Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
And then came the scandal. The Butcher caught his wife cheating. When that happened, he didn’t harm her but he left her lover in a coma.
He went to jail.
The music stopped.
Eventually his cousins broke him out, and he escaped, becoming the Butcher—a warlord wrapped in a maestro’s skin.
Graceful.
Refined.
Deadly.
He understood beauty.
Understood art.
However, he understood death the most, so much that he had no need to raise his voice, people simply bled around him.
Elegant, yes.
But an absolute killer.
A man who played sonatas over fresh graves.
Our car headed off, and the city—sweet, glittering Paris—rolled out before us like a woman in a slitted dress, beautiful and waiting to be fucked or destroyed.
Outside, a woman in a fur coat leaned against a stone pillar, red lips wrapped around a cigarette, eyes tracking the car like she knew who we were. Knowing the Butcher, she probably was one of his spies, strategically placed, and was actually watching us.
With his eyes still closed, Hiro spoke. “Why are we in Paris, Kenji? How will the French help us take down our father?”
I smiled. “When we return to Tokyo, we are going to blow up all of our artillery buildings in Tokyo.”
Hiro snapped his eyes open. “We’re going to blow up our own buildings?”
“Yes. All of them holding weapons. Simultaneously. In a few days. At midnight.”
Hiro turned his gaze to Reo as if thinking I was too crazy to talk to. “Is he fucking serious?”
Reo nodded. “All the explosions will look like a rival syndicate is trying to fight with us. Your father will think it’s an outside force since our weapons are being destroyed too.”
Hiro’s jaw flexed. “Are we going to at least sneak some of our guns, bombs, and bullets out before we do this?”
“No. Our stuff will be destroyed too.”
Hiro rubbed his eyes. “This is insane, even for you, Kenji. You’re destroying our own arsenal?”
“To disarm him and make our father think we are weak when we are very much strong,” I smiled. “The Fox can’t protect himself without weapons. He’ll never see it coming because those weapons are just as much mine.”
Reo added, “so he won’t suspect us.”
“He won’t and once the Fox and his loyal men are disarmed, we move in with French weapons, ones that we will hide upon our return to Tokyo. We will strike fast, quiet, and fucking lethal.”
Hiro didn’t look exhausted anymore. Instead, he appeared like he’d just got a large cup of espresso, “then, we’re here to get weapons from the French?”
“A plane load of them at least but hopefully three plane loads.”
Hiro blinked. “And what will the French want in return for all those weapons?”
I gazed out of the window. “We will see.”
Chapter thirteen
The Butcher’s Opening Act
Kenji
Every time we came to Paris, the Butcher slit the city’s throat for me. What a glorious throat it was—velvet-wrapped, gold-veined, still humming old arias of empire and blood.
Tonight, we met at the Palais Garnier.
Even from the street, it looked like a scene out of an artist’s poetic hallucination—glistening columns, glowing marble staircase.
Statues of muses and monsters watched from above as our convoy arrived.
We left the vehicle and headed forward.
The grand doors parted.
We entered.
Me. Reo. Hiro.
The Fangs and Claws followed.
Our shoes struck the marble with a rhythm that didn’t belong to this century.
Above us, chandeliers burned—Baccarat crystal trembling with light and the memory of monarchs.
A string quartet played in the Grand Foyer—Debussy, perhaps. Or Saint-Saëns. Beautiful, but haunted.
Music floating through gold.
The air shimmered with decadence and wasn’t just perfumed. It clung—floral and warm—brushing the back of my neck.
I adjusted my dragon cufflinks, and the pearls glinted inside their golden jaws.
In the lobby, men in tuxedos and women in gowns moved through the space. As we continued forward, they parted for us and their laughter dimmed and their conversations paused.
In this house of kings, the civilians sensed the predators had arrived.
We moved deeper into the main lobby, taking position near the grand central column.
I turned to Reo. "What will be playing tonight?"
"Phantom of the Opera. A special anniversary performance.” Reo adjusted his tie, and the silk slipped along his fingers. “They only stage it like this once every ten years. There will be a full orchestra.”
Hiro yawned. “Are we expected to watch it?”
“It’s the Butcher.” I gave him a sad smile. “Of course he would want us to remain for the full performance.”
Hiro let out an exasperated sigh.
“I am actually pretty excited to see it.” Reo glanced up at the chandelier. "This entire building inspired the novel’s author. Gaston Leroux. There’s an underground lake.”
Hiro’s head tilted slightly. “There’s a lake in the opera house?”
"Exactly. It’s real. The underground lake is located directly beneath the Palais Garnier itself, specifically under the building’s stage area.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How did that happen?”
“During construction, they couldn’t get rid of the water underground, so they built around it and later. . .that lake inspired Leroux to write about the Phantom’s lair." Reo pointed to the chandelier. “And then there’s the other stuff that inspired him.”