Tokyo, Japan.

4th July 1935.

The bright yellow lights of the expensive nightclub blinded every guest whom had the riches or fame to enter. Waiters dressed in black and white suits handing out dazzling pink champagne to the well dressed guests, upperclass gentlemen with beautiful wives attached to their sides. The golden Nightclub was a hit every night, especially on holidays. And this night was no different. The gambling, the reunions, the money.

And where there’s money, there’s the Mafia.

Sitting in the corner, an air of luxury and a faux welcoming spirit sat a group of men. Mafia members. Their bodies dressed in clean suits and their head adorned with a signature hat that help identify one another. And in each and every one of them held a gun in their pockets, none of the guests was aware. Because that’s what the Mafia was. An organisation of criminals with minds that correspond with one another’s intellect.

Satoru was one of these criminals, though he did not kill for the sake of doing so. It was business after all. So, Satoru sat with a cigarette tucked between his lips watching as the lights were struck. And the stage became dark.

That was until a seductive leg arose from behind the sage curtains. A woman. A chanteuse.

Satoru’s sky-blue eyes narrowed for a second, watching the young woman, presumably around 4-2 years younger than him, sing gently on the stage. Unlike the other women who’s bodies were graced by the feathery material of a dress and a hat or feather headband, this woman stood out.

With a ground-length sparkly red dress and luscious hair that wasn’t held back with any accessories, her sense of fashion was raw. Bold. Beautiful even.

He was very…allured. With such an attractive women stealing the gaze of every man in the nightclub who wouldn’t be? He took a puff of his cigarette. He wasn’t one for romance, most Mafia members weren’t either. Just greasy old men ready to hurt an innocent lady. But Satoru…wasn’t that type of man.