Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
A massive dragon sculpture curled around the back wall.
Steam rose from its nostrils and drifted into the air.
“You are welcome to use this room anytime.” Sako slightly bowed. “It’s cleaned daily.”
I nodded, but my gaze lingered on the dragon.
It looked too lifelike.
Like it might blink.
The next room was a private sauna, tucked behind a hidden door beside the pool. It was all golden wood slats and warm stone benches. Low flute music played from somewhere in the walls.
Sako gestured to it. “The Dragon prefers to sweat alone here after tense meetings.”
“Okay. Noted.”
From there, we passed a lounge with sleek black seating and a wall-length screen.
“This is one of two theaters. This one is for casual viewing. The Dragon’s Roar likes to spend a lot of time here.”
“Really?”
Sako nodded.
“What does Reo like to watch? Action movies? Comedy?”
“Reo enjoys classic black-and-white noir films.”
“Aww.”
“American, mostly. Gritty detective stories. Femme fatales.”
“That’s surprising.”
“The Dragon occasionally joins him.”
My curiosity perked. “Do you know which ones are Reo’s favorites?”
“Yes. That is my job.” Pride covered Sako’s face. “The Third Man. Double Indemnity. Out of the Past. Sunset Boulevard. He also has a peculiar fondness for Gilda.”
“With Rita Hayworth?”
Sako inclined his head. “He has watched it sixteen times.”
“Very cool.”
So. . .the Dragon’s Roar wasn’t just all growl, order, and guns.
There was something softer underneath. Something literary. Melancholic, even. Maybe that’s why Kenji trusted him because Reo understood shadows in more than just a tactical sense. He studied them. Sat with them. Watched them flicker across the screen and listened for what wasn’t said.
I could suddenly picture Reo in one of those chairs, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, a drink sweating on the table beside him, watching Gilda like it held a secret he hadn’t solved yet.
Sako spoke, “The entire collection is loaded into the system right now, should you wish to watch something tonight, the interface is voice-activated. Simply say ‘noir’ and the lounge will adjust lighting, screen, and sound for optimal effect.”
“So cool.” I looked around the sleek space, suddenly able to imagine myself curled up on one of the love seats, sipping something warm and watching shadowy men in trench coats betray each other while Rita Hayworth looked amazing.
I smiled. “I might actually do that one night.”
“The other theater is underground, massive, and. . .more formal. It has not been used yet, but I believe with everyone here. . .the Dragon will hold movie nights for his men and their families.”
Warmth hit me square in the chest.
It wasn’t just control Kenji offered his people. It was care. Plus, he didn’t just protect them, he made space for them to breathe. To have joy. To sit beside the people they loved and feel safe, even if only for two hours under flickering light and surround sound.
Sako guided us through another set of polished sliding doors, and we entered Living Room One. That’s how he said it. Like it was capitalized. Living Room One.
It was huge. Sunken leather sofas arranged around a black fireplace that didn’t use wood, but some kind of glowing stone. The walls were floor-to-ceiling glass on two sides, revealing the sea and cliffs beyond. Every surface gleamed. Even the throw pillows looked expensive.
“And this,” Sako led me to the next space, “is Living Room Two.”
This one was moodier. Dark velvets, massive shelves stacked with rare books, low lighting and brass fixtures that made the whole place feel more like a cigar lounge for the gods. A fireplace here too—smaller and behind a carved iron screen shaped into cherry blossoms.
“Which one does Kenji use more?” I asked.
“Living Room Two.”
We continued on, and I felt like I was walking through a movie I hadn’t auditioned for. The mansion just kept going—hallways turning into wings, wings leading into other realms entirely.
We passed under an enormous archway and into the grand dining room.
I stopped.
The table stretched nearly the full length of the room, gleaming dark wood that could probably seat forty people.
A single bowl of perfect persimmons sat at the center like an offering.
Above it, a chandelier dripped with red crystals.
“This is where the Dragon dines. You will too. Of course.” He turned again, and I followed him down a hallway with walls the color of moonlight, until we reached a tall door etched with silver kanji.
“The Dragon’s office,” Sako said simply.
I peeked in through the slightly open door and caught a glimpse of black marble, thick books, and a massive desk.
Then he motioned for me to follow again, and I assumed we were going to yet another endless room for some equally ominous purpose—but when he opened the next door, my breath caught.
“This is your writing room.”
I blinked. “Mine?”
“Yes.”
The room was warm, sunlit through high windows, and there was a thick rug beneath a wide writing desk made of raw, pale wood. A new laptop was on top with a stack of empty notebooks and a large bowl of pens.