Chapter Text
“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”
Sakura glanced around the bustling dining room, already questioning this decision. “Yes,” she confirmed to the host, meeting his polite stare. “It’s under Otsutsuki.”
The host perked. “Oh! Yes, Haruno-san; we’ve been expecting you.” He escorted her through the throng, bypassing unoccupied tables and booths in favor of a drawn, dark curtain in the very back of the restaurant. Sweeping one side open, he nodded his head, signaling for her to step through. She muttered some words of thanks, heels clicking audibly on the expensive parquet floors now that the din of the patrons had vanished. In the secluded room sat a moderate-sized, square table, two plush chairs on either side, adorned with an all-white table cloth, stunning centerpiece, and place settings for the meal. A gaudy chandelier in the center serenaded the room with a mellow glow, adding to the romantic ambiance.
And yet, the room was empty.
She huffed, rolling her eyes. Figures; all men are the same, I suppose. After months of being hounded for this ‘meeting’ with the Tsuki-gumi’s oyabun, Otsutsuki Toneri, he doesn’t even have the decency to greet her when she deigned to agree to come. Surveying the space, she moseyed to the closest chair, dragging it out and sitting down. Even if he stood her up, she could still enjoy a nice meal in peace. Plucking the menu from the tabletop, she began pursuing the options, mind reeling with possible scenarios of the night if the mysterious man did arrive.
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Sakura knew she didn’t look like a threat of any kind. 24-years-old, short, petite, and bright pink hair shouldn’t raise anyone’s internal alarm bells; she most certainly filled the role of damsel in distress more by appearance standards.
A fact she used to her advantage.
On the streets of the underground, she was professionally known as The Doctor, a proficient mercenary-for-hire currently associated with a faction of Yakuza called Konoha-kai. She’d been working for their oyabun, a man named Kakashi though he was referred to as ‘Hokage’, for the last year and a half. Her previous employer and trade mentor, Sasori (Kami rest his bastard soul), died in an unfortunate accident, leaving her without a home base. Through her childhood friend, Naruto, he was able to get her in front of Kakashi and into her current contract, an act she would eternally be grateful for.
The issue, unfortunately, was her growing boredom.
Sasori was a lot of things in his limited life, but safe was not one of them: The man thrived for challenges, always wanting bigger and more; his lofty ambitions were some of the easiest things she could admire about the surly man. He had been one of her medical school professors, his keen, amber eyes honing in on her ‘potential’ he called it, and she was naive enough to believe he meant her academic skills. Carefully and methodically, he took her under his wing, teaching her the more nefarious side of prescription drugs and poisonous chemicals, medical treatments that could be used to eliminate in lieu of save. Initially opposed, the smooth-talking professor was able to whittle her worry away, breaking her reservations down without her realizing, until she found herself staring at a corpse in a hospital room.
A corpse she created; Sasori had many enemies, after all.
She struggled with the cognitive dissonance: Killing was wrong, completely immoral and depraved. So why was it so thrilling?
It took several months of patient coaxing, but eventually, she could willingly take the jobs Sasori assigned her, doing more and more of his dirty work, evolving their craft into something fine-tuned and untraceable.
Not to mention the hefty payouts she’d received. Her medical school debt was nonexistent in no time.
After his death, she was pressured to take over his gang, become their new oyabun, but without Sasori, it all felt pointless. She pushed the title onto her mentor’s nephew, Gaara, and quietly resigned her position, leaving her free to pursue other options.
Kakashi, while kind and level-headed, was nothing like Sasori. His ambitions extended as far as maintaining territory and status. In fact, from what she could glean, the silver-haired man wanted nothing to do with the position, and was simply biding time until Naruto was ready to inherit the station from him. This meant her jobs were limited, standard, and run-of-the-mill.
It was, quite frankly, getting old.
Approximately six months ago, she had begun receiving unmarked letters in the mail from someone named ‘Toneri’, politely inquiring if she ‘would be so kind as to join me for dinner’ to discuss a business offer he thought she’d be interested in. She ignored the first letter, then the second, but by the third one she elected to investigate the pestering man, if only to tell him to, respectfully, fuck off.
It didn’t take her long to discover that this Toneri character was the leader of a rival Yakuza organization; however, that was about the only information she could find. The man was seemingly a ghost: People knew his name, knew he had been oyabun for over a couple of decades, and yet not one person could definitively tell her what he looked like, what he sounded like, his interests or dislikes. Everyone she went to had conflicting stories and anecdotes, but could all agree the man was an enigma. His group’s goals and members were even a head-scratcher.
Ultimately, she decided to not get involved; there were far too many unknown variables.
The invitations persevered, one every couple of weeks. Each one pushier than the last, going so far as to even include dates and times and restaurants.
Which is how she found herself here. She pleaded the other day with Kakashi to give her more complex assignments, a request he flatly denied, the thing she used as justification to accept this rendezvous. Just to see, she told herself. There’s no harm in hearing him out.
So where the fuck was he?
She drummed her nails on the table, tapping her toe, chin resting in her palm. She’d give him five more minutes; if he didn’t show, then she’d find a way to tell him to, disrespectfully, fuck off.
A waitress swept in, bringing a chilled bottle of wine, pouring the maroon liquid into the empty glass in front of her unprompted. Stealing out without a word, she reached for the stem, taking a delicate sniff of the floral aroma. Sasori had taught her the ins and outs of detecting poisons or spiked drinks, so if this mob boss thought he’d get one over on her, he was sadly mistaken. Finding it safe to consume, she sampled a sip, taking a larger swig as the flavor blossomed over her taste buds.
It was delicious, damn him.
Brooding over the wine, she almost missed the soft tap of fine leather shoes parading into the room behind her. She swiveled to face him, prepared to lay into him, yet unprepared for what she saw.
He was towering, easily a head taller than her, his frame lithe with broad shoulders. His suit was sharp, creamy in color, his dress shirt beige, the top buttons left undone and highlighting inked on, stormy-gray circles with open centers and brusque tails. His skin was pale, reminiscent of moonlight, blending in with his milky hair. But it was his eyes, striking icy blue eyes, that captivated her the most. They sat perfectly amongst his aristocratic features, thin lips curled in a welcoming grin.
Gods, he was gorgeous. Had she ever seen a man so otherworldly?
She could only imagine how she appeared to him, gaping at him like some dumbstruck fool; hardly the impression she intended to make.
He didn’t seem bothered, bowing slightly in her direction. “Haruno-san,” he greeted, his lilting, deep voice caressing her ears. That voice alone could be her downfall, she mused. “It’s such an honor to finally be able to meet you in person. I apologize for my tardiness.”
Snapping to her senses, she shot out of the chair, bowing awkwardly in return. Get it together, Sakura; he’s still an oyabun. It didn’t matter that he could probably moonlight as a professional model. “The honor is mine, Otsutsuki-sama.”
He shook his head. “No need for such formalities; you’re welcome to call me Toneri.”
She smiled shyly. “Then I’m Sakura.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. “Please, sit.” He pushed her chair in after she did, moving seamlessly to his own spot. The waitress returned noiselessly, pouring the same wine for her companion. After confirming her readiness, they placed their orders, left alone once more.
She sipped more of her wine, gaining the necessary courage to cut to the chase of this venture. “So,” she began, emerald and blue clashing across the immaculate table. “You said you had an offer for me. Here I am.”
Amused, Toneri chuckled, the sound tickling her spine. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Sakura, but ultimately I want us to get to know one another first.” He gestured to the empty plates. “Why don’t we enjoy our meal, and then we’ll talk shop, hm?”
Flustered at being shut down so suavely, she covered it by pressing the wine glass to her pursed lips. “Fine,” she acquiesced moodily, gulping, the alcohol tingling her throat. “How old are you?”
He leaned back, one hand resting atop the table, grinning at her petulant tone no doubt. “46.”
“Ever been married?”
“No.”
“Kids?”
“None.” She noted a hint of wistfulness.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Hmm…” He paused, considering. “I’m not sure I have one, though I am partial to white.” A strange gleam shined in his eye. “And green.”
She refused to entertain where that piece of information led her brain. “Where are you from?”
He shrugged demurely. “Far away; I doubt you’d even know it if I told you.”
What a suspicious answer, she grumbled inwardly, eyes narrowing involuntarily.
He read her expression like a book, huffing a laugh at her expense. “Is your interrogation over? Do I get a turn?”
She crossed her arms defensively, waving in muted permission.
His questions were more insightful; why did you choose medicine?, what are your dreams for the future?, tell me about your friends. She did her best to keep her answers brief, to not give him too much metaphorical ammo against her; this wasn’t her first bout with intellectual, nosey older men (Sasori was a menace to everyone, after all), and any slip of information could come back to bite her in the ass if she weren’t careful. She was able to toss in her own probing inquiries, so she counted herself victorious in this battle of wits, whether he was aware they were playing or not.
Her body, conversely, was losing its own battle, her overwhelming physical attraction to the man proving inconvenient. Every easy grin thrown her way, every soft-spoken utterance of her name in that smooth baritone, every shift of his shirt that revealed more of his toned upper body made her imagination run wild and straight into the gutter, her panties growing damper the longer this meeting continued.
The food arrived in time, expertly cooked and plated to perfection. It was scrumptious, to no one’s surprise, and consumed far too quickly. Once everything was removed, their wine glasses were refilled before the staff vanished once more.
Disregarding the drink, she met his gaze squarely, folding her arms on the table. “Well?”
Placing his own glass aside, Toneri began. “I know your work, Sakura; it’s very impressive, especially for someone so young in the business. Sasori did an exemplary job with you.”
She kept her expression neutral. “He would appreciate the compliment.”
“I’m sure he would.” He smiled wryly. “Egotistical, that one.”
“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”
“I would never.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender a moment, promptly returning to business. “I also know you’re wasting away under Kakashi’s reign. He isn’t Sasori; he doesn’t know what to do with you.”
She cocked an eyebrow, heart racing. How did he know this much already? “And you do?” she challenged.
His lips split open in a Cheshire grin, feral. “I absolutely do. I know you’d make the perfect addition to my team. I’ll give you every opportunity to do what you do best; all I ask is that you serve me loyally.”
“Is that your offer, then? A job?” He nodded, exuding confidence, like he had just handed her some holy grail. Perhaps, in another situation, she’d have accepted; Toneri was proposing exactly what she had been missing. However, looking at his smug handsome face ignited her rebellious streak. I am not some prize to be stolen away, buddy. “I’ll consider it.”
He wasn’t expecting that answer, she could tell with the shifting of his expression. “You’ll…Consider it?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“I see.” They sat in charged silence, both evaluating the other for their next move. Ultimately, it was Toneri that yielded, adopting an affable air. “It’s getting late; allow me to arrange a ride home for you.”
She agreed, excusing herself for a quick trip to the conjoined washroom. Safely secured, she released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, shoulders sagging in relief. She was accustomed to intense men, Sasori was the worst of the worst of them, but Toneri was intense in a more subtle way. He purposefully came off as harmless, but it was a ploy to conceal the predator lurking beneath.
She hated that it turned her on so much.
Splashing water on her flushed face, she moved to the toilet to address the uncomfortable situation between her legs. Since she was going straight home, she wiped up the mess, sliding her red, lacey panties down and off her legs carefully, depositing them into her small clutch purse. I’ll deal with them later. Checking her reflection and pulling her satin, green dress down, she exited the room to find Toneri waiting by the curtain. His eyes raked her form, almost clinically, coming to rest on her exposed shoulders. She assumed he was taking in her own smattering of tattoos on her upper arms, but he had ways of surprising her. “It’s chilly out,” he muttered, unbuttoning and doffing his suit jacket, striding toward her to drape it protectively around her slim frame. “Wear this until we get you to a car.”
Instantaneously, the arousal she had just staved returned ten-fold, the lingering warmth of his body and the smell of his cologne bombarding her. She accepted his coat in a daze, her core throbbing with unmet desire. He led her out, oblivious to her struggle, completely unaware of her gaze unabashedly roaming the curve of his firm behind in his slacks.
Unprompted, an idea struck her, devious and potentially problematic. Tucked away in his coat, she was in prime position to sneak a lewd present into the inner pocket, unnoticeable until he put it back on after she was gone.
She weighed her options; did she dare? If he ended up offended, he could take the issue to Kakashi and she’d be in massive trouble. If he was repulsed, he’d likely rescind his contractual offer, and that would be the end of his pursuit, which wouldn’t be the worst thing, she supposed.
Or, he might even…
Drawing closer to the arranged vehicle, her time was running out. To hell with it, she reasoned, covertly opening her purse, seizing the undies, and slipping them into one of the pockets. Fixing a friendly smile to her face, she gratefully returned the jacket, whirling to get into the car.
He caught her wrist before she got too far, bringing her attention back to him. “I’ll send you a way to contact me should you want to meet again. Thank you for your company this evening, Sakura. It was so lovely to speak with you.”
Flattered by his manners, high on adrenaline from what he didn’t know she did, she simply nodded. “Thank you, Toneri. I appreciate your time.” They separated, and she clambered into the vehicle without a glance back.
In the solitude of her apartment and empty bed, she came three times that night, his name on her lips for each.