THE MAFIA'S PRICE
The other men followed in two discreet SUVs.
The drive to Yokohama port was smooth, silent except for the low classical music drifting from hidden speakers and the occasional murmur between Haruto and Sakura in Japanese. I pressed my forehead to the tinted window, watching Tokyo give way to industrial sprawl, cranes like steel giraffes, massive cargo ships sliding past, the salt tang of the sea seeping through the vents.
Dante’s hand found my knee, squeezing once. Reassuring.
We arrived at a private terminal cordoned off from the main docks. Security was everywhere, Suzuki men in dark suits, Dante’s in tactical black, all moving with the same coiled alertness. A sleek white container ship wa