Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
She had dark brown skin and her head was shaved close to the scalp, her movements remained smooth, controlled, and intentional.
“She’s sharp,” Reo said. “Fast. Never touches the product. Keeps her head down.”
“Background?” Hiro asked again, eyes still on her.
“Somali. Grew up in refugee camps, got trafficked through Libya, ended up in a black-market compound in Athens. Escaped six months ago. We found her hiding in a cargo container bound for Tokyo. She asked to work for us.”
As if she sensed we were watching her, she looked up and spotted Hiro. To my surprise, she didn’t flinch under Hiro’s gaze, when almost all women did.
Hiro studied her. “Interesting.”
Survivors recognize survivors.
We reached the steel door on the far end. Another guard—female, armed, and older—opened it without a word.
The space beyond was quieter, cleaner, and full of mathematicians and accountants clicking away on their devices.
This was a different kind of danger. It was the room where our product became numbers. Where power translated to decimals and percentages. This was where money got laundered, where crypto wallets were loaded, where our accounts across Switzerland and Singapore danced with blood.
We turned left and entered our final destination—my VIP space.
Classical music filled the area.
The floor was black lacquer, so polished, everything around it reflected within its surface.
The walls—also black—had no windows.
Above, a golden dragon coiled across the ceiling. Its body shimmered. Its mouth opened wide and showing off its fangs.
I scanned my VIP space, and then I saw him.
Kazimir Solonik—The Lion—sat at a long black table in the center of the room. He was a massive man. His bulk was unmistakable. Tons of muscles carved from violence and death. His skin had been kissed with frost. Women always raved about his looks, so I assumed he must have been attractive.
Being the cocky bastard that he was, he didn’t rise.
Didn’t nod.
He just watched as we entered.
In front of Kazimir, a woman lay spread out on the table, naked and golden-skinned.
Sushi decorated her body. Nigiri across her collarbone. Sashimi laid carefully along the curve of her thighs. A wasabi rose nestled between her breasts.
Kazimir used chopsticks to pick a piece of otoro from her navel.
Still watching us, he ate slowly.
I can already tell this meeting is going to be a bunch of bullshit.
I took in the rest of his people.
To his left, Yuri had a long beard. His eyes were cold and depthless. He was always a wall of stoicism. His hands were folded on the table, and I’d heard rumors that he’d used those very hands to crush skulls.
To Kazimir’s right was Sasha. Pale as ash. Blond hair cropped short, grey eyes so pale they appeared silver.
And behind Kazimir?
Thirty men.
All Bratva.
All armed.
Each one standing at attention like they were preparing for siege.
My jaw tensed.
Bringing that many soldiers to my private space was beyond disrespectful. It was a brazen challenge wrapped in the cloaked guise of civility.
Hiro grunted on my side, telling me he wanted to fight the Lion’s people just for the disrespect.
Ignoring Hiro’s thirst for violence, I looked around Kazimir, saw no package, and stifled a growl.
The Lion didn’t bring me a gift!
Everyone who came to me brought something. A bottle of blood-aged whisky. A scroll. An exquisite painting. A rare jewel with unique history.
It was always something that said: I understand whose empire I’m standing in.
But Kazimir never brought gifts.
Because unfortunately. . .the Lion thought he was the fucking gift.
So disrespectful. We really need to find a way to kill him.
I stepped toward the other side of the room, where a matching black table waited for me.
Beside it, Miyu stood draped in a violet silk robe with her hair pinned high and lips painted wine red.
As usual, she was gorgeous.
“Good evening, Kenji,” Miyu untied the sash slowly and let the fabric slip from her shoulders like a lover’s sigh. Her body was lean, flawless, perfumed. She got on the table and slowly crawled. Her movements were as fluid as a dancer’s. Once she got to the center, she laid down.
I looked at her.
Hmmm.
Miyu’s usual effect on me—the one that left a buzz at the base of my spine and heat curling low—was gone.
Nothing stirred this evening.
No hunger.
No glimmer of desire.
Just silence in the place where horny used to live.
Miyu glanced up at me with a seducing smile. She always reminded me of a crane because she was always so graceful and long-limbed with a fragility that made men want to possess her just to keep her from breaking.
But tonight?
I didn’t want something that trembled. I wanted something that fought back. And the only woman in my head was a tiger. Nyomi—fierce and sharp-eyed.
I still can’t believe she kneed me.
I grinned and gestured to Miyu. “Not tonight. You can leave.”
She hesitated.
I didn’t repeat myself.
Then, completely disappointed, she climbed off the table and pulled the robe back on.