Page 68 of The Dragon 2
When he left, my guards reported that Hiro was back on the balcony, sucking on a lollipop and perched there like a goddamn bored gargoyle.
Nura’s death was going to be a loss that wouldn’t be soothed by touch alone.
How do I fix this? Please God. . .don’t let my brother crack and wither away.
While everyone got in front of me, Hiro went to the window and stared out of it.
Damn it.
All my money. All my power. All my deadly violence. None of it could fix my brother. In fact, I was terrified that this would be my brother’s behavior from now on and that no war we fought against our father would change Hiro back.
I exchanged a look with Reo.
Reo glanced toward Hiro—just a flicker—but it was full of grief, full of strategy. Reo didn’t mourn with tears. He mourned with plans.
Hopefully, we would figure something out.
Reo nodded as if he heard my thoughts. . .knowing him. . .he probably did.
“Before we go,” I cleared my throat. “Any updates?”
Reo’s face further twisted with stress. “More than you may be comfortable with.”
Fuck. What now?
Chapter twelve
Severed and Blood-Stained
Kenji
I frowned. “What is the update I don’t want to hear?”
Reo placed his hands in his pockets. “Another severed foot was delivered.”
“Fuck. The serial killer. So much has been going on, I forgot about him.”
“I didn’t,” Reo replied darkly. “The Footman left the giftinsideone of our soaplands. This time,Silken Ruin.”
The line of my jaw twitched. “The Footman?”
Reo nodded. “That’s what we’re calling him now.”
The soapland’s name coiled in my gut like poison.Silken Ruinwas newer thanFloating Garden, less opulent, more secretive, designed for Tokyo’s ultra-elite. No signs. No website. Word-of-mouth only. The kind of place where high-rankingpoliticians rubbed wet shoulders with underground art dealers and billionaires who liked to play rough but stay invisible.
How the hell did he get a box inside there?
I sneered. “What exactly did this piece of shit send?”
“Same style box. Red lacquered paper. Gold ribbon tied in a Windsor knot. But this time. . .”
“What?”
“The shoe was more expensive. Louboutin. Black patent. Limited edition.”
That wasn’t just symbolic. That was escalation.
I leaned my head to the side. “And the foot?”
