The Enforcer and his Princess Ch 04

Kenji woke a little before seven. Hera hadn't touched the window in the bedroom so when the rising sun had assaulted his eyes with their rays, he sat up. He was groggy and needed the bathroom. He shuffled to the en suite to relieve himself. He showered, using his normal products that had been left for him, and brushed his teeth with one of the new brushes he found in one of the drawers.

When he walked back into the bedroom, he noticed the closet was open. Inside he found a few of his normal sharp black suits and ties, as well as another pair of dress shoes and a pair of sneakers. Checking the small dresser, he found his underwear and grey sweatpants. He checked in the closet again and found a grey zip sweater and pulled that on over his still damp, well muscled chest. He was also covered in tattoos, though they were of the Japanese style. No hands, no feet and a strip down the middle of his torso was the lone bit of naked flesh. He had never mentioned it in his letters. Hera had been squeamish about pain and blood, another reason he had been so thrown off guard when he saw her again.

He grabbed his phone, slipping it into a hoodie pocket as he opened one of the double doors. Kenji stepped into the living room, it was dark and quiet. The sun's shine from the bedroom lit up a lone foot hanging over the back of the sofa. The skin was pale, until he realized he was looking at scars. Ghostly white and ragged. What could have caused those, he asked himself. Had she been in an accident?

He walked around the sofa quietly, his bare feet not making a sound. Hera was asleep, one leg hung over the back of the couch while the other was tucked underneath it. She wore leggings, an open zip up hoodie, and a tank top, a skull peaked at him from her cleavage. A blanket was discarded on the floor beside her. An arm was draped over her eyes, the other tucked between the top and bottom couch cushions. Her breath was deep and slow.  

Strings of white headphones trailed from her ears to a small, battered tablet. It was plugged in and a movie was playing. She snored softly as he examined the cracked screen. It was Godzilla vs Destroyah. He knew it well. Hera had cried the first time they watched it and refused to again.

As he continued to watch the final scene of the film, he noticed the white of one eye was staring in his direction.  

"Good morning," he said softly as she righted herself on the sofa. The hand that had been in the cushions emerged with a glint; A switchblade, the blade extended. His eyes opened with shock. "Hera, I would never hurt you." There was hurt in his voice.

"It wasn't for you," she said as she retracted the blade and placed it back in the cushions. She pulled the cords from her ears.

"Then who?"

"The Irish or the Italians. Maybe a Russian wanting to make a move on Grigori. You're telling me you don't sleep with a piece? You've been muscle for too long to sleep unarmed or you wouldn't have lived 32. " 

Well, he did. Normally. He hadn't checked under the pillows for the gun he kept there for emergencies. He had been careless. If the Irish kicked down the door, would Hera have had to protect them both? He was glad for the dim light, his cheeks burned with shame. She was his undoing. He couldn't think straight with her around.

Hera yawned and walked to the fridge. She grabbed a container and fumbled around the counter for a spoon. She tossed the secured food stuff onto the couch as she went to the washroom. Kenji looked around the cabinets for caffeine, but found them bare besides some plates and glasses.  

Hera returned with a USB in her hand. She inserted it into the TV and grabbed the remote as she sat down, almost on her food. She flicked through menus until she came upon what she wanted. After a moment, the TV turned black and then a movie began to play. Kenji grabbed a slice of yesterday's naan. He sat down on the couch and watched as the familiar scenes played out.

"Final Wars?" He asked.

"Yes," Hera responded, stretching out and placing her feet on his leg as she got more comfortable and began to eat her leftovers.

"My favourite."

"Is it?" Her eyes didn't leave the screen. "One of your letters was all about your love for Minus One, I thought you may have changed your mind."

"It won an Oscar!" Kenji exclaimed. Hera smiled softly and continued to eat. Clicks and dings erupted from his sweater pocket, she shot him a look as she began to retract her feet from his leg. A hand shot out and gripped her naked toes.

"It's Sasha. That's his notification noise." Her unconvinced look persisted, but she returned her feet to his leg and switched her attention back to their movie.

S: You and your princess are invited to family supper. 7:30 pm.

K: Sounds great.  

"We've been invited to dinner." He rested his hand on one of her feet, squeezing lightly.

"Great," Hera lamented, "more Russian food."

They sat together in almost comfortable silence and continued to watch the movie. Kenji continued to yawn.

"I think I'm going to go out and get some coffee, would you like to come?"

"No, it'll take me a while to get dressed again so I'd like to put that off."

"Would you like anything?"

"Could you get black tea? I'd really like to make some zavarka."

He smiled, "of course."

(2)

Traffic didn't seem as bad this morning, surprisingly, but Kenji still drove cautiously. He had turned the heat on and was warm as he listened to popular Russian music on the playlist he shared with the brothers.

He had already stopped at a grocery store, grabbing some veggies, fruit and bread to tide them over. Kenji had found a small shop that specialized in cultural teas. He purchased a large amount of black tea. The shop owner was a small Asian man who simply smiled and nodded. As he was finishing his transaction, he inquired if the man knew of a florist. The small man smiled again and rooted under his till until he pulled out a business card for a flower shop a few blocks away.

The shop was quaint, owned and run by an lesbian couple. They had spent time helping Kenji build a massive and beautiful bouquet of local flowers that they had grown in their own green houses, situated on the outskirts of Milton. He had chosen yellow, orange, and red flowers to give the impression of fall. The ladies finished it off with some dried eucalyptus branches and wrapped it in cream paper for transport.

His tasks done, Kenji decided to stop at a coffee shop before returning to the condo. It took over an hour in the traffic he believed appeared from nowhere to make his way into the core of the city. Again, lady luck on his side, he found a parking space not too far. As he turned off the engine, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Ignoring all of his notifications, he texted '♡ Luma ♡'. Hera had entered the international number into his contacts before he had left.

K: I got the loose tea you asked for. I am at a coffee shop before I head back. Would you like anything?

He sat, lost in his own thoughts, giving her some time to respond.

L: An earl grey based drink would be nice, thank you.

It was the first time she had thanked him. Kenji grabbed his vest that he had discarded on the passenger seat and stepped out. Zipping up his puff against the cold, he made his way into his normal coffee shop, Fika. He scanned the menu board and found an appropriate drink. As he stepped towards the counter, he heard his name and turned.

"Ken?" A light haired man with eyes that sparked memories was sitting at a small table in the corner, a half eaten cinnamon bun in front of him.

"Do I know you?" He inquired cooly.

"No, but you should know of me." He stood. He was slightly shorter than Kenji. He seemed familiar. His blue eyes seemed hopeful.  

What made Kenji bristle was the Irish accent.  

The man held out his hand, "Fionn Weir. It's nice to meet you, cousin."

Kenji didn't stay to order. He turned on his heels and walked out the door. He didn't know how the man knew he'd be there, but, in that moment, had decided it was the last time he would ever go to Fika.  

He had sat dazed for some time in his car, mourning his routine. He searched on his phone for a new place, closer to the apartment, and made his way there. Luckily there was no one waiting to ambush him. He ordered his iced americano, a breakfast sandwich, and a London fog. His stomach had been growling in protest for a few hours, but he had ignored it. He ate his food sitting in the car, eyes glancing at every figure that passed. With a sigh, he turned the engine on and returned to his apartment.

With his hands full, he knocked on his own door. Keeping with his instructions he called out to Luma, exclaiming his hands were full. After a few minutes the door opened, and he waddled in. He placed the shopping bags on the kitchen island. Turning, he offered Hera the flower bouquet and her drink. She was half dressed, still in the clothes that she slept in, but her make up was done. The scar on her face was again missing. Her hair was entrapped by a wig cap.

"Luma prefers red roses," she said softly as she took the tea.

"These aren't for Luma, they are for you."

A look of confusion grew on her face as she took the flowers and smelled them.

"They're lovely, thank you. When is dinner?"

"7:30."

She nodded. They still had a few hours.

"Are there plans that Luma made for today?" Kenji asked.

"No. We need to appear unable to get enough of each other. Staying in is good. Flowers are a nice touch," she wandered to the kitchen, taking long drinks from her cup, as she rooted around for a vase. Finding nothing, she grabbed one of the cups, a beer mug with a handle, and filled it with water. She undid the wrapping and then arranged them just so before she began the search for her discarded purse. When located, she grabbed the phone and took some pictures. She continued to drink her tea as she posted and wrote descriptions. Kenji just watched her silently.

When done, she discarded the phone back into the purse and left it on the island.

"Are you always this messy?" He asked as he looked down the hall into the main bathroom. Her suitcase was open and things were strewn everywhere. Dresses, cardigans, some body suits as well as a few lace bras were haphazardly thrown over the shower rod. The counter was covered in makeup and hair products. The clothes she wore yesterday were a heap at the foot of the door.

"Not with my things, no."

"These aren't your things?"

"Obviously not."

She was like getting blood from a stone; unable or unwilling to answer questions. She was cold and aloof, but he could still find the girl he knew in the slips and quiet, comfortable gestures.  

"Your papa..." He began.

She cut him off harshly. "His name is Grigori. I am an adult, I do not refer to him as 'papa'."

Kenji's eyes widened and then shrunk. "Your brothers are older than you and still mostly call him papa," he shot back.

It was Hera's turn to be surprised, her eyes enlarging."I am unsurprised, they are all still sheltered little children." Her response held venom as well as sneer at the corner of her mouth.

As Kenji's hand shot out to point in her face, Hera responded with a grace he never saw before as she grabbed his wrist and slammed it down on the kitchen island. Her eyes were blank.

He immediately deflated. His only intention had been to place his finger in her face to make a point about respect and family, but her trained response almost took his breath away. There was no blinding level of rage, no intoxicant strong enough that would ever cause him to harm a hair on her head. It was not a timeline or alternative universe that would produce a man that could hurt her, no matter the level of trauma. It was inconceivable and his heart broke that she doubted that, doubted him. Pain brought him back to reality. Her fingers squeezed his wrist as she continued to grind it into the cold, authentic marble.  

"Hera," he choked out. The pain continued, he was used to pain. He caused it for a living and in turn he hurt. The emotional wound was the overwhelming one. "I would never hurt you. Ever." His voice threatened to break.  

He realized she was looking past him. "Hera," he said with force.

Immediately her fingers retracted and she retreated into the kitchen. She grabbed a staged kitchen towel and placed it under the fridge's dispenser. Ice clicked out as she caught it in the towel. She deftly swirled it closed, and returned to him, placing the ice on his wrist. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"... I'm sorry," she whispered out as she grabbed her purse and retreated into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

(3)

She didn't return to the living room until seven o'clock. Kenji thought he misheard as the door quickly clicked open. He had left her alone, afraid that checking on her would cause more hurt than had already been done. His wrist had already begun to bruise, visible on his flesh that was exposed.

She walked slowly into the kitchen. She was wearing a black dress. It was fitted to her waist and chest, the neckline was diagonal falling down to her middle bicep. The skirt billowed out, a soft swishing sound was made by the layers of crinoline as she moved. She wore a large silver necklace, it was shaped like a crescent moon and hung nicely at her collar bones. Her hair was still pink, though done in a large bun on the top of her head. Her fringe obscured her eyes. Her tattoos were missing, covered with what Kenji assumed was makeup.

"You should dress," she said flatly.

Kenji pushed himself up. He tried to catch her eyes, "you look beautiful." She didn't respond. He quickly went into the bedroom and pulled out a black suit and black dress shirt. He changed and spent more time looking for socks, left in his suitcase in the closet. He put on his second pair of dress shoes and checked his suitcase again for a watch. He placed the Rolex on his bruising wrist and grabbed a tie as he walked back into the living room.

Hera was waiting, heels on. She had a forest green wrap around her neck and her purse dangled from between her fingers. Once she saw he was ready, she walked to the door and held it open for him. Together, in silence, they made their way to Kenji's car.

It took 45 minutes to get to the Backovic manor, making them half an hour late. As they pulled into the driveway and Kenji turned off the engine. He was about to open his door and get out when Hera stopped him.

"Just give me a minute, please." She stared blankly ahead. The minutes ticked by until she let out a sigh and opened her own door. Kenji quickly got out and walked with long strides to the double front doors and opened one for her, waiting as she walked slowly up the stairs and into the large enterance.

Waiting for them was Grigori. He had a wide smile on his face as he opened his arms for a hug.

"My son!" He stepped forward and gripped Kenji in a thickly muscled hug. He patted him on the back a few times and then released him.

"You are both fashionably late, but dinner is just being set now." He kept a hand on Kenji's shoulder and guided him to the opulant dining room. Hera placed her purse and shawl down by the door and followed behind. Laughter boomed into the hall as the three entered.

Already seated were Sasha, Ivor, and Dani. Dani''s eyes were darkened with bruises from his broken nose, though his nose itself appeared set and fine. The laughter dulled as the patriarch made his way to the head of the table and sat down. Kenji moved to pull out Hera's seat, but she brushed him off with a flick of her wrist. She pulled out her own seat, near the end of the table, leaving a seat between her and Sasha. Kenji settled down between Ivor and Dani.

Anna fluttered in and began to place drinks down. Kenji received an old fashioned while Grigori was given vodka on the rocks. She quickly moved to Hera, hugging her former charge and speaking to her quietly in Russian. Over the years, Kenji had picked up a lot and heard Anna exclaiming how beautiful Hera was and inquiring as to what she would like to drink.  

When Anna left, Sasha raised his own glass, appearing to be a half finished vodka on the rocks as well, about to begin a toast.

"Sasha, we are not all seated. You must wait," Grigori said as he took a long drink from his cut crystal glass.

"Who are we waiting for, papa?" Ivor asked.

To answer his question, an older man entered the room. He was the spiting image of Grigori, though his hair was longer and his eyes were steel grey.