The Commissioner Who Watched Her at the Tokyo Hotel

Kenji Arata drank his tea with a calm that was pure façade. He kept his back straight, his shoulders relaxed, the cup suspended halfway up like any man passing the time after his shift. No one would have guessed that every one of his senses was fixed on the slight figure crossing the lobby of the Grand Hotel Meridian, unaware she was being watched.

He knew exactly who she was. Renata Conti, matriarch of one of Naples’ most feared families, in Tokyo to seal an alliance with the Tanakas, the men who ruled Shinjuku’s underworld. It was not common for an organization like that to be led by three men of the same rank, nor for those men to openly present themselves as a couple. But the Conti family respected no custom, except the one of silence.

Kenji knew it all because, at thirty-seven, he was the youngest commissioner the organized crime squad had ever had. Knowing every last gesture of people like her was his profession. That was why he was there, in one of the tea rooms open to the public, eyes pinned to each of her movements.

So why couldn’t he look at her like a target?

He could hardly believe that woman was nearing fifty. Nothing about her gave it away, except perhaps the shine in her eyes. Honey-colored pupils, with veins of molten gold around the iris, that seemed to have seen a very deep darkness, to have survived nightmares that are never told. And yet her whole body gave off a magnetism he could not name.

What is it about this woman, almost fifteen years older than me, that clouds my judgment?

He was there to watch her discreetly, not to devour her with his eyes. He had spent years perfecting a hieratic expression that hid his thoughts from anyone. And yet that afternoon he felt something slipping through the cracks.

He saw her go into one of the lobby boutiques. From his table he could no longer see her. He could wait for her to come out or he could approach. He knew which of the two options was prudent. He chose the other. He left a few bills on the table and walked toward the shop at an unhurried pace, as if he had every right in the world.

Renata came out shortly after with empty hands, just like the previous times. She had arranged to meet her daughter there, but Bianca was taking too long, and she had gone in and out of the boutiques simply to distract herself. She felt a strange chill at the nape of her neck, a sensation of being measured that she could not place. She was looking at the greenery decorating the immense lobby when, suddenly, he was in front of her.

An Oriental man, tall, with discreet musculature under a dark suit of impeccable cut. His height unsettled her; it did not match what she would have expected. There was something feline in his stillness.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said in correct English, unbuttoning his jacket just enough to show the badge clipped to his belt. “May I see your identification, please?”

“Why?” she replied in the same language, confused. She wasn’t carrying her passport; she hadn’t intended to leave the hotel.

“I’ve seen you go in and out of several establishments without buying anything.”

“I’m waiting for my daughter. I’m staying here.” The man’s eyes were cold, calculating, and yet there was something in them that disarmed her. “I’m not carrying my passport with me, but if you come with me to reception they can tell you who I am.”

“Tell me your name. I’ll check it myself.”

“Of course.” She straightened, trying to add height to her scant five-foot-three, lending confidence to every word. “I’m Renata Conti.”

“Are you in Tokyo on business, Mrs. Conti?”

“No. My children and I came sightseeing.” It made no sense to say otherwise; her family’s affairs never left a written trace.

“What’s going on here?” Bianca was approaching with quick steps. What was her mother doing talking to that stranger?

“Excuse me, are you…?” she asked, arching an eyebrow, pretending not to recognize the badge he was already showing her.

“Your daughter, Bianca Conti,” the young woman said, rummaging in her bag and pulling out her passport.

“My apologies, ladies.” Kenji pretended to check the document and bowed with studied courtesy. “I had found suspicious the way your mother was going around the boutiques without buying anything. I hope you enjoy your stay in Tokyo.”

“Is the hotel under special police protection? I don’t think it’s common to see officers in a place like this,” Renata replied.

“You’re right.” That woman seemed like an innocent nymph, but he had no doubt she knew more than she let on. “I was just enjoying a moment of rest after my shift. I won’t disturb you any longer.”

He turned to leave, but Bianca’s voice stopped him.

“Could you tell us your name?” Her smile, falsely sweet, hid determination. “You already know ours.”

“Of course. I’m Hiro Sano. Who knows, maybe we’ll see each other again while you’re here.”

“Yes,” he muttered to himself as he walked away. “Not if I can help it.” Although, deep down, he wasn’t sure he would be able to resist looking for her again.

Mother and daughter watched him disappear behind one of the large planters, toward the exit.

***

“He knows,” Renata said softly.

“Of course. We had already counted on that possibility,” Bianca replied without flinching.

“And what will we do?”

Renata had never been like her daughter. She had always stayed on the sidelines of business; Enzo, her husband, had never trusted her with anything from that world.

“Nothing. Keep to the plan. It’s just that…”

“Just what?”

“You know it, Mom. Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. They’ll watch us, and we’ll watch them.”

“What do you mean?”

“That man seemed interested in you. Maybe you should try running into him again.”

“What are you talking about?” She shivered just at the thought. “He’s almost a child.”

“Do you think so? It doesn’t matter. The important thing is to keep him distracted.”

Renata looked away. She knew her daughter was right, and that was what scared her most.

“When do the boys meet with Mr. Tanaka?” she asked to change the subject.

“They’re already with their partners in one of the rooms. We’ll dine at his house tonight. The women will be separated from the men; it’s their custom that we don’t take part in business. We’ll have to adapt if we don’t want to offend them. Best we have a drink and rest before that.”

***

Renata tossed restlessly on the bed. Her body was covered in sweat, her brow furrowed, a grimace of pain fixed on her face. She was dreaming. Rather, she was falling into the same nightmare again and again.

She saw herself at Ofelia’s funeral, fourteen years ago. She saw Severo Bruni standing by the coffin, his hands resting on the shoulders of his two sons, looking at her with cold hatred and a threat gleaming in his eyes. His words had come to her calm, measured, almost courteous: “I’m expecting the two of you at my house tonight.” She didn’t understand why such a simple phrase sounded like a sentence. She only remembered how her husband Enzo’s face had gone pale and he had lowered his gaze to the floor.

The dream jumped forward in time. They were in Severo’s office, and he was locking the door behind them.

“Get naked. Now.” Enzo started doing it at once, without a word. Renata didn’t understand anything and wanted to protest. A slap split her lip and made her stagger. “I said get naked. Didn’t you hear me?” She looked at him, bewildered, and Severo understood she knew nothing of what had happened, that she thought they had simply been attacked, which was why Ofelia was dead and Enzo wounded.

“You don’t know, do you? Your husband is a traitor. He sold us out. He’s the reason I lost my wife, the only thing I had left of my humanity, the only thing I loved. And he’s going to pay me back for it. You and yours are going to pay. From now on, you’ll be mine.”

Severo finished speaking and Renata began to tremble. “I said get naked, or I’ll tear the clothes off you myself.”

Her hands shook so badly she could barely obey. She pulled the black mourning dress over her head and was left in her underwear, huddled in on herself, trying to cover herself with her arms. “Everything. I said everything.” With clumsy fingers she unfastened her bra, and her breasts, still firm, fell into the sight of the two men. She pulled her panties down to her ankles and kicked them away, trembling, her gaze fixed on the floor. Severo made a slow circuit around her, inspecting her as one appraises an animal at market.

“Look at her, Enzo. Look at what I’m going to do to your wife for what you’ve done. Look at her carefully, because from tonight on this cunt is mine. These tits are mine. This ass is mine. Every inch of this whore is mine, and you’re going to watch every time I fucking feel like it.”

Enzo, already naked, kept his eyes fixed on an indefinite point in the carpet. Severo came up behind Renata and grabbed one breast with his open hand, squeezing hard, twisting her nipple between thumb and forefinger until he tore a cry of pain from her. The other hand slid down her belly and slipped between her clenched thighs. “Spread your legs, whore.” She didn’t react, and he delivered a sharp slap to the inside of her thigh. “I said spread them.” Renata parted her feet a few inches. Severo’s fingers forced their way between her dry lips, searching for her cunt, probing inside her with the slightest consideration. “You’re not even wet. It doesn’t matter. You’re going to learn to get wet when I touch you, or you’re going to learn to take it dry. I don’t care.”

He shoved her from behind to the office desk. Enzo, obeying an order that did not need to be spoken, went around the furniture and pinned Renata’s wrists to the wood, stretching her arms over her head, not looking at her face, head bowed, staring at the floor so he wouldn’t see her, hiding his shame. She felt the polished cold of the desk against her nipples, against her belly, and understood that it was really going to happen, that there was no way out.

Severo, fully dressed behind her, watched her humiliation, her terror, her helplessness. He lowered his zipper with calculated slowness. Renata heard the click of the belt, the rustle of fabric, and then felt the hot, hard weight of that man’s cock against her ass. Severo rubbed it over her cunt, over her slit, passed it again and again over her pussy, wetting the glans with the little fluid he was beginning to wrench from her by force, while with his other hand he squeezed her hip until his fingers dug into the flesh.

“I’m going to fuck you until you scream. And then I’m going to keep fucking you. And tomorrow you’ll come back and I’ll fuck you again. And the day after. And every night I fucking feel like it.”

He forced her with methodical cruelty, without haste, without the slightest hint of pity. He entered her in one brutal thrust, all the way to the hilt, burying his dick in a cunt that wasn’t ready to take it. She screamed, a shrill scream that bounced off the book-lined walls. Enzo shut his eyes and didn’t let go; he squeezed her wrists until it hurt, as if holding on to her were the only thing keeping him from collapsing. Severo began to move, withdrawing almost completely before driving into her to the root again and again, at a slow, calculated rhythm, meant to make her feel every inch.

“Feel that, traitor? —he panted behind Enzo—. Feel how your wife moves every time I put it in her? This is yours, right? Well not anymore. Look at her. Look at her good, motherfucker.”

Enzo obeyed. He lifted his gaze and for the first time his eyes met Renata’s. She saw in his a void that would never leave him, and something broke inside her forever. Severo grabbed her by the hair, pulled back, and arched her neck, fucking her harder, making his hips slam against her buttocks with a wet, obscene sound that filled the office.

“Say I own you. Say it, whore.” She clenched her teeth and said nothing. Severo twisted her hair until her scalp burned, and without leaving her he thrust a finger into her ass. Renata howled. “Say it, or tonight I’ll put it in there too, and I promise you you won’t be able to sit for a week.” “You own me,” she whispered, mouth open against the desk, tears mixing with spit. “Louder.” “You own me.” “Again.” “You own me, you own me, you own me…”

Severo gave a short laugh and quickened the pace. He rammed into her with almost mechanical brutality, gripping her hips, pressing his fingers into her skin, driving into her until she stopped screaming and only made a low, continuous moan, the sound of a broken animal. When he finally came, he did it inside her, growling against her ear, emptying a thick, hot discharge into her cunt that she felt running down her thighs when he pulled out. “There you have it, Enzo. There you have what was left of your wife.”

When it was all over, Renata had lost consciousness.

When she came to, Enzo was already dressed and Severo, seated at his desk, was savoring a whisky with a cigar between his fingers. She was still naked, lying on her side on the carpet, with that man’s semen drying between her legs. “Good, you’re awake. Get dressed and leave. But remember: tomorrow I want you here at the same time. It will be better for everyone if my men don’t have to come looking for you.”

She woke with a start, trembling, not knowing where she was. It took her a few seconds to recognize the hotel room, the pale ceiling, the distant murmur of the city. And then she remembered everything.

The nightmare her life had become. Reduced for years to little more than Severo’s slave, forced to go to him every night, enduring him abusing her body again and again, shoving his cock into her wherever he wanted and whenever he wanted, using her like a flesh toy to which he owed not a grain of mercy. Sometimes he handed her over like an object, a gift for some associate, a reward for his most loyal men; there were nights when two, three, four men took turns with her in that same office, while Severo watched from his armchair smoking a cigar, giving instructions on how they were to fuck her, how they were to force her to suck them, where they were to cum. Enzo witnessed it all in silence, unable to protect her, sunk in his own guilt.

From that first night in the office, something had died inside her. She had never touched her husband again. She couldn’t. She despised him with a depth that could not be put into words, and only kept up appearances for her children, though she suspected one of them had sensed the truth from the beginning.

The abuse had continued until her children formed their own alliances and the family was reorganized. By then Severo was too old to do it himself, but he kept handing her over to his close associates while he watched from his chair, like a man contemplating a possession.

It had been almost four years since that horror ended. A little over three since her life had begun, slowly, to come back together, thanks to the marriage between her daughter Bianca and the heir of the allied family, which sealed the final union of the two houses. Severo had died. His name was scarcely spoken anymore.

But there was something she had not managed to recover. She still trembled at the mere idea of a man touching her.

And only a few hours earlier her daughter had asked her to flirt with that boy, with Kenji. To get close to him, to distract him, to use against the commissioner the only weapon Renata had left: her body. The same weapon with which they had so many times wounded her.

She drew a long breath. She got out of bed on trembling legs and walked to the bathroom. She had to start getting ready for dinner. She looked at herself in the mirror and, for an instant, thought she saw in her own honey-colored eyes the reflection of the young commissioner’s, looking at her as no one had looked at her in years: not with pity, not with contempt, but with a desire that scared her as much as it attracted her.

He’s only a child, she repeated to herself. But she didn’t even believe it herself.