Page 10 of The Dragon 1 (Tokyo Empire #1)

What was really inside the boxes?

Guns.

MDMA.

High-end designer pills cut with pharmaceutical exactness.

Unmarked vials that could drop an elephant in ten seconds.

Heroin so pure it sparkled.

Cocaine that moved through veins like liquid lightning.

Dozens of men patrolled the space with Uzis slung over their shoulders and pistols tucked within their waistbands.

We moved forward.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

Then we reached the back wing.

Hiro pushed open the reinforced door and entered what he loved to call the Candy Room .

Warmth hit me first.

Here, the scent of narcotics was overwhelming—earthy heroin, gasoline-laced cocaine, chemical dust from crushed pills.

A dull ache bloomed in the back of my throat as it settled into my lungs.

The room itself was massive, maybe seventy feet wide. The floors were black tile, sanitized nightly. Long metal tables stretched across the space in clean rows, each lit from above by a single spotlight.

And the thirty women seated at the long tables were all naked, their hair pulled back into tight ponytails or sleek buns, exposing every inch of their bodies to the fluorescent light.

Breasts of all shapes—small and pert, heavy and swaying, round, flat, veined—moved subtly with each measured task. Some wore surgical gloves. Others didn’t. The softness of their bodies stood in stark contrast to the hard-edged drugs in their hands.

Thin fingers broke down bricks of coke, carving white lines with practiced grace and pressing the powder into smaller packets, each one stamped with the Dragon’s logo in red foil.

Others weighed heroin into plastic capsules, their bare chests rising and falling with slow, methodical breaths as they counted out the grams.

Another group crushed pills and repackaged them into fake prescription bottles. The labels—Xanax. Oxy. Adderall—were indistinguishable from the real ones, printed to perfection. From the neck down, they looked like soft machines built for one thing: speed and precision.

Their nudity wasn’t sexual.

It was strategic.

No pockets.

No hiding places.

No temptation to tuck a gram beneath a lace bra or slide a capsule into a waistband.

I didn’t let any men patrol this room. All the guards were women—deadly, silent, and clean. They stood at the corners. Their eyes never stopped moving—scanning hands, gestures, breath patterns. Watching for twitches. Lies. Theft.

I’d learned early that the naked workers—many of whom had clawed their way out of hell—felt more at ease under the gaze of women.

They worked faster.

As we passed, a few of the women glanced up.

One nodded—just a small tilt of the chin.

Another gave Hiro a tiny smile. He didn’t return it but something shifted in his jaw. Softened for a fraction of a second before hardening again.

We moved past a table where three women were sealing coke packets with small red wax stamps. Each stamp bore the kanji for “fire.”

I leaned Reo’s way. “Did the French give us a clean batch?”

He nodded. “It was triple tested. 98% purity. We’ll push it into Sapporo by Monday.”

“Price?”

“Sixty thousand per kilo. Maybe less once the Vietnamese flip their route to us.”

I hummed low in my throat. “We’re saving a lot of money this way.”

Reo adjusted the cuffs of his suit. “Correct. The Lion charges seventy-five thousand. Eighty, if you count the security fee.”

I snorted. “That damn security fee. For what? A few Bratva boys in leather jackets and bad cologne?”

“He calls it ‘operational integrity’,” Reo smirked. “But it’s just extortion with a receipt.”

Continuing forward, I watched one of the women flick a bead of wax onto a finished packet then press the seal. “Now we’re saving twenty thousand per kilo and moving three times the product.”

Reo nodded. “That’s a lot of fucking money.”

“It’s smart to remain with the French.”

“It is, but it’s also dangerous, Kenji.”

I tilted my head his way.

He didn’t blink. “The Butcher may not charge a security fee now but if we become dependent on his route—”

“He’ll raise the price the moment he tastes our hunger.”

Reo nodded slowly. “He’s not running a favor. He’s watching the numbers. And once the French route becomes the only artery we’re using. . .he’ll clamp down the vein.”

“We’ll keep our options open.”

Reo raised a brow. “You think the Vietnamese will flip to us?”

“They’re smart. They fear the Lion but they fear stagnation more. And men like us—we don’t just offer money. We offer evolution.”

He grinned faintly, his eyes still scanning the operation. “You sound like your father when you talk like that.”

I didn’t respond.

Because I knew he was right.

And that scared the shit out of me.

We passed another table. This one with pills—long white lines of them in neat trays, waiting to be bottled. A woman with burn scars across her chest reached forward to twist a cap onto a container. Her fingers moved with steady grace.

I wondered who she’d killed to get here.

Because no one worked in the Candy Room unless they were vetted.

And no one stayed unless they had nothing left to lose.

Hiro’s voice sliced through the silence. “Who’s the girl over there?”

I followed his gaze.

Near the back wall, a new face sat quietly at a workstation lined with rows of compressed MDMA tablets. She moved like she didn’t want to be seen but her hands didn’t hesitate—sorting, weighing, sealing—fast and clean.

She had dark brown skin and her head was shaved close to the scalp, her movements remained smooth, controlled, and intentional.

“She’s sharp,” Reo said. “Fast. Never touches the product. Keeps her head down.”

“Background?” Hiro asked again, eyes still on her.

“Somali. Grew up in refugee camps, got trafficked through Libya, ended up in a black-market compound in Athens. Escaped six months ago. We found her hiding in a cargo container bound for Tokyo. She asked to work for us.”

As if she sensed we were watching her, she looked up and spotted Hiro. To my surprise, she didn’t flinch under Hiro’s gaze, when almost all women did.

Hiro studied her. “Interesting.”

Survivors recognize survivors.

We reached the steel door on the far end. Another guard—female, armed, and older—opened it without a word.

The space beyond was quieter, cleaner, and full of mathematicians and accountants clicking away on their devices.

This was a different kind of danger. It was the room where our product became numbers. Where power translated to decimals and percentages. This was where money got laundered, where crypto wallets were loaded, where our accounts across Switzerland and Singapore danced with blood.

We turned left and entered our final destination—my VIP space.

Classical music filled the area.

The floor was black lacquer, so polished, everything around it reflected within its surface.

The walls—also black—had no windows.

Above, a golden dragon coiled across the ceiling. Its body shimmered. Its mouth opened wide and showing off its fangs.

I scanned my VIP space, and then I saw him.

Kazimir Solonik—The Lion—sat at a long black table in the center of the room. He was a massive man. His bulk was unmistakable. Tons of muscles carved from violence and death. His skin had been kissed with frost. Women always raved about his looks, so I assumed he must have been attractive.

Being the cocky bastard that he was, he didn’t rise.

Didn’t nod.

He just watched as we entered.

In front of Kazimir, a woman lay spread out on the table, naked and golden-skinned.

Sushi decorated her body. Nigiri across her collarbone. Sashimi laid carefully along the curve of her thighs. A wasabi rose nestled between her breasts.

Kazimir used chopsticks to pick a piece of otoro from her navel.

Still watching us, he ate slowly.

I can already tell this meeting is going to be a bunch of bullshit.

I took in the rest of his people.

To his left, Yuri had a long beard. His eyes were cold and depthless. He was always a wall of stoicism. His hands were folded on the table, and I’d heard rumors that he’d used those very hands to crush skulls.

To Kazimir’s right was Sasha. Pale as ash. Blond hair cropped short, grey eyes so pale they appeared silver.

And behind Kazimir?

Thirty men.

All Bratva.

All armed.

Each one standing at attention like they were preparing for siege.

My jaw tensed.

Bringing that many soldiers to my private space was beyond disrespectful. It was a brazen challenge wrapped in the cloaked guise of civility.

Hiro grunted on my side, telling me he wanted to fight the Lion’s people just for the disrespect.

Ignoring Hiro’s thirst for violence, I looked around Kazimir, saw no package, and stifled a growl.

The Lion didn’t bring me a gift!

Everyone who came to me brought something. A bottle of blood-aged whisky. A scroll. An exquisite painting. A rare jewel with unique history.

It was always something that said: I understand whose empire I’m standing in.

But Kazimir never brought gifts.

Because unfortunately. . .the Lion thought he was the fucking gift.

So disrespectful. We really need to find a way to kill him.

I stepped toward the other side of the room, where a matching black table waited for me.

Beside it, Miyu stood draped in a violet silk robe with her hair pinned high and lips painted wine red.

As usual, she was gorgeous.

“Good evening, Kenji,” Miyu untied the sash slowly and let the fabric slip from her shoulders like a lover’s sigh. Her body was lean, flawless, perfumed. She got on the table and slowly crawled. Her movements were as fluid as a dancer’s. Once she got to the center, she laid down.

I looked at her.

Hmmm.

Miyu’s usual effect on me—the one that left a buzz at the base of my spine and heat curling low—was gone.

Nothing stirred this evening.

No hunger.

No glimmer of desire.

Just silence in the place where horny used to live.

Miyu glanced up at me with a seducing smile. She always reminded me of a crane because she was always so graceful and long-limbed with a fragility that made men want to possess her just to keep her from breaking.

But tonight?

I didn’t want something that trembled. I wanted something that fought back. And the only woman in my head was a tiger. Nyomi—fierce and sharp-eyed.

I still can’t believe she kneed me.

I grinned and gestured to Miyu. “Not tonight. You can leave.”

She hesitated.

I didn’t repeat myself.

Then, completely disappointed, she climbed off the table and pulled the robe back on.

When she strolled away, she brushed her fingers along my arm as she passed, trying to remind me of every night I used to need her.

But again. . .there wasn’t the usual effect.

The tiger already had a grip on me.

Meanwhile, Kazimir’s eyes followed her as she departed. “Is that not your type?”

“Not this evening.”

He put his view back on me. “Then, make sure she’s in my suite after this meeting.”

It was an order and not a respectful request.

Many men had died for less.

I lowered to my seat.

Reo and Hiro sat down next to me.

My Claws and Fangs went to the back of the room and stood guard.

“This woman being in my room,” Kazimir leaned his head to the side. “Will that be a problem?”

I placed my hands on the table. “I’m not sure you should sample a woman of her nature.”

“Why not?”

“She’s phenomenal in seduction, I use her to flip top politicians and judges.”

“You use a woman to bully politicians?” He dipped the otoro into wasabi. “Why not violence?”

“Pleasure can be much more lethal.”

The Lion laughed. “You’ve always been poetic, Dragon.”

His men snickered.

When the Lion finished laughing, he stared at the wasabi-coated otoro. “Have the woman in my room this evening.”

“She will be there.”

“Good. And. . .add two other women too.”

“You want three women in your room this evening?”

“Yes. It’s Thursday.” The Lion ate the otoro.

His men snickered again.

I stared into the Lion’s eyes and he stared into mine.

Neither of us blinked.

When he swallowed, his expression went neutral. “We should begin.”

“We should.”

He twisted the chopsticks in mid-air and looked at them. “Kenji, I am convinced that you do not pray enough.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And what tells you that I don’t pray enough, Kazimir?”

He put his view back on me. “Because I am sitting in front of you, my friend.”

Yes. This meeting will be a lot of bullshit.