Chapter 106: Black Dragon Society

Leo stared at Kenjiro's cold, menacing face on the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Vance, handle things here. Lock down the chamber of commerce and pull every file you can find."

Leo turned and headed for the door. "I'm going to see someone."

"Want me to send men with you?" General Vance asked.

"No."

Leo didn't look back.

Thirty minutes later.

Upper East Side, Manhattan. The Drake Mansion.

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows and spilled across the Persian rug. Leo pushed open the door and tossed his cold-air-chilled coat onto the sofa without a second thought.

"You're earlier than I expected, Reaper."

A low, silky laugh drifted through the room as Ivy slinked away from the liquor cabinet toward him.

She was wearing a paper-thin black leather slip dress, the material clinging so tightly to her curves it looked ready to split at any moment.

The hem barely covered her thighs. With every step, her long legs -- wrapped in sheer black silk stockings -- radiated a lethal kind of allure.

She held two glasses of whiskey on the rocks, her blue eyes burning with something restless, and walked straight up to Leo, holding one out to him.

"What happened? Did the Pentagon people get on your nerves?"

Ivy didn't sit on the sofa beside him. Instead, she let herself go soft and draped herself across his lap like a beautiful, dangerous thing.

Her slender arms looped around his neck, her red lips parting slightly. "Let me guess -- you need the Drake family's intelligence network to take care of something for you?"

Leo's dark eyes settled on her. His hand found her waist -- barely a handful -- and his fingertips traced slow circles along the smooth black silk of her thigh, drawing a helpless sigh from her lips.

"Sharp as ever." A slow, dangerous smile crossed Leo's face. "But first, I'll be collecting a little interest."

"My pleasure..."

Ivy's eyes went hazy as she leaned in and offered him her lips.

Leo's hand snapped to the back of her head, taking full control -- deliberate, unyielding, and completely irresistible -- and kissed her hard.

In the wide, quiet apartment, the soft clink of ice against glass was soon swallowed up by ragged, breathless sounds. The black leather slip dress hit the floor.

One hour later.

The bedroom carried the warm, drowsy scent of aftermath.

Ivy lay draped over Leo's broad chest like a satisfied Persian cat, her golden hair tumbling in soft, tangled waves across her bare skin.

Her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, a flush still lingering on her cheeks.

Leo leaned against the headboard, lit a cigar with one hand, took a slow drag on his cigar, and spoke. "Black Dragon Society. Kenjiro Miyamoto. What do you know about him?"

At the name, Ivy's fingers stilled. The languid look on her face sharpened.

"Kenjiro Miyamoto? He's not your average Japanese crime boss."

Ivy sat up and pulled the sheets to her chest, her expression turning serious. "Back when the Drake family was still operating, I dealt with him a few times. The Black Dragon Society's North American presence is really just a front. What they actually run is a cross-border intelligence brokerage."

She looked at Leo. "The money behind Kenjiro is deeply tied to the family behind the Nightfall organization. From what I know, the Black Dragon Society is essentially the Rothschilds' intelligence dog in Asia and North America -- tasked with collecting military and political intelligence across multiple countries."

"That explains it."

Leo let out a cold laugh, a flash of lethal intent moving through his eyes.

No wonder the Pentagon's classified intelligence had leaked so fast. The Rothschilds had caught wind of his next move and deployed their deepest assets to feel him out.

"Get dressed." Leo threw back the sheets and stepped out of bed. "Take me to him."

Ivy's eyes lit up. She loved this side of Leo -- the cold, decisive edge of a man who never hesitated. She rolled out of bed without a trace of self-consciousness, changed into a fitted tactical suit right in front of him, and smiled. "Getting to go stomp someone with you? Absolutely my honor."

---

Deep in Flushing, Queens.

A sprawling Japanese private estate sat hidden behind a grove of bamboo -- the Black Dragon Society's secret base of operations in New York.

Inside the estate's Japanese-style dojo.

Kenjiro sat cross-legged on the tatami in a black kimono, sipping premium sake.

He wore a thin mustache, and his eyes carried a cold, calculating darkness.

Along both sides of the dojo stood dozens of Black Dragon Society elites -- ronin with katanas at their hips, each one radiating a killing edge.

"Sir, word just came from Apex Pacific Group -- Leo may be looking into us." A subordinate knelt on the tatami, his voice edged with worry.

"Bastard!"

Kenjiro slammed his cup down, then broke into a contemptuous sneer. "And what if he is?"

He ran a hand along the blade of the katana resting on the rack beside him, his expression thick with arrogance. "Even if that fool manages to track us down, my blade will teach him that his street-brawling tricks were nothing but brute savagery -- worthless in the face of true Bushido!"

"If he dares to come, I'll take his head and ship it to Europe for the Rothschilds as a gift!"

---

Kenjiro's words hadn't even finished leaving his mouth when the heavy wooden doors at the front of the dojo -- along with the walls on either side -- exploded inward in a single devastating blast.

Splinters and chunks of brick sprayed through the air like shrapnel. Several ronin standing near the entrance were sent flying, crashing into the dojo floor in a spray of blood.

"Who's there?" Kenjiro shot to his feet, hand already on his sword.

Through the billowing dust and debris.

Leo walked in -- hands in the pockets of his black coat, cigar clenched between his teeth -- stepping over the rubble without urgency, like a Reaper who had just kicked a hole through hell's front door.

Ivy moved at his left, all black leather and lethal grace. Olivia walked on his right, face unreadable, casually turning a matte black tactical karambit between her fingers.

Outside the estate, the Shadow team had already swept the perimeter clean -- every guard, every sentry, without a sound.

"You -- you're Leo?" Kenjiro's pupils shrank.

He hadn't seen this coming. Not that Leo would find them. Not this fast. Not like this.

"Kenjiro."

Leo exhaled a slow breath of smoke, his eyes looking through the man the way you'd look at a body that hadn't dropped yet. "I heard you want my head."

One sweep of those eyes and Kenjiro felt something cold move through him -- but he glanced at the dozens of armed men surrounding the room and forced the fear back down, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Leo, you've got a death wish! You actually walked into a Black Dragon Society dojo alone!"

Kenjiro leveled his gleaming katana at Leo's throat. "In close quarters, where guns mean nothing, Bushido is unbeatable! Get him -- cut him to pieces!"

"Kill!"

Dozens of Black Dragon Society fighters surged forward with a battle cry, katanas raised, crashing toward Leo like a wave.

"Bushido?"

Leo let out a cold, dismissive laugh.

He didn't even signal Olivia. He walked straight into the wall of flashing blades alone and took one explosive step forward.

The hardwood floor split beneath his foot.

Leo moved at a speed the eye couldn't track. Three blades came slashing at him head-on. Instead of stepping back, he drove forward -- his left hand shot out like a strike -- and with nothing but bare flesh and bone, he grabbed the spine of one katana and held it dead still.

"What--" The man's face went white. His sword felt locked in an iron vice, completely immovable.

Leo's fingers crushed inward.

The forged steel katana snapped in half.

In the same motion, Leo flicked the broken blade backhanded through the air.

It tore through three men's throats like a scythe.

After that, no technique, no flourish. Just pure, bone-shattering force behind every single strike.

"Aahh--"

The sounds of cracking bone filled the dojo. Every one of the so-called Bushido elites crumpled in front of Leo like wet paper.

Graze him and you were dead or broken.

Under thirty seconds.

Every one of the Black Dragon Society fighters lay in the blood pooling across the floor -- limbs at wrong angles, no one left standing.

The dojo went dead silent.

Kenjiro's katana dropped from his hand. His legs gave out. Looking at Leo standing motionless in the middle of the carnage like some kind of war god, he felt warmth spreading down his leg -- and then he was on his knees, shaking.

"This... this can't be... my Bushido..." Kenjiro was completely broken, sweat beading on his forehead.

Leo walked through the blood toward him at a measured pace.

He kicked Kenjiro in the face -- no hesitation.

The man spun twice in the air before landing, spitting teeth and blood across the floor.

"Don't ever spout that garbage in front of me again."

Leo planted his foot on Kenjiro's chest and pressed down. The sound of ribs cracking made the air grow thicker.

Leo leaned down, his eyes as cold and still as deep water frozen for a thousand years.

"My itinerary was classified at the highest level in the Pentagon. Tell me -- who is your mole in Washington?"