Emperor of Havoc: Chapter 16

The engine hums low and steady beneath me as I sit astride my motorcycle, fingers drumming on the handlebars. Outside the Mori compound, Tokyo stretches endlessly in all directions, a sea of lights and concrete.

For a long time, Kyoto, not Tokyo, was home. It’s where Dad first built the Mori-kai empire. Where Kenzo first went when he returned to Japan looking to connect with that side of his heritage, and where he bumped into Sota, an old friend of our dad’s who took Kenzo under his wing.

Our recent move to Tokyo is about power, about expanding an empire and laying down foundations here that will turn this into a dynasty. But ultimately, Kyoto will always be “home” to the Mori family. I know it’s where Kenzo and Annika want to start their family—one that they’re supposedly actively trying for these days.

Mal and Freya tolerate Tokyo, but Kyoto is where they feel at peace, which is something they both deserve after the lives they’ve had.

My sister Hana and Damian will probably be on the move for a while. They love Tokyo, but Kyoto is where Hana has her jazz club, and New York will also always call to them, too.Me, I’ve never really known where to call home. For much of my life, it was the manor home in the English countryside where our mother raised us and Akira helped me become the man I am today. Kyoto was fantastic while I was there—racing through the mountain roads on my bikes, basically living out of the garage.

I’d been to Tokyo before, but it wasn’t until we moved into the city, set up our operations and bought this compound that I really started to get a sense of it.

I like it here.

A lot.

It’s loud. It bleeds neon and excitement. It’s endlessly, relentlessly ‘on’. In a weird way, it speaks to me like no other place I’ve ever lived has.

But tonight, my mind isn’t on the city. It’s on her.

Katarina.

She’s been a key piece on a chessboard no one even knows I’m playing for longer than she, or anyone else, knows.

That’s how I saw her at first—a pawn. A means to an end. The plan was always to marry her to gain access to the Ishida-kai and efficiently stake the Mori-kai’s claim on Tokyo. But she’s proving to be far more complicated than I anticipated.

…It would appear that I like complicated.

“You look like hell.” Kenzo’s voice cuts through the quiet. I glance up as he approaches, wearing his usual scowl that deepens whenever he’s about to lecture me.

“You sure know how to boost a guy’s ego,” I say dryly, getting off my bike. “What’s up?”

Kenzo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he glances around at the city looming around us, inhaling slowly.

“Gun to your head: this place or Kyoto?”

“Depends.”

He smirks as he glances at me. “On?”

“How big the gun is, cause I’m dodging the question.”

My brother chuckles. “I like Tokyo. But I think what I like most about it is what we can make from it. Kyoto, though…”

“I get it,” I shrug. “It’s where you and Annika fell in love.”

He smiles. “Look at you, so romantic all of a sudden.”

“Must be my newly minted married status.”

Kenzo sighs. “I’m still mad at you about that, you know.”

“Which I fail to understand. It was always part of our plan, right?”

He frowns. “Yeah, until you jumped the gun on our timeline by about six months.”

Originally, yes, Kenzo was in on my plan to infiltrate the Ishida-kai—although I may have sold him on the idea by presenting it as way for me to diffuse tensions with Kolya.

I didn’t mention my other reasons for wanting to slip under the Ishida-kai’s skin. And I certainly didn’t tell him what sped up that timeline.

“I have to know…” Kenzo begins, eying me warily.

“What?”

“Was that you, at the wedding?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You think I poisoned myself at my own wedding.”

“Look, I already know there’s a thousand things about this whole operation that you’re not telling me. I’m choosing to ignore that. I just want to know what your angle was if you did⁠—”

“I didn’t poison myself and my bride at our wedding, Kenzo.” I tap my temple. “I’m crazy—not nuts.”

He waves a hand. “No one says you’re crazy, brother.”

“Everyone does,” I grin. “And they’re right. Still wasn’t me, though.”

“Then we have bigger problems. I’ve heard about you royally pissing off Sergey Vorobev by kicking his son out of the race to marry Katarina. If it was him⁠—”

“Wasn’t Sergey,” I say dismissively, leaning back against the bike.

Kenzo narrows his eyes. “How can you be sure?”

I take a moment, weighing if I should tell him. Hell, it doesn’t really matter. “It was Katarina.”

He freezes. “What?”

“My bride,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. “She laced the third bowl.”

“Fuck off,” Kenzo groans, shaking his head and smirking, waiting for the “gotcha”. When it doesn’t come, he freezes and glances around, checking to make sure no one else can hear before he leans closer. “You’re fucking serious?”

I nod.

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would she⁠—”

“Why not?” I counter, crossing my arms. “She wanted to show she’s not to be fucked with.”

“Why the hell would she do that?”

“Probably because I’ve been fucking with her,” I shrug. “Anyway, it’s a move I can respect.”

“Respect?” Kenzo’s voice is incredulous. “We had a plan, Takeshi. You marry her, secure the alliance, and stabilize the families. Not piss everyone off so much that your new wife tries to kill you at your own wedding.”

“Plans change,” I say simply.

Kenzo stares at me for a long moment. Then he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little brother.”

“When am I not?”

“Tak!” he snaps. “If this falls apart, it’s war. A real war. And you know what that means.”

“Yes, I do,” I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous edge. “But this isn’t going to fall apart. I’ve got this, okay?”

I…don’t. Not in some grand master plan way. Honestly, I’ve been shooting from the hip ever since I set foot in Kolya’s dining room and blew up his plans to link Katarina with that drunk fuck Rodion.

But as long as I can get to the point that I can carry out my real mission?

That’s all I need.

Kenzo clearly isn’t convinced but doesn’t argue further. He just turns, his gaze drifting toward the city.

“Don’t forget why we’re here,” he says at last, his voice quieter. “Or let her distract you.”

I don’t respond. After a moment he turns and walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Too late.

Hana finds me in the study later. She doesn’t knock—she never does—just strides in like she owns the place, her sharp eyes scanning me in the way only she can.

“What is it?” I ask without looking up from where I’m perched on the edge of the desk with a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Something’s…wrong,” she says, crossing her arms.

“I’m not sure if you heard, dear sister,” I growl, taking a sip of my drink, “but I was actually poisoned at my own wedding.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I was there. In fact, I was one of the ones who helped drag your heavy ass into the side room. Remember?”

“Nope. See my earlier comment about being poisoned.”

Hana snorts, and then nods at the drink in my hand. “Is that an indication of how married life is going?”

“My married life is just fine, thanks,” I mutter. “How’s yours?”

Immediately, she grins.

I love that for her.

I have to say, although I had my doubts about Damian when we first met, I like him for my sister. He might be almost as batshit crazy as me, but…I mean… She spent most of her life tied to my hip. I can’t imagine her with a normal dude.

“Great,” she says with another grin. “Although Damian’s been traveling a lot for Kir.”

Damian’s uncle, Kir Nikolayev, is the head of the Nikolayev Bratva, which is one of the five families of the Iron Table.

In other words, he’s seriously powerful. And Damian is his heir.

“So…now that you’ve successfully turned the questions on me…” My sister smirks, plucks the glass out of my hand and sips as she crosses to the window and sinks into a chair.

“I was drinking that.”

Hana ignores me. “Are you going to answer the question?”

“Like I said, my married life is just fine.”

“I know you well enough to smell your bullshit a mile away.”

There is a scent of bullshit to what I’m saying. But it’s not about Katarina.

“What?” I shrug. “Katarina’s full of surprises.” I slide off the desk and walk over to the bar cart to grab myself a replacement drink. “She’s not what I expected, and that makes her… interesting.”

Hana’s lips press to a thin line. “What are you really doing, Takeshi?”

I lean back against the desk with my glass, letting a slow smile spread across my face. “Following the plan, sister. Marry the princess…secure the alliance…and keep the peace.”

“Bullshit,” Hana says, stepping closer. “I know you. This isn’t just about peace or alliances. There’s something else driving you that you’re not telling even me.”

I hold her gaze for a moment before looking away. “You’re imagining things.”

She steps back, clearly unconvinced, her expression softening slightly. “Just be careful, Takeshi. Don’t let…whatever this is…consume you.”

“I’m always careful,” I say, lifting my glass in a mock toast.

Hana just shakes her head and walks out, leaving me alone with the ghosts she’s stirred up.

When she’s gone, I end up wandering down into the basement of the compound and to my “ladies”.

AKA, my bikes.

Most of my harem—yep, still talking about motorcycles here—are still back in Kyoto. But I brought a select few with me when I made the move to Tokyo. I trail my fingers over them until I get to the forest green with gold trim BSA Y13—a 750cc engine V-twin from 1937.

It sticks out like a sore thumb amongst my collection of—mostly—far more modern racing bikes. But this particular set of wheels carries a lot more than just an engine for me.

This was Akira’s.

I don’t think about him often, partly because it still stings to consider someone killed him. And partly because life just—goes on, I guess. But Hana’s words bring him to the forefront of my mind, a memory I can’t suppress.

I was fourteen when he came into my life. Kenzo and Mal had already gone to Japan, leaving me and Hana behind to deal with our mother’s spiraling illness. She was deep in her Lewy body dementia by then, barely recognizing us most days. It was a lonely, angry time, and I was drowning in it.

Then Akira appeared. He wasn’t just a mentor, though. He saw me. The real me. The darkness I carried, the violent impulses I couldn’t control. And instead of being afraid, he embraced them, taught me how to channel them, how to control the chaos inside me.

And then he was gone. Kolya made Akira disappear.

There are myriad reasons for me marrying Katarina.

But one thing’s for sure: this game ends with Kolya answering for what he did.

Even if I have to go through her to do it.