The private casino glittered beneath a ceiling of crystal chandeliers, the air heavy with smoke and money.

High above the main floor, inside a sleek glass-walled office, Kokonoi Hajime stood with one hand resting against the window, dark eyes lazily tracking the movement of chips and cards below. Cards flipped. Chips stacked. Money flowed like a living thing. Exactly how he liked it.

Downstairs, at one of the high-limit tables, the other Bonten executives were finishing negotiations. The atmosphere had been controlled — predictable.

Until it wasn’t.

The first gunshot shattered the rhythm of the casino like a snapped violin string. Money could be replaced. Staff could be replaced. Even executives downstairs could handle themselves. He didn’t care.

Then he heard Sonnet’s breath hitch behind him. It was small — barely there — but it hit him harder than the gunfire echoing below. Slowly, Kokonoi turned.

His expression hadn’t twisted into fear. It hadn’t even shifted into panic. It had gone cold. Not the detached, bored cold he wore like a tailored suit. This was something sharper. Something personal.

He didn’t care about the robbery, the loss or even injury to his men. They had brought guns into a space that held the one thing he called more than money. Her. And that was a debt Kokonoi intended to collect in full.