Hachirō cleaned the pistol with a handkerchief and carefully placed it in his brother’s hand. He took one final look at him; he looked decades older without the spark of life, his skin as thin as parchment and blood running into his sightless eyes.

Hachirō had meant what he had said: he should have done this sooner.

He had not approved of Sakura’s union with Miyasato, but perhaps he had allowed his hatred of what his brother had become to pollute his opinion of his son-in-law. Perhaps, if he had been more hospitable, Sakura and Miyasato might not have taken so foolish a decision as to steal from Takashi.

He didn’t blame himself for what had happened, but he knew that the regret would nag at him until he, too, had died.

He retraced his steps through the villa. He could hear the sound of banging from the basement. Milton had shepherded the three guards down there and locked them in. They must have heard the sound of the gunshot and now they were panicking that they might be next. Hachirō had no intention of harming them. They had made bad choices in aligning themselves with the Nishimoto-kai, but he knew from his own bitter experience that those choices would catch up with them eventually. It was not his place to punish them.

He stepped outside and looked for Milton. The Englishman had offered to take care of Takashi, but Hachirō had insisted that his brother was his responsibility, and Milton had not protested. He had said that he would take the guards out of the equation and then wait for him outside the villa, but, as Hachirō looked left and right, he couldn’t see him.

He walked along the gravel drive to the gate where they had left the car, but Milton was not there, either.

He took out his phone to call him when it buzzed with an incoming call.

“Milton-san?”

“Is it done?”

“It is.”

There was no response and, for a moment, Hachirō thought that Milton had ended the call.

“Where are you?”

“I said that I’d make sure you were able to do what you wanted to do, and I have. It’s time for me to go.”

“What about Sakura?”

There was a pause before he spoke. “She deserves stability. She needs it—so does Yamato. And that’s not me.”

Hachirō thought he heard regret in his voice. “Don’t you think that’s her decision to make?”

“I know myself too well. Please tell her…” He paused again and sighed. “Please tell her that she should be happy.”

“I will.”

“And promise me that you’ll look after them both.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Hachirō. I’ve left something in the car for you—it’s your choice what to do with it.”

“What is it?”

The line was dead.