Page 19 of Kotori
The contrast between my terrifying realization and this innocent request is so stark that I can only stare at her. This littlegirl with hopeful eyes has no idea what her father does, what this family is. She just wants a bedtime story.
"Of course," I say, pushing my fear aside. "I'd love to."
I follow her to her bedroom—a paradise of toys, books, and soft colors that could belong in any wealthy home. Nothing here hints at the darker reality I've glimpsed.
As I read to her about princesses and dragons, her small body curled against my side, the day's disorientation takes on new dimensions. These girls didn't choose their father's world any more than I did. They're as much products of this environment as victims of it.
When Aya finally drifts to sleep, I carefully extract myself and turn to find Kaito standing in the doorway. How long he's been there, I don't know. His expression as he watches his sleeping daughter reveals tenderness I wouldn't have thought possible—the crime lord momentarily just a father who loves his child.
As he shifts slightly, the lantern light catches something on his white shirt cuff—a small dark stain that looks suspiciously like blood. He notices my gaze and casually adjusts his sleeve, covering the evidence without acknowledgment.
My heart should race with fear. I should be horrified, disgusted, desperate to escape this man whose hands might have just…
Instead, heat curls through my body. The danger he represents, the raw power, the absolute certainty that he can protect what's his at any cost. It speaks to something primitive in me that I never knew existed. The realization terrifies and exhilarates.
His eyes meet mine. He knows that I've glimpsed the predator beneath the businessman and haven't run screaming.
"She likes you," he says quietly as we step into the hallway, closing Aya's door behind us. "They all do, in their way. Even Mizuki, though she'd never admit it."
"They're wonderful girls," I respond truthfully. "You must be very proud of them."
"They are my greatest achievement. And my greatest vulnerability." His gaze intensifies. "A man in my position cannot afford many weaknesses."
The statement carries unmistakable warning. Not a threat, exactly, but a reminder of power and what happens to those who threaten what he values.
"I would never do anything to harm them," I say, meaning it completely.
"I know." His certainty is absolute. "You'll protect them as fiercely as I do. It's in your nature—the teacher who defends her students, the woman who shelters children. It's why you were chosen."
Chosen. Not hired—chosen. The distinction sends a chill down my spine.
"Goodnight, Paige-san." He turns to leave, then pauses. "Lock your door tonight." His voice drops, taking on that edge I heard earlier, the voice of command, not request. "Wakatta?"Understand?
The Japanese word hangs in the air, clearly expecting acknowledgment.
"Hai, Matsumoto-sama," I respond automatically, surprising myself with the immediate compliance.
He turns and walks away, his footsteps silent on the polished floor.
Back in my room, I turn the lock with shaking fingers. I'm caught between two dangers—the man who owns this compound and whatever threats lurk beyond its walls. And the most disturbing part? Despite everything I've learned today, despite every warning sign, despite the blood I glimpsed on his cuff, part of me feels safer with the devil I know than whatever waits outside.
I'm living in a yakuza compound, teaching a crime lord's daughters, and beginning to understand that the cultural immersion I'm experiencing isn't just about Japanese customs—it's about being absorbed into a world where danger and beauty twine together until you can no longer separate one from the other.
Just like I'm starting to find it hard to separate my fear of Kaito Matsumoto from my growing fascination with him.
5
Kaito
Thecamerasneverlie.
I sit in my private study the evening after her second day, reviewing surveillance footage on multiple monitors while my body still hums with frustration. Business demands kept me away all day yesterday and most of today. I've spent too many hours spent dealing with territorial disputes and supply chain disruptions instead of monitoring her integration into my household. The taste of her submission from our morning encounter yesterday lingers on my tongue like expensive wine—sweet, intoxicating, promising even better things to come.
She responded perfectly. Better than I'd dared hope.
The first screen shows thermal imaging from her quarters immediately after she fled my study yesterday. Elevated heart rate, increased body temperature, the telltale signs of arousal disguised as distress. She stood against her door for four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, hand pressed to her chest, before moving to the mirror to stare at her flushed reflection.
Smart woman, recognizing that something fundamental shifted between us that morning.
