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)
Not even because of our unbreakable loyalty.
But because in a world built on performance, Hiro was the one man who always knew where the exits were and who to shoot first.
Hiro frowned. “Female assassins, but no Butcher. What is this?”
“He is making us wait.” Reo’s tone was casual but eyes sharp. “He must’ve heard about the Lion’s visit to Tokyo.”
I didn’t respond.
Reo continued, “He’s probably expecting us to do something bold. Unhinged. Perhaps, he thinks we came here to hurt him.”
“We may.” Hiro scanned the space and signaled the Claws again.
A single shift of his wrist, two fingers tapped the pulse point once, then slid across his chest—kill-switch ready, masks off.
The Claws responded immediately.
Kaede was the first to move. He neared the woman in the gold dress by the second column. His real eye never left her hand; his glass one reflected the chandelier.
When he spoke to her, I was sure it was polite.
Shocked, she tilted her head, but her stance stiffened—not from interest.
From awareness.
She could surely feel that Kaede didn’t come for conversation. He came to measure the exact length of her breath before he cut it short.
I checked the second leader.
Just like that, Daisuke appeared behind the woman in the off-shoulder black gown.
She blinked.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
His mohawk caught the light as his shoulder brushed hers, making her blink again.
And what does the third leader think of my Claws?
Toma, grinning like he’d already killed twice tonight, sauntered up to the red-gloved woman.
She flinched yet recovered quickly.
It was a clear message to the women.
We see you. We know what you are. Come any closer, and we’ll see who bleeds first.
And then I began to see the other female assassins. So nervous, they were circling, and they weren’t subtle at all.
Hiro signaled one more time.
The twins, Aki and Yuki, got in front of me.
I checked my Fangs. They shifted toward the grand entrance. Their purpose was clear—if this stage became a killing floor, someone had to carve the exit open.
And if the Butcher didn’t appear soon. . .the curtain would fall on someone.
I tilted my head slightly, just enough to glance at Hiro. “I believe the Butcher will send someone to us soon now. Whatever test this was. . .we passed.”
And just like that, a Corsican man appeared from the shadows near the grand staircase—thick shoulders, brutal jaws, eyes sharp beneath the soft golden light.
His tailored suit was simple but vicious in cut. No tie. No smile. Just a pocket square the color of dried blood and a presence that made the nearby crowd hush in instinct.
Finally, the meeting begins.
The twins remained in front of me.
The man bowed.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Sato, I can take you to Jean-Pierre. But first. . .” He lifted one hand, and two figures stepped forward as if from a stage cue—servers dressed in midnight black.
One carried a tray of crystal flutes shimmering with chilled champagne.
The other followed with a tray shaped like a mother-of-pearl shell, resting on crushed ice. Four silver tins of caviar lay inside, each embossed with oceanic sigils: a kraken, a nautilus, a shark, and a siren.
All around us, guests glanced over.
A hush spread.
Then, whispers followed.
I plucked one flute from the black tray and tasted it. The bubbles sang. The scent rose, full of citrus and white blossoms.
Reo and Hiro didn’t get glasses.
Hiro looked pissed—his eyes narrowing like he’d just been denied the pleasure of violence in a place begging for it.
Reo, on the other hand, declined with a small shake of his head. He liked to stay sober during meetings like this.
The other server stepped forward. “Caviar?”
“No, thank you.” I shook my head and returned the drink to the tray.
The Corsican man watched without blinking. “Jean-Pierre is waiting.”
I offered him the barest nod.
He walked off and began to ascend the Grand Staircase.
We followed yet gave him space.
Reo got closer to me. “The Butcher greets us with female assassins and has us play the waiting game. We may not get the outcome we want tonight.”
“Let the Butcher play his strings. I am the one that will conduct the ending.”
Hiro got on my side. “Meaning?”
"If Jean-Pierre doesn’t hand me what I came for, we will burn this historic palace down around him."
Chapter fourteen
The East and the West
Kenji
The Corsican man led us away.
The doors to the main auditorium of the Palais Garnier opened.
We stepped inside.
It was like entering the ribcage of a god. Gold leaf coated every inch of the balconies, each carved with cherubs, serpents, and sirens in various stages of ecstasy. Crimson velvet draped the plush seats.
For now, there was no one inside but us and the orchestra tuning their instruments in the pit below.
Many said Paris was a city that belonged to no one, because the French didn’t close their historical sites for politicians, presidents, or popes—but. . .apparently, they did for the Butcher.