The second wore a gray suit. He gave no greeting and simply bowed.
The third was younger. Maybe mid-twenties. Lots of street energy. She wore a cropped jacket with camouflage jeans. Her nails were painted a deep chrome and her hair was in two high pink puffs.
Chef Bunzo cleared his throat. “This is your decoration team approved by Hiro.”
I smirked. “Approved by Hiro?”
The street smart woman nodded. “Yes, Tora. Hiro woke us all up at five in the morning and told us to get ready.”
I frowned. “He has some nerve bothering people like that. I’m sorry.”
“Hiro woke us up too.” Chef Bunzo laughed. “However, I found it pretty exciting.”
Miles Davis’s trumpet rose again, smooth and confident.
I returned to them. "Okay, so I’m sure Hiro told you this is a party for the Claws.”
They bobbed their heads.
“We'll start with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in one space. Then we move to another room for a proper sit-down dinner."
The man nodded. "Where do you want the staff to set up?”
I thought about the war room and loved what Kenji had done— the miniature Tokyo, the candles, the way he'd transformed that violent space into a romantic venue.
But they were probably in that room right now.
Planning.
Strategizing.
Mapping out the next battle.
No. This party is about escaping death and the war.
I swallowed. "Let's use the ballroom. I want it transformed."
The woman in purple tilted her head. "What's the vision?"
“Hmmm.” I closed my eyes for a second and let the music guide my thoughts. The trumpet, bass, and piano painted pictures behind my eyelids.
I opened my eyes and smiled. "The Great GatsbymeetsIn the Mood for Love."
While the first was a proven classic of decadence, I'd watchedIn the Mood for Loveten times. It was a film from the early 2000s about two neighbors in 1960s Hong Kong discovering their spouses were having an affair with each other.
And instead of these two falling apart, they fell toward each other. They never even touch for most of the film.
The whole thing lives in what they don't say and don't do.
And every single frame—the wallpaper, the heroine’s dresses, the stairwells, the rain, the noodle shop at night—was just so heartbreakingly dreary and beautiful it hurts. Deep reds, emerald greens, warm shadows. The camera holding on them too afraid they would disappear.
Gatsbywas the spectacle—diamonds and champagne and everyone feeling larger than life.
In the Mood for Lovewas the quiet intimacy underneath.
I wanted both, for the Claws to walk into that ballroom and feel grand yet fully seen at the same time.
Ms. Street Smart grinned. “Oooo. Elegant and breathtaking.”
