Page 72 of The Dragon 2

“I think it’s important.”

Hiro yawned. “Then, I trust you, brother.”

I’d always had a deep mistrust of the West. Japanese history had taught me that. What Western bosses calleddeals… we called dishonor. What they calledbusiness, we called betrayal. From their politicians to their gangsters, they shook hands while holding knives behind their backs, mistook decadence for dominance, and wore our culture like it was a costume.

But the French?

They were different, if only slightly. More refined. More ceremonial in their executions. More thoughtful in how they packaged their evil.

But even with all of that, I didn’t fully trust the French.

Especially not Jean-Pierre “The Butcher” Laurent. He had once been a child prodigy—an award-winning violinist. By twelve, the world called him a musical genius. By twenty-one, he was the concertmaster of the Paris Symphony.

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, andwasactually 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.”