~ Niamh ~
The air hadn't even settled after Seamus's departure before a new shadow fell over us.
An Asian man, dressed in the most exquisite pinstripe brown suit I had ever seen, walked toward us with a glass of champagne held loosely in one hand.
He was tall—easily matching Massimo's height—and looked to be in the same age bracket, and his long black hair was styled in a way that immediately made me think of a modern samurai.
My eyes lingered on his dress shirt; it was unbuttoned halfway, proudly exposing the intricate irezumi tattoos that started at his collarbone. The dark, with highlights of red ink of dragons and snakes disappeared into the hidden parts of his chest and down his torso like a vibrant, permanent suit of armor beneath his silk.
Was he Yakuza?
Beside me, I felt Massimo's muscles coil, his posture shifting from a protective husband to a soldier ready for impact.
