Page 28 of The Dragon 1
And she’d made several arguments to save her precious book.
She wants to write about Tokyo’s sex industry. What a dangerous topic, little Tora.
To reveal my world would be to paint a huge target on her back.
There was a reason the red-light district didn’t maintain transparency.
I didn’t just move in the shadows of Tokyo—I controlled them. My syndicate didn’t thrive on chaos like Western mobs. No, we moved with precision. With legacy. With silence.
We didn’t shout our power.
We etched it into the bones of Japan.
Tradition kept our empire standing.
Honor shaped our hierarchy.
And privacy?
That was our religion. What happened behind closed doors stayed sealed in blood and oath. Outsiders didn’t get to peel back the curtain. Not without paying a price.
It would be easier for her to write a book on the Yakuza!
A laugh escaped my parted lips as the pain in my groin subsided to a sensual thumping.
My Tora had done more than hurt my loins.
She’d triggered excitement in my core.
I can’t wait to see her again.
The door creaked open.
I didn’t have to look to know it was Reo entering first. His presence always arrived a beat before his body. He was the whisper before the storm, warning you of the wind that would come to strip you bare.
Plus, Reo didn’t ask permission. Just stepped in like the air already belonged to him.
Currently, he moved with quiet confidence, the hem of his dark blue suit brushing against his polished shoes. The suit was sharp, cut in a subtle, European style.
His holster peeked beneath the blazer’s edge, the sleek handle of his signature white Glock catching the light.
In his other hand, he carried a worn paperback, one I would bet was an old mystery.
The cover, frayed at the edges and sun-bleached at the spine, featured a woman in silhouette standing beneath a streetlamp, her trench coat cinched at the waist. A revolver was at her side.
Blood dripped from the corner of the lamppost.
I eyed the title.
The Girl with the Crimson Shoes.
Lifting the book, Reo thumbed the corner of the page, closed it and tucked the novel into the inside pocket of his blazer with the same ease as sheathing a blade.
My smile widened.
Of course, he’d taken time to read when I dismissed them.
He closed the door behind him with the softest click and let his gaze sweep over me. “You appear. . .uncomposed.”
