eyes. The grey was a trait he attached to his Canadian mother. His father had been from a Yakuza Syndicate and had come to Canada to start a new life. After meeting and marrying Myrna Weir, they had shortly welcomed Kenji. The pressures of a new family had led him back to his roots, becoming an enforcer for the Russian mafia. After six years of service, Daishi Oba had tried to switch from the Russians to the Italians and their Irish dogs, thanks to his wife's cousin. When Grigori found out, he killed Daishi and Annette without mercy, but he had grown to like little Kenji, a frequent friend to his three sons and his anxiously quiet daughter. So, he kept him. Like a stray, Kenji Oba was known in whispered tones as Kenji Backovic.

The study was a large, comfortable room. The left and back wall had ornate built-in mahogany bookcases, complete with crown moulding. The other two were painted a deep green, gold and dark yellow hardware accents. The double bay window allowed for an exaggerated fiddleleaf fig to thrive. Kenji knew a horticulturalist stopped by at least once a month to care for the plants in Grigori Backovic's home. A wrap-around custom-made desk was the centre piece. The top was raw edged, old wood fused with acrylic in the middle. A green sea was captured as a moment in time with water frothing frozen in the resin. A laptop was open with a secondary monitor attached and behind it sat the patriarchy of the Backovic family. Kenji had always thought Grigori was a thicker Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, Vladimir Lenon to the West, with his short hair and sharp eyes disguised behind reading glasses. He hid violence with learning and a gentle smile.

"My son, please, sit," he gestured to one of the set of plush mustard yellow velvet armchairs that framed his desk. Kenji slipped his slender but muscular body into the supple cushion.

"I've decided it's time to expand our territory."

Kenji's left eyebrow raised. "Really, sir?" His voice held concern for his father figure. "Our only options are the Italians and the Japanese. The Japanese are too entrenched in their neighborhoods to root out. Which leaves only the Italians."

"Well, first their Irish hounds."

Kenji sank back into the chair, his mind ablaze with chess moves routed through blocks and their established businesses.

"My informant within the Italian family tells me that they believe they can turn one of us."

"One of us, sir?"

"You, Kenny."

He bolted to his feet, his fists balled with white knuckles. "I have only ever been loyal! Who dares suggest I could be turned?!"

Grigori released a soft chuckle and waved his hands in surrender. "No, son. You aren't in question. The Irish suggested you would be the one they try due to the circumstances that you came to live under this roof."

Kenji sank back down into the armchair, deflating from the perceived attack. "Sir, you know I have never questioned what happened with the Obas. They betrayed you. You protected the family. And then welcomed me into it." His cheeks stung slightly with embarrassment. He hated his parents.

"Son, again, you are not on trial. Your loyalty is absolute. I am speaking of this with you because I have a plan to use that to our advantage to weaken the Italians and begin to absorb their territory." The patriarch cleared his throat. "Hera is returning from Milan to assist with this... project. You and she will be my ruse to lure the Irish into a trap."

Kenji's heart began to beat faster. Hera. Hera Elora Backovic was coming back from abroad. His best friend. And the only girl he had ever loved and continued to love. A sweet, tall chubby girl with steel eyes and a hearty laugh. They had been penpals since she had left at 16. He was crushed that she never came home for holidays. Grigori had sorrowfully said she was too dedicated to her work. After high school, she had gone to the Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design in Prague for fashion. And then she was modeling and working with fashion houses in Milan. It had been 14 long years since he had seen her.  

"Really? Hera is coming home?" She hadn't said anything in her last letter. She had alluded to a complicated job coming up that was sure to keep her busy but that had been a month ago. She was always so slow to respond. She had rebuked him when he had begged to buy her a cellphone so they could text. He didn't know how she could work in fashion without one but she seemed to manage.

"She's home already. I had Ivor pick her up from the private airport an hour ago." Grigori grabbed the receiver of his landline. "Ivor, please have Hera come to my study."

A series of pings rang out and Grigori's attention was drawn to his laptop. The clacking of keys became background noise as Kenji spiraled. Did she have a partner? Would she still like him after all this time? What would she be like in person? He pictured her as she had been. Tall with steel eyes. Her comfortable body. So honest, so yearning. Her long auburn hair had a slight curl to it and she rarely brushed it. Would she still like all the things that had brought them together? When he was brought into the Backovic's he had struggled with the adjustment and had become quiet and angry. Hera had found things from his culture that they had bonded over. The children had grown to love Godzilla and comic books. They became prolific readers. She had insisted Grigori find a Japanese tutor for the both of them, the other three boys having no interest. And so he had learned the language, cultural expectations and norms from an old woman named Yumiko. He still remembered the kiss she had given him in private before she left, her full lips planted with haste on his own. He barely noticed the soft footfalls that entered the study.

"You called, sir?" A cold voice asked.

"Hera, please sit."

It took all Kenji had within him not to appear anything but calm. The woman who sat on the edge of the armchair next to him was nothing like the girl who left. Long black hair with a slight curl and many braided pieces with rough metal beads was pulled into a claw clip that caused the hair to cascade down the sides of her neck and back. She had an undercut. It allowed for him to see the tattoos that prominently covered the majority of her exposed, pale skin. Her neck had a large flower with a dagger. Her left arm was blacked out to the wrist while her right arm held what appeared to be family tattoos, but her hands and face were free. He saw she now had a large scar that started on the right of her bottom lip and finished in a craggy pit on her chin. It puckered her full lip. She was wearing a baggy black knit sweater that fell down her left shoulder, showing her black out tattoo met more flowers at her collarbone. All black and white. She wore tight black leggings and black socks. She sat perfectly still, her steel eyes on her father.

"Kenny, Hera knows most of the plan. She was briefed by my cousin on the flight in. She has trained for this for years. Basically, you two will become the talk of the town. Kenny Oba and his new model girlfriend. This will give the Irish another way they believe they can get to you."

Kenji's eyes widened in surprise. Model? Hera was stunningly beautiful, but held an edge like a freshly sharpened knife. Her tall, muscular build was not the waspy norm of the industry. He was shocked to see her as she was, considering her schooling and work.

"Uh, when do we start?"

"Why, today of course!"

Hera stood, "I will go change." And walked out of Grigori's study without another word or even a glance in Kenji's direction.  

(2)

Kenji walked stunned from the office. He continued on his original path to the large kitchen, needing caffeine. Or something harder. Ivor, Grigori's second son, appeared from the shadows.

"Big surprise, eh?"

"If you knew, why didn't you tell me she was coming home?" He eyed his almost brother with disquiet.

"Pops said this was top secret. Sent me instead of Sasha to ensure he didn't spill the beans to you." Kenji and Alexander had been closest since Hera had left.

They entered the kitchen. Like all other rooms in the manor, it was large and smartly decorated. The walls were painted a cream colour. The back wall which housed the double glass doors to the pool and backyard had an accent wall of wallpaper. Blue with plants and birds, half hidden behind the long, cream linen curtains. Anna, the head house keeper, was at the coffee station preparing Kenji's cappuccino. As the steam finished frothing his milk, she placed the cup on the marble island.

"Mr. Oba, I hope you are well this morning. You missed breakfast. Ivan was disappointed. He had made his attempt at ichiju sansai for you." Ivan was a 70 year old Russian man from the Siberian steps. He knew traditional Russian foods and nothing else, but he had taken a liking to young Kenji and worked to broaden his culinary horizons for him.

"I'm sorry Ms Anna, I had a late evening." He unconsciously rubbed the fresh scabs on his tender knuckles.

"Do I get a coffee too?" Ivor said as he shuffled closer to his surrogate mother.

"No, you have eaten enough," she jabbed his soft stomach with a wooden spoon. Ivor laughed and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. "Have you seen Ms Hera?" Anna looked at Kenji with something akin to concern.

"Yes. She's changed. We all have," His voice was melancholy.  

"No longer sweet children, inseparable friends." Her normal harsh tone wasn't present.

The air of disquiet was ruptured by Sasha Backovic's entrance. "Brother, your new car has arrived!"

Kenji was unsure who he was speaking to, Ivor's eyes lit up.

"Not you, idiot," Sasha said as he punched Ivor in the stomach. The younger man let out a wheeze and doubled over, his half eaten apple rolling across the tiled floor. "Come." He motioned for Kenji to follow.

Sasha ushered his adoptive brother from the kitchen, clasping him around the shoulders as they walked. "Papa is excited for this... mission. You have been given a new car and a new apartment." Everyone seemed to know more than him. Why hadn't he been briefed before? He continued to question this new path as they walked out the double front doors to the circular driveway. A new black BMW was parked outside. Sasha threw him the keys and he caught them from the air.

"Apartment keys and address are in the glove box. You should start staying there with Hera tonight."

"Wait, am I being evicted?"

"No, it's a part of the plan. You need to seem more isolated, more... pliable. Just wait for Hera. She will be down in a bit." And with that, Sasha disappeared back in the house leaving Kenji with his thoughts and concerns alone.