The Crime Boss Who Forgot Me

The Sensible Thing

Rei

“Can you be my first?”

I had heard her perfectly.

For several seconds, I considered the possibility that I had misunderstood her.

It was not convincing.

Mio stood in front of me with both hands caught in the sleeves of her blouse, staring somewhere around my tie instead of at my face.

Unfortunately.

“What did you just say?”

Her face reddened.

That answered the question.

I looked away.

There were many situations in which hesitation was dangerous. Negotiations. Territory disputes. Men deciding whether the person across the table intended to kill them.

This was worse.

I had known Mio Aizawa since she was six years old.

I knew she used to sleep with one foot outside the blanket. I knew she hated mushrooms but ate them if someone had already cooked them. I knew she had cut her hair, and I had spent an unreasonable amount of time deciding I disliked the fact that I had missed when it happened.

I knew which apartment window had belonged to her bedroom when we were children.

I knew she still tilted her head slightly when she was trying not to cry.

I knew entirely too much for a man who supposedly barely remembered her.

And now Mio -- my Mio.

Not my Mio.

There were probably several appropriate things a man could say when the woman he had wanted for years asked him a question like that.

I apparently knew none of them.

“Do you understand what you're asking?”

Her eyes finally lifted to mine.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Her eyebrows pulled together.

“I think I would know.”

“You think I just collect debts.”

“You do.”

“I do more than collect debts.”

“I assumed.”

That irritated me.

“You assumed.”

“You don't exactly look like you work for a bank.”

I stared at her.

Mio looked briefly alarmed by her own answer.

Good.

Perhaps there was still hope.

I stepped closer.

She did not move.

That was less encouraging.

“The men your father owes are not respectable people.”

“I know.”

“You don't.”

“I work nights in a cabaret bar, Rei. I know gangsters exist.”

My jaw tightened.

I had nearly thrown something at Ren when he first reported seeing her enter that place.

Apparently knowing it and hearing Mio say it herself produced exactly the same reaction.

“That isn't the same as knowing them.”

She remained far too trusting.

“I know you.”

Three words.

That was all it took.

The anger disappeared so quickly it was humiliating.

Heat climbed into my face instead.

I used everything I had learned over the last ten years to look cold.

Hopefully I looked cold.

“No, you don't.”

Something changed in her expression.

There.

That should have been enough.

I should have stopped.

Instead, I continued because apparently hurting both of us was preferable to telling her the truth.

“You knew a boy who lived three buildings away from you.”

Her fingers tightened around her sleeves.

“You don't know what I've done since then.”

“I know.”

“You don't know what I'm responsible for.”

“I know.”

“You have no idea what kind of man you're asking.”

Mio went quiet.

Then she said, “You're trying very hard to make me afraid of you.”

I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because this was going terribly.

I wanted to put my head through the nearest wall, although judging by the condition of the apartment, that might have brought down part of the building.

I hated her being here.

“Perhaps you should be.”

“Maybe.”

That was not the correct answer.

I watched her.

She looked exhausted.

There were shadows beneath her eyes. The loose thread at her cuff had almost been pulled free.

Takashi had stolen her savings again.

I knew he had.

For months, every time I came here, Mio looked a little more tired.

I regretted not simply dragging her out of this place the first time I realized how bad things had become.

Masaru had pointed out that abducting my childhood friend was not a reasonable solution.

He had been annoyingly correct.

We needed a plan.

I didn't want to frighten her, and Mio would have fought to remain with her useless father if she believed leaving meant abandoning him.

“You had a week,” I said.

She nodded.

“You could have left.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you?”

Mio looked away.

Finally, she murmured, “I told you.”

“No. You told me you knew I would come.”

“That is the answer.”

I understood.

I wished I didn't.

“Mio.”

She flinched slightly at her name.

Careless.

For months, I had called her Aizawa-san because formality made pretending easier.

One indecent question had apparently destroyed all of that discipline.

She looked up.

“I know this is stupid.”

That stopped me.

“I know you don't owe me anything,” she said. “And I know remembering you doesn't mean you have to remember me.”

I said nothing.

There were moments when silence was useful.

This was not one of them.

I used it anyway.

“And I know my father's mess isn't your responsibility. But I don't want him deciding everything about this too.”

I understood that immediately.

Too immediately.

Other people had spent years deciding what was best for me.

My mother had run because she believed it would save me.

My father had found me because he believed blood gave him the right.

Everyone had always been very confident.

I hated that Mio had learned the same lesson from a different man.

She took a breath.

“I don't expect anything afterward.”

I answered before I could stop myself.

“What does that mean?”

Her eyes widened.

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“No.”

She stared at me.

I corrected my tone.

“No.”

“You asked whether I understood.”

“I did.”

“And I answered.”

“Badly.”

Annoyance finally replaced some of her embarrassment.

Good.

Angry Mio was easier.

“You don't get to grade my answer.”

“I just did.”

Her mouth opened, then closed.

I nearly smiled.

There she was.

For half a second, I saw the girl who used to give me half the rice from her lunch because she knew I was always hungry, even when rice was almost all she had herself.

Then she looked away.

“Is it because you don't find me attractive?”

Everything inside me stopped.

She took a small step back.

“Are you married?”

“No.”

The answer came much too quickly.

Mio blinked.

I looked away.

Excellent.

Very convincing.

I should have ended the conversation.

Give her money if she would accept it. Put her somewhere Takashi couldn't reach. Hit Masaru's bald head for insisting we needed a sensible plan.

Then stay away from her.

My mother had spent half her life trying to prevent me from becoming my father.

Mio deserved whatever remained of that effort.

She did not deserve me.

Unfortunately, the thought of her leaving this apartment and someday asking another man the same question produced an immediate and deeply unreasonable objection.

I looked at her packed bag.

Then at her.

“Ask me again.”

Mio froze.

I regretted the words immediately.

Not enough to take them back.

“Rei…”

“Ask.”

She searched my face.

There had never been anything sensible about Mio.

Not for me.

Her voice was barely audible when she asked again.

This time, I did not pretend I hadn't heard her.

“Fine.”

Her eyes widened.

And the relief on her face made me understand, far too late, that agreeing might have been the most selfish thing I had ever done.