Chapter 7: Emperor of Wrath: Chapter 7

“I’ll stop you right there before you get going,” I mutter, eyeing Mal coolly over the rim of my Old Fashioned.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he says mildly, a rare hint of a smile on his jaw as he lifts an amused brow and a glass to his lips.

“The million and one jokes. Let’s just not, please?”

Around us, the engagement party is in full swing. Heads of tribute families to the Akiyama-kai. Friends of Sota. Kir and his contingent from the Nikolayev Bratva, and heads of their tribute families.

The event is taking place at the house Sota bought in the West Village after it became clear he was going to be spending more time in New York for his treatments. On the one hand, Sota is one of the most hardened, deadly, and cold-blooded Yakuza kingpins to have ever lived.

On the other, the guy is really kind of a housecat.

Yes, he could easily stay in top-of-the-line hotels whenever he came to New York. But Sota doesn’t want individually wrapped soaps and room service. He wants a familiar mattress. He wants a kitchen to make his own tea in, and a garden to look at while sipping it.

Hana played a huge part in redesigning the older West Village brownstone into a stunning palace fit for a dark shogun. It’s modern in a distinctly contemporary Japanese way, but also has plenty of nods to the older culture that I know Sota gravitates to.

Tonight, it’s ground zero for my and Annika’s “engagement” party.

Whatever.

Beside me, my brother takes a heavy swig of his drink as he glances around the room. It’s funny: Mal and I are related through my mother’s side, though he’s technically my cousin, not my brother. But when his mother—my aunt—passed away, Mom took him in, and he came to live with us at our estate in England. Mal was twelve at the time, and he’s been by my side pretty much ever since.

If that doesn’t make someone your brother, I don’t really know what does.

The funny part, of course, is watching other people try and wrap their minds around the word “brother” when they look at the two of us. Obviously we share half of our lineage, since our mothers were sisters. But where he’s basically full-blooded Viking with his father also being Norwegian, I’ve got Hideo’s Japanese ancestry as well.

It’s precisely that blended background of mine that makes me cling so tightly to those who I call family, and why I’ve hardened myself against the world after a lifetime of not “fitting in”.

In the snooty, old-money circles that my mother came from, I had “just enough” Asian in me to stick out, and a lot of those fuckers never let me forget it. Then, when I fell in with Sota and the Yakuza, I was “not quite Asian enough” for a lot of their friends.

Sota himself didn’t give a fuck. And he had no tolerance for anyone else calling me gaijin.

“He’s not a foreigner,” he’d snap. “He just took his time making his way back home.”

Mal knocks back the rest of his cocktail. Just as he swallows, his jaw tightens and a frown creases his brow.

“Who the fuck is that?” he mutters quietly.

I turn to follow his piercing gaze across the room. Freya Holm has just walked in.

I grimace, grinding my teeth. “Annika’s friend,” I mutter. I frown at her attire. I mean, it’s a formal occasion with a formal presumed dress code. And sure, black would be acceptable.

…But Freya’s hardly wearing a little black dress. It’s more like something Morticia fucking Addams would wear to a goddamn funeral. Black velvet falling to the floor, long bell sleeves, and a dramatically plunging neckline half filled with fucking fishnet.

And she’s paired it with glossy black combat boots and has a goddamn spiked choker around her neck.

On top of that, she’s playing up her normally ghostly appearance with shades of white, purple, and black for makeup, and her dark hair is twisted up into something that would make Helena Bonham Carter smile with pride.

This is only the engagement party. What the fuck is she going to wear to the actual wedding, a Scream mask and a funeral shroud?

My attention is yanked back to Mal as he knocks back his empty glass, taking the last of the ice cube into his mouth and crunching down on it harshly.

“What’s her name,” he hisses.

“It’s Freya—sorry, what is this about?” I growl, peering at him.

“Nothing.”

“Mal…”

He shakes his head and blinks as Freya haunts her way into the crowd and disappears. Mal clears his throat and his shoulders visibly relax. “Nothing,” he grunts with more conviction this time. “Thought she was someone else.”

“Who?”

He turns, his eyes dropping to my empty glass. “Let’s get you a drink.”

Well, that’s the end of that conversation, I guess.

For now.

The two of us head over to the bar running along the side of Sota’s enormous living room.

“So,” Mal smirks, completely back to his usual self. “Where’s your blushing bride-to-be?”

“Plotting my demise, probably.”

He smirks again. “I have to ask. Do you have to…” His grin widens. “Consummate this thing?” He lifts a shoulder. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but arranged or not, and disliking her or not, she is pretty hot⁠—”

“Thanks, Mal.”

“I mean, the fucking ass on⁠—”

“Yeah, I got it,” I hiss.

“Those lips? Wrapped around⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.

Mal looks amused.

“What I’m actually concerned about,” he remarks casually, “is her cutting your dick off, not you fucking her with it.”

“That won’t be happening.”

“You know, they make some great lightweight body armor these days. It could feel just like a pair of extra thick boxers⁠—”

“No, I mean the…” I sigh. “I’m not going to be fucking her.”

“Why, exactly?”

“We have…” I eye him coldly. “We have history,” I finally grunt.

“Oh, really?” Mal chuckles. “How salacious.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I mutter. “That night a few years ago, when I was robbed at the Clover Club in Kyoto? When I lost mom’s necklace?”

He frowns. “Wait, the night—” His eyes go wide. “Get the fuck out,” he almost wheezes, holding in a loud laugh. “That was her?! You’re marrying a fucking animal! I mean…holy shit.” He snickers, shaking his head.

“I’m well aware,” I growl back.

Just then, in my peripheral vision, the crowd parts a little. I turn, and my breath hitches as my eyes land on Annika.

Shit.

Annika doesn’t walk into the room so much as glides. I’ve seen her in a dress before—twice. Once was just the other day at Cillian’s party. The other time was Kyoto. But that was five years ago, and it was dark.

And I’d been drugged. By her.

From my research into her, I’m well aware that she’s not generally a dress type of girl. But when she walks in, and the whole room sucks in its collective breath and turns to stare at her a fraction of a second longer than I’m guessing anyone intended…

It’s enough to make you wonder why the fuck she doesn’t wear them more often. My simmering distaste for and anger toward Annika aside, the woman looks like a fucking dream.

She floats into the room in green satin; a single-strap, floor-length gown that angles diagonally across her chest, giving just the tiniest hint of cleavage. The bias-cut satin hugs every goddamn curve on her tall, slender frame, cinching in at the waist a little before flaring out over her hips and the curve of her ass. A slit cuts up dramatically high on her thigh, giving a teasing glimpse of her long legs and the strappy gold and pearl heels on her feet.

Her hair is where the shockingly out-of-character elegance falls short: it’s pulled up in a no-nonsense ponytail with a few stray locks framing her face. As if someone else had been in charge of dressing her, but Annika was firmly in the driver’s seat for everything else that came with getting ready for the evening.

Still. Fuck me. She looks stunning.

I can feel my blood burning a little hotter, and I’m fully aware of my dick swelling and thickening in my suit pants as I drink her in.

As if sensing my eyes on her, Annika turns toward me. Our gazes lock across the room, and I tilt my head as I give her a soft nod of my chin…

And then Annika lifts her hand and flips me off before walking away in another direction.

“God, this wedding is going to be incredible,” Mal laughs next to me. “Not even joking—someone needs to pat that woman down for weapons before the string quartet launches into Pachelbel’s Canon in D minor.”

I shoot him a dirty glare. “Do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Go bother someone else.”

He chuckles. “I’ll go look for Tak. I haven’t seen him in a hot minute, which at events like this usually means he’s getting into trouble.”

He’s not wrong. I haven’t seen our younger brother for a solid half an hour either, which history would suggest that means he’s either A, engaged in an aggressive drinking contest with the staff, B, fighting someone somewhere, or C, is balls-deep in someone else’s wife.

“Yeah, that’s…” I frown. “Probably a good idea.”

“Good luck with…” Mal turns to nod his chin to where Annika is disappearing into the crowd. “Well…everything.” He snorts, shaking his head as he wanders off to go find our brother.

I’m taking a much-needed sip of my drink when I catch a glimpse of Hana making her way toward me. Thank God. I was steeling myself for small talk with a bunch of Sota’s elderly Yakuza buddies, wanting to congratulate me or trying to curry favor for that day I take over the whole empire.

My sister looks her usual elegant and gorgeously put-together self in a shimmering silvery gown that ties at the back of the neck and cuts at a sharp angle from hip to opposite ankle. There’s the tiniest little hint of lavender to the silver, which has a way of highlighting her dramatic dyed blonde hair, which is pulled into an elaborate up-do.

I swear to God, in another reality, Hana is the no-bullshit CEO of a major innovative tech company in the 23rd century.

“I hope no one’s told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

She shoots me a pissed look. “Excuse me?”

“I’d hate to break anyone’s face at my own engagement party.”

Hana rolls her eyes. “You need to work on your bizarre compliment delivery before you get married. It’s…off-putting.”

I grin, shrugging.

“For your information, maybe someone has told me I look great tonight.”

“Who?” I frown.

“Yeah, let me just go ahead and tell you so that you, Mal, and Tak can go into crazy overly protective brother mode and kill somebody. Not happening.” She shoots me a look. “Did you notice who else is looking pretty amazing tonight?”

My jaw sets. “I think you need to elaborate on who you mean.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She smirks. “She cleans up pretty nice, gotta say.”

“It’s…not a terrible dress.”

Hana snorts. “Gee, thanks. I picked it out for her.”

I frown. “You two went dress shopping?”

“Yes. And?”

“Hana…” I scowl and shake my head. “She’s not your friend.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

Hana barks a laugh. “Well, in that case, your highness,” she snickers. “Have you considered that she has about as much interest in marrying you as you do her? Possibly less?”

“Considered. Filed away. No shits given. She’s a peace treaty, Hana. A necessary evil.”

Before I can say another word, I see one of the older Yakuza guys I was hoping to avoid talking to heading my way. Even worse, it’s Matsui Aki.

Matsui and the Aki-kai are a smaller Yakuza family that long ago swore allegiance to my father’s Mori-kai. In the absence of the Mori-kai being a thing for the past few decades, Matsui has pledged allegiance to Sota. But since I’ve begun rebuilding my empire, Sota has insisted that families like Matsui’s honor their original vows to the Mori-kai. Ergo, Matsui now reports directly to me as his oyabun.

Which would be great, except for the fact that Matsui is a sneaky, selfish little shit whose only real allegiance is to himself and his bank account. Worse, he has lately taken to all but hurling his daughter, Nishi, at me.

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot…gotta run.”

Hana starts to walk away, but I grab her arm.

“For?” I growl.

“A…a thing…” She gives me a stricken look before glancing at Matsui as he moves toward us. “Fine. He gives me the creeps. Please can I go?”

I sigh. “Sure. See if you can help Mal make sure Takeshi isn’t up to his usual bullshit.”

“Good luck,” she mutters as she drifts away, just as Matsui sidles up to me.

“Ahh!” He beams broadly. “Congratulations to the prince!”

The lack of any sort of smile in his eyes lets me know he’s probably one of the least pleased people in the room about my engagement, third only behind Annika and I. After all, this means I won’t be entertaining his less-than-subtle attempts to get me to marry his daughter.

Nishi, who’s standing right next to him dressed in—I have to say—a stunning red gown that leaves little to the imagination, smiles at me as she moves closer.

“Congratulations, Kenzo,” she purrs. Her tongue slips out to wet her lips with just a hint of provocativeness, her eyes locking with mine. “She’s a very lucky girl.”

“Arigato, Matsui-san,” I say, bowing formally to him before turning and giving a briefer nod to Nishi. “And thank you.” I turn back to her father. “And, Matsui, I need to talk to you to iron out the…delays in the new guidelines I’ve laid out for our organization.”

As I’ve slowly been rebuilding the Mori-kai and establishing more of a presence in Kyoto, I’ve recently issued a decree to all the family heads who report to me. I’m making a few changes, and one of the bigger ones is that our organization will not be dealing in prostitution going forward.

Sota has no patience or stomach for the trade either, and has similarly banned it from his organization top to bottom for decades. But there are a few families who have snuck through the cracks. The Aki-kai is one.

Matsui’s organization was one of the ones who went out on their own as mini empires when my father left and the Mori-Kai empire folded. For a while, he set his own rules, did whatever business he wanted, and answered to no one. When other, larger families started encroaching on his small empire, Matsui was forced to join up with Sota, and to pledge him his allegiance. In a case like that, it was harder to get him to get on board with how Sota does business. Which is why Matsui has continued to run girls and brothels.

That’s ending, now. I won’t have it. The problem is, Matsui makes a lot of money from his girls, so he’s been purposefully stalling in giving me his response to the decree.

“Ahh, yes! Of course, of course.” Matsui smiles at me like we’re old pals.

“Now, Matsui.”

“Soon, yes.”

My jaw tightens. “I don’t think you heard me. I need you to give me your pledge now that you will stop⁠—”

“You know, my poor Nishi was so sad when she heard you were engaged.”

God fucking dammit. It’s the same damn script every time with this fucker.

“Matsui—”

“I must go congratulate Sota,” he smiles at me, pulling away. “Why don’t you and Nishi talk?”

Nishi smiles seductively at me as her father dives into the crowd. She sidles close, her tongue wetting her lips and her eyelids batting as she runs one scarlet-painted nail up my arm.

“I was so sad, Kenzo.”

“Nishi, no disrespect, I don’t think you and I would have ever worked out. But I’m sure there’s a young man out there who would give his left arm to have you at his side.”

I frown when she ignores me and pulls even closer, her finger trailing over my chest. Then, over her shoulder, I realize we’re being watched.

By Annika.

She’s not really so much “watching” as “glaring death”. Her brow is furrowed deeply, her blue eyes spark with something wicked and fierce, and her lips are pursed as she stares dangerously at Nishi pulling closer to me.

Interesting.

She’s got a jealous streak as green as her dress that comes out sometimes. Even if she hates me and this situation, it seems Annika doesn’t like being fucked with.

She might be lowkey wishing a piano would fall through the ceiling and crush me this evening. But she doesn’t like being slighted by anyone. And that includes Nishi trying to breathe down my neck and trace my fucking nipple through my suit at my own engagement dinner.

“You know, Kenzo…” Nishi purrs into my ear. “You might be getting married, but we’re from the same world. I know we understand what this marriage really is.”

“I don’t need you to explain it to me, Nishi,” I growl, planting my hands on her arms to gently push her away from me.

She doesn’t budge.

“I can offer you a…different sort of arrangement, you know.”

“Take your hands off me, Nishi,” I mutter.

“My father just wants me to be happy, Kenzo. When I’m happy, he’s happy. And when he’s happy, he does whatever you ask him. So, you might have to be married to the cold gaijin who looks like she wants you to fall down a flight of stairs…”

Frighteningly accurate.

“But I could warm your bed.” Nishi’s voice lowers to a whisper as she leans even closer. “You could fuck me however you want. Do whatever⁠—”

She gasps as I shove her away from me.

“My advice to you, Nishi,” I hiss, “is to find some self-respect. And while you’re doing that, stay the fuck away from me. Are we clear?”

Her face heats as her lips purse. She nods quickly, the sultriness vanishing as she turns and quickly hurries into the crowd.

Christ, I need a drink.

I turn to hit the bar, and find myself walking almost directly into a tsunami of ginger and green. I halt quickly, my brow arching as Annika glares at me with a cold expression on her face.

“Enjoying the party?” she hisses.

I smirk. “Spying on me, princess?”

“It doesn’t take James Bond to see you all but fucking that woman in the middle of your own engagement party—engagement to me, I might add.”

I chuckle. “Jealous?”

“Annoyed,” she counters. “I’d like you to stop acting like you’re the only one getting screwed with this arrangement.”

“I’m pretty sure the issue is that I’m not going to be getting screwed with this arrangement.” I arch a brow. “Unless…?”

Annika flushes deep red. “Unless you go fuck yourself. Get used to it.”

“So, you don’t want to fuck me…”

“Not in a million fucking years,” she says sweetly.

“But the idea of Nishi fucking me⁠—”

“It’s you disrespecting me in the middle of this party,” she snaps. “We don’t have to like each other, but some basic regard would go a long way.”

“That’s a strange way to say ‘Kenzo, you talking to that girl makes me jealous’.”

“Oh my God, you’re a fucking child.” She glares at me. “I’m not jealous.”

I shrug. “If you say so.”

She rolls her eyes and spins to walk away.

“For what it’s worth, princess,” I growl, halting her. “Ultimately, her offer was a business one. Her father reports to me, but he’s been stalling on agreeing to new terms for our organization.”

“What the fuck was her offer?” Annika spits. “You let her suck your dick and her father signs off on your royal decrees?”

“I mean…” I lift a shoulder, grinning. “Essentially.”

“You’re a fucking pig.”

I sigh. “I didn’t agree to it.”

“How noble!” she gushes dramatically. “Would you like a medal?”

“Your mouth would suffice.”

Her eyes bulge, but then just as quickly as she gets flustered she swallows it back, smoothing a calm, no-fucks-given expression over her face.

“Here’s the thing, Kenzo,” she says with an artificial smile, stepping closer and leaning into me. “I don’t rattle so easily. I’m not one of your fawning little Yakuza fangirls. I’m not a cabaret girl massaging your ego and topping off your drink for a buck. Okay?” Her lips thin to a line. “I’m stuck with you, but you’re equally stuck with me.” She leans even closer. “I can be your worst fucking nightmare.”

Annika is all smiles again as she pulls back, her hand patting my chest patronizingly before it drops away.

“Okay?”

My lips curl. “Listen, princess. We⁠—”

“Kenzo!”

Motherfucker.

Just as I’m seriously contemplating dragging Annika off somewhere to remind her of her place by spanking her bare ass, Matsui barges back into my personal space.

“Kenzo, what did you say to my Nishi?” he growls, ridiculously over-the-top fury plastered on his face.

“Matsui, I suggest you walk away,” I snarl. “Perhaps we can have this conversation another⁠—”

“I won’t have my daughter disrespected!” Matsui spits back. “What the hell happened⁠—”

“What happened,” Annika hisses, butting in abruptly, “is that your daughter⁠—”

“Excuse me,” he snaps. “Kenzo and I were⁠—”

“Matsui,” I murmur quietly through clenched teeth. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Annika.”

His face pales, his eyes bulging as they quickly dart to Annika. It’s glorious to see.

“Oh—yes,” he stammers. “Yes. I mean no disrespect, Ms. Brancovich, of course.”

“Of course,” she parrots back in a bored tone. “Mr. Aki, let me tell you what is disrespectful. When your daughter approaches my fiancé at our engagement party, and offers to be his whore⁠—”

“Excuse me?!” Matsui blurts indignantly. “How dare⁠—”

“Do not interrupt me again,” Annika snaps coldly.

My brow arches.

Well, this is interesting. And unexpected.

“When your daughter approaches my husband-to-be and offers him sexual favors in exchange for getting you to agree to his business propositions, I find that extremely disrespectful. To me, naturally, but also to my fiancé. Certainly to Sota-san… Wouldn’t you agree?”

Matsui scowls, and you can almost hear the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to come up with a response. Before he replies, Annika suddenly smiles at him with a strange expression on her face.

“Mr. Aki, do you like Paris?”

He frowns, glancing at me before looking back to Annika. “Pardon?”

“Paris, Mr. Aki. The city. Do you enjoy visiting?”

He clears his throat, glancing around nervously. “I’m, uh, afraid I’ve never been.”

“Oh, come now!” She smiles broadly as she fixes her gaze on him. “That’s not true at all!” she laughs.

Matsui coughs awkwardly. “Ms. Brancovich, I can assure you, I’ve never⁠—”

“You’re not a fan of the city? Of Rue Véron, in particular?”

The color drains from Matsui’s face so quickly it’s as if someone’s pulled the drain in a tub. His eyes widen, his mouth dropping open as horror washes over his face.

And Annika just smiles.

“Well… Maybe I’m mistaken,” she says, shrugging casually. Her eyes lock with Matsui’s as she steps forward. “Either way, I think you should agree to my fiancé’s new business terms right now. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Matsui says nothing, his jaw still on the floor. He turns to me, utterly pale, and finally manages to pull himself together and swallow.

“Yes…yes, I think…” He swallows again as he glances at me. “I think that’s a wise decision for everybody.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Annika says brightly.

Matsui turns to me, awkwardly clearing his throat and not meeting my eyes before bowing stiffly.

“I agree to all new terms laid out by you, Kenzo-san. I will stop running my girls immediately.”

“Thank you, Matsui,” I growl. “I look forward to our continued fruitful business dealings together.”

“Of course, Kenzo-san,” he mumbles, bowing low again before glancing fearfully at Annika and then scurrying off into the crowd.

I turn to level a look at Annika. “What the fuck was that?”

“Thank you, Annika!” she sing-songs. “You’re so good at what you do, Annika. I don’t think I could have done that without you, Annika!”

I glare at her. “You finished?”

She grins, pats my chest, and turns to walk away. “Stick with me, Kenzo,” she tosses over her shoulder. “You might learn something.”