We're nearly at the top of the hill when we finally go through two sets of massive iron gates, with grim-faced guards checking the car at both points. As we head up the winding drive, Michael squeezes my hand.
"The Matsumori castle is stunning," he says. "It was constructed nearly four hundred years ago. Remember, the greeting is Konbanwa, Oyabun Matsumori.' Rank is important. We are considered equal status, so a bow of your head is appropriate."
"Khon-bahn-wah," I murmur, trying to get the pronunciation down.
"In the yakuza culture, women are expected to be silent, unless addressed," he says. "My apologies in advance, dinnae feel slighted, aye?"
"Understood," I say. "Tradition is very important here and I want to make a good impression for you."
"I know ye will, my sweet lass." He kisses my hand with a smile.
We round the corner and there it is… the castle soars up to the night sky, multiple stories with the beautiful Chidori-hafu gables, curving up like bird's wings.
Unlike the searing light of the city, the castle is all soft.
Golden lights illuminate the walkways and shine warmly through the windows, and the effect is timeless.
It feels like we could be in any century…
aside from the very modern Bentley that is depositing us at the front door.
There are security men in dark suits, lining the perimeter of the house, moving silently through the trees and in a couple of higher vantage points, there are guard towers. More security, cradling rifles in their arms.
I can feel it again, that sense of the ice cracking under my feet and childishly, I hold my breath.
It will be fine. Nothing will go wrong here.
Michael's hand is firm on my lower back, but I think he senses it too as we climb the long flight of stairs to the entryway. His handsome face freezes into a forbidding expression as a uniformed servant opens the door.
"Welcome, my friends!" A man in his mid-forties is there, spreading his arms wide, inclining his head respectfully. The son, I'm thinking. "Welcome to our home." He's wrapped in an expensive suit, his wildly colorful tattoos creeping up his neck and over the collar of his white dress shirt.
He smiles as we are introduced, Michael's expression a sudden mask of affability.
"Konbanwa, Wakagashira Minato," I say, hoping to god that I got it right.
"It is a pleasure to have you here, new Mrs. MacTavish," he says. "I fear my wife Himari becomes bored with these affairs and it will be a pleasure for her to have company."
As if she'd been hovering just out of sight, a woman glides out from a side door, so willowy and graceful that I feel like I'm all awkward angles to her delicate lines, like I have hooves, instead of feet.
She's very young, younger than me, I think.
Her hair is cut in a beautiful sleek, black bob and she smiles at me shyly.
"Perhaps I could ask you to join me for tea and something light?" she asks. "I fear the men's meetings can sometimes drag on, and I wouldn't wish you to perish from hunger while we wait." I smile uncertainly, glancing up at Michael and he nods, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
"Go ahead," he whispers. "The meeting shouldn't take long. Ian will stay with you."
I nod and smile. "Thank you. That would be lovely." Inwardly, I cringe. I sound like I'm an extra on Downton Abbey.
Himari leads me down a long hallway with painted screens lining the walls.
Alcoves light up every few feet with beautifully displayed weaponry and armor.
There are gleaming swords, and Samurai battle armor displayed with a reverence that tells me they're priceless.
There's a heaviness here that presses down on me, the longer we walk. This place is a testament to violence.
Finally, something with a feminine energy as Himari guides me into a drawing room with silk-covered furniture and windows that look regally out over Tokyo, like a monarch overseeing his kingdom.
I catch a glimpse of Ian's unhappy expression as Himari's guard shuts the door, leaving them both in the hall.
There's already a tea set laid out, delicate porcelain cups in vivid enamel designs, threaded through with silver and gold, along with a tray of food that looks more like divine pieces of art, rather than something edible.
Himari pauses, hovering over her chair. I'm frozen next to the couch, uncertain of who should sit first. We seat ourselves at the same time with a little chuckle and the first genuine smiles from us both.
"How nice to have such a young husband," she says, carefully pouring me a cup of dark tea.
Michael's twelve years older than me, but I'm guessing her husband is somewhere in his mid-40s so I can see her point.
"How long have you and Minato been married?" I ask politely and her smile dims slightly, like a flickering bulb.
"Six months," she says.
"Have you known him for long?" I ask.
"Six months."
"I understand." I say. Arranged marriages may be rare for regular folks, but not in the crime world.
A flicker of shadow passes over the tea set as two guards pace past the window. She sips her tea and pretends not to notice.
"Your estate seems very active," I venture. "Is it always…"
Like Fort Knox?
"Oh, well…" she takes another ladylike sip. "I believe we have another guest on the way." A dark little smile spreads over her face. "I fear you will not enjoy this surprise at all."