Page 193 of Ghost Ribbon

Dimitri snorted under his breath beside me.

From the side of the room, Ilya’s voice cut in, cheerful and vicious. “Shut your ass, old bag. Nobody asked for the lecture.”

The man’s face flushed an ugly red. He opened his mouth to argue, finger already rising, but the double doors at the far end of the room opened before he could speak.

The Kazuma heir had arrived for the talks.

And color me fucking surprised.

Why the hell was Kento Kurosaki walking inside?

I watched Kento walk into the room like he owned the fucking air.

Black leather jacket, heavy boots, a bright red lollipop dangling from the corner of his mouth. Dimitri’s face mirrored the shock I felt. Ilya, though had gone pale.

It made sense that the Kazumas would finally send someone for face-to-face talks. They had never bothered before; messages, intermediaries, the occasional cold phone call. Sending their actual heir was a statement. But that heir being Kento Kurosaki made no goddamn sense. Kento had no documented ties to the Yakuza. Dimitri had dug through every corner of Rei and Kento’s lives. If the Kurosaki name had even brushed against the Kazuma organization, Dimitri would have known. He would have burned the information into the back of his skull.

Yet here the bastard was.

Kento dropped into the empty chair at the far end of the table like it had been waiting for him. He sucked slowly on the lollipop, looking bored out of his mind.

“Did I startle you?” he asked, directing a sweet, almost childish smile at Dimitri. “Let’s not waste time. I’ve been sent here for some talks. Yes?”

I glanced sideways. Dimitri’s jaw was locked. Ilya’s teeth were gritted so hard I could actually hear the faint grind of enamel. Whatever history lived between those two, it was toxic enough to poison the whole room.

The negotiations began properly after that.

One of the senior men cleared his throat and slid a thin folder across the polished wood.

“The East Coast shipping routes remain open under the current terms. We propose a minor adjustment to the percentage on the southern docks, three points higher in your favor.”

Kento twirled the lollipop stick between two fingers, eyes half-lidded.

“Acceptable. But I want exclusive priority on the new container line coming in from Osaka next quarter.”

A Petrova woman inclined her head.

“Granted. We will also maintain the current weapons pipeline through the private airfield.”

Kento gave a small, lazy nod. “Good. And the money-laundering arrangement through the casino chain stays exactly as written. I don’t like surprises in the books.”

Several men around the table murmured agreement. Papers were adjusted. Numbers were confirmed. Then Kento pulled the lollipop from his mouth with a pop and pointed the sticky end in my direction.

“I also heard about the massacre,” he said lightly, as if commenting on the weather. “One hundred and forty-seven in a single night. Very thorough. I liked your work. Do it again sometime, yes?”

The room went still.

I arched one eyebrow, caught off guard by the casual praise.

The other men scrambled to rearrange their faces. “Ah… y-yes,” the man who previously wanted me dead stammered. “He’s… really quite… talented. Efficient.”

“A unique approach,” another added quickly.

Kento smiled around the lollipop again, eyes gleaming with amusement, as if watching powerful men trip over themselves to agree with him was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

I leaned back in my chair, watching him carefully.

He was doing this on purpose.