Chapter 53

Chapter 53
Dante

The glass walls of my study reflected a version of me I didn’t particularly like staring at.

Seated in front of my desk going out of control..
The reports in front of me had stopped making sense in the usual way. Not because they were incomplete—but because they were beginning to form a pattern I didn’t like.

Routes disrupted. Shipments delayed. Investments pulling back in coordinated silence. 

And then there was Miyako.

I had already told my right-hand man to dig up everything he could find on Miyako Saitō.

And yet, staring at the file on my desk, I still couldn’t make sense of her.

It was only a single page. Barely anything useful.
Miyako Saitō.

Twenty-nine years old. One of the youngest and the only female Japanese quarter Don ever to sit at that table.

According to the file, she was intelligent.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly as my eyes scanned the page again.

It still didn’t feel right.

The Japanese quarter rarely bothered attending these gatherings in person. They sent representatives.

But her?

She came herself.

That alone had shifted the entire room the moment she walked in.

My jaw tightened slightly at the memory.

I flipped the page again, even though I already knew there was nothing else there.

Fashion brand owner.

Luxury label spread across Asia.

Clean, polished public image.

On paper, she was just a designer.

But I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. No one in our world was ever just what they appeared to be.

Everything was a cover.

Fashion. Business. Politics. Even charity.

All of it could be used to hide something far uglier underneath. But what unsettled me most was how clean her file was.

There wasn’t a single loose thread I could pull on. It was as if she had carefully allowed only what she wanted to be seen and buried everything else so deep it didn’t exist

I narrowed my eyes.

Smart.

A knock came at the door.

I didn’t look up to know who it was. “Come in.”

My right-hand Michelle stepped inside.

“Boss."

“Talk,” I said flatly.

He walked forward and placed something on my desk.
A card.

I finally looked up. It was an invitation. I picked it up slowly between my fingers.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It’s for Miyako Saitō’s launch,” he replied.

My gaze lifted slightly. “Launch?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “She’s introducing a new fashion
line in the city. High-end. Invite-only.”

I stared at the card longer this time.

“Invite-only. Interesting.”

“Only a select few were contacted directly,” he added.

“And we got one,” I said quietly.

“Yes. We intercepted and verified it. It’s legitimate.”
Silence settled between us.

I tapped the card lightly against my desk, thinking.
So she arrives in the city, attends the private meeting and immediately schedules an exclusive launch no one can easily access.

I leaned back again, my gaze drifting toward the ceiling for a moment.

Then I smiled faintly.

“Keep tracking her, report anything you find.” I said.

“Yes, Boss.”

He turned to leave.

Then I added. “I want everything she didn’t write on that paper.”

The door closed behind him.

I sat in silence for a moment, turning the invitation slowly in my hand.

Then I let out a quiet breath.

“Who exactly are you, Mikayo?”

•~~•

By the time I arrived at the launch event three nights later, the entire place already screamed money.
The entrance alone was lined with black luxury vehicles stretching down the street while cameras flashed endlessly outside the building.

Fashion people.
Business people.
Politicians.
And beneath all of that?
Predators hiding in expensive suits.

I adjusted the cuffs of my black suit before stepping out of the car.

Immediately, security straightened.

“Don Russo.”

I gave a small nod before walking inside.

The interior was somehow even more ridiculous than I expected.

Soft orchestra music floated through the massive hall while warm golden lights reflected against polished marble floors. Giant digital screens displayed Miyako’s logo elegantly across the walls.

And everywhere I looked, there were traces of Japanese influence woven carefully into modern luxury.

A waiter passed by offering champagne and I took one without slowing down.

“Dante Russo attending a fashion event?” Lorenzo’s voice drawled from behind me. “Should I be worried?”

I glanced sideways to find him approaching with amusement written all over his face.

“You’re here too,” I replied dryly.

“Of course I’m here.” He smirked. “Half the city’s elite got invited. Miyako practically turned this into a political event disguised as fashion.”

That sounded exactly like something she would do.
My eyes scanned the room slowly.

“So where’s the mysterious queen herself?” Lorenzo asked casually.

Almost immediately, the lights dimmed slightly.
Miyako stepped down the staircase above the hall dressed in an elegant black silk gown with silver detailing running across one side like painted brush strokes.

The room’s attention shifted to her instantly.

Miyako’s gaze moved briefly across the room.

And for one second, her eyes met mine.

A faint smile touched her lips before she continued walking like nothing happened.

The show eventually began shortly after.

Models walked the runway in structured pieces blending traditional Japanese silhouettes with western styling. 

But halfway through the show, something changed. Then another model stepped onto the runway.

And my entire body went still.

What the hell was she doing here?