Emperor of Wrath: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

The death of Orochi Ito and his nephew shook up the Kyoto underworld. At first, everyone expected there to be a massive bloodbath in the ensuing power vacuum.

But that never happened. Because I filled that vacuum.

I might still be the new guy in town. But the old guard of the various Yakuza families in Kyoto accord me a measure of respect due both to my last name, and the fact that I’m essentially Sota’s heir.

Unfortunately, hand in hand with respect and becoming one of the kings of the city comes having to play the tired old guard games. Like enduring insufferably boring sit-downs where everyone just glad-hands each other and bullshits about how powerful they are, or the never-ending social calendar of weddings, engagement galas, or omiyamairi ceremonies celebrating the birth of one heir or another.

Tonight is yet another of these asinine social gatherings. Worse, it’s my own asinine social gathering.

Tonight’s shindig has been organized by Sota to celebrate my marriage to Annika, and the peace and prosperity between our family and the Bratva that that brings.

Just shoot me.

Sota’s not oblivious to my thoughts about this whole thing. And he’s not being an asshole and forcing me to celebrate it. This is just what’s expected. It would be disrespectful to the other Yakuza families in Kyoto not to throw something like this.

Still, it’s me that has to suffer through the bullshit of a bunch of chain-smoking old guys ogling waitstaff and sipping expensive sake and whiskey while they make deals to make themselves even richer.

And yet…

When I turn to glance at Annika sitting next to me in the back of the black Range Rover, with the streetlights and the neon of the city washing over her in waves, I’m not sure the word “suffer” is accurate.

It’s an insult to actual suffering to characterize sitting next to a woman as beautiful as she or walking into an event with her on my arm as my wife as such.

There was a reason I fell for Annika’s bullshit five years ago. Sure, I was drunk, and high on my own successes. I was younger, and reckless, and probably looking for trouble.

But when trouble walked in looking like her? I was fucked.

She wore a blonde bob wig over her long red locks that night, but the disguise did nothing to hide her beauty. Her raw sensuality. Her tantalizing promise of recklessness and bad decisions.

I bought her a drink, then another. She asked if we could go somewhere “just the two of us”…and my dick took over.

I woke up eighteen hours later, vaguely remembering the drink she poured me back at my place tasting funny. With faint memories of putting on a record and asking her to dance to Al Green with me. I distinctly remember wanting to punch myself in the dick the next day at my sappiness regarding that move.

But most of all, I remembered her.

The feel of her body swaying against mine as So Tired of Being Alone crooned over my stereo system. The scent of her skin, a mix of jasmine, orange blossom, and the sea.

The taste of her soft lips when I kissed her, taking her by surprise.

I’m pretty sure my next maneuver would have involved less romance and more “ripping her clothes off and fucking her into the mattress until she saw God”. But we never made it that far before the drug she slipped me took hold and sent me reeling to the floor.

“I’m going to remember you,” I growl as the darkness closes in. I stare at her face, memorizing every detail.

Remembering.

The blonde flashes me a cocky smirk as she pulls my wallet from my jacket pocket. “In your dreams, sunshine.”

“No, princess.” I grab her by the wrist with the last of my strength as reality fades. “In yours, which I’ll be fucking haunting.”

Hana wasn’t that far off when she asked me if it was “the necklace, the girl, or the fact that someone beat you that had you all angry and riled up for five fucking years.” I already know the answer to that.

Spoiler: it’s not the necklace.

It might not even be that someone got one over on me.

And that leaves the girl.

Annika turns to look at me as the flickering lights from the club signs outside illuminate her soft features and her full lips. Her big, seductive eyes. She arches a questioning brow, curious why I’m staring at her.

I don’t have an answer to that. At least not one I’m prepared to voice, even just to myself inside my own head.

When we pull up outside the lounge where the event is being held, I get out first. Some of the press is waiting—pictures of the Yakuza sell as well as photos of movie stars in Japan—and I turn away from the flash of cameras to open the door and help Annika out.

I’m sure people will have plenty to say about the half-gaijin Yakuza prince marrying a European girl. But I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if I’m not “Japanese enough” in their eyes.

I know where I came from. I know who I am. My family’s blood is soaked deep into the streets of this city.

I’m no gaijin outsider.

I’m Yakuza, through and through. And the woman at my side is my fucking queen.

“Well now, if it isn’t the guest of honor,” Mal says sarcastically.

I tap the rim of my scotch glass to his. “And if it isn’t the one Mori kid who wasn’t fast enough to weasel his way out of this trainwreck.”

Takeshi and Hana were both quick to come up with “legitimate” reasons for Sota why they couldn’t come to this thing tonight.

Mal’s excuse, if he even tried one, wasn’t solid enough. I mean, it’s not like Sota would order him or anything. But that thing parents do…where they’re not “mad”, just “disappointed”…fucking works. And Sota is a master at it.

“Touche,” Mal grunts, sipping his drink.

We turn to survey the crowd at the Nijo Empire, the exclusive VIP club named after some local castle ruins, where tonight’s festivities are being held.

“Where’s your bride?”

“Nakahara Turo’s wife found her and dragged her in with the other wives.”

Mal grimaces. “Brutal. You just threw her to the wolves like that?”

“She can handle herself.”

He smirks, eying me. “Well, she seems to be handling you just fine. That’s no mean feat.”

I’m about to reply with something biting when Mal scowls, his gaze shifting past me to the front of the club.

“Fuck me, look at Tamura.”

Tamura Yoshito’s father was a mid-level enforcer who held allegiance to my father, and was by all accounts, a loyal, well-respected man.

His son, however, is a fucking dipshit.

The kid walks around like he’s cosplaying some blend of Fast and the Furious and whatever Japanese gangster movies he’s been watching too much of lately. Honestly, if he was just reckless, cocky, and hungry, he’d be fine, and he’d fit right in with most of the other guys in the Yakuza his age.

But Tamura is also unbelievably fucking stupid.

For instance, he’s been skimming a little off the top of his collections before handing the money over to my mid-level guys.

You don’t have to be in the Yakuza to understand that stealing from them is a bad idea.

Normally, I’d have already had him dangled off a tenth-story railing, or even removed one of his hands. But I can’t pull shit like that without hard evidence, unless I want to sow leadership doubt in my ranks.

And I don’t have hard evidence.

“I say take him to the cliffs near the ruins of Sakamoto Castle and dangle him by his fucking balls until he confesses.”

“I’m sorry, until who confesses to what?”

I can’t help but grin widely as I turn to see Annika standing there.

Looking stunning.

Fuck-me-that’s-my-wife.

Mal frowns. “Nothing,” he grunts.

“Oh, so just a casual conversation about hanging someone by their balls over a cliff. Got it.” She shrugs with a sly grin.

I exhale, turning to nod my chin at Tamura, who’s currently trying and failing to hit on one of the waitresses.

“One of our guys is skimming, we just can’t prove it.”

“That dweeb is skimming from you?” she says incredulously.

“I’d almost be impressed, if it didn’t make me want to cut his head off,” Mal mutters.

“And you need proof.”

I nod.

“Okay, so what would prove he’s skimming so you can make a move on him?”

“Evidence?” Mal says sarcastically.

She rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Watson, that’s most helpful. I meant where could one find such evidence.”

“On his phone, probably,” I mutter. “He’s always on it, does all of his business that way. It never leaves his side.”

“So take it away from his side.”

I roll my eyes. “Shockingly, that idea has crossed my mind. But it’s not like we can hack into a fucking iPhone.”

“Not with that attitude, you can’t.”

I eye her, finding myself both amused and aroused by the look in her eyes as she glances over to Tamura.

“What are you scheming?”

She turns to bat her eyes at me. “Who, me?”

“Annika—”

“You know he’s skimming?”

“Yes.”

“And the evidence is probably on his phone?”

“Again, yes. But before you go stealing it, you can’t hack into an⁠—”

“Why don’t you let the professional handle this, okay?”

In the blink of an eye, she turns, leans up on her toes, and kisses my cheek.

We both blink in shock, like neither of us saw that coming.

She blushes and quickly looks away. “I’ll be back,” she blurts, melting into the crowd.

Mal waits a whole three seconds before clearing his throat.

“We, uh, gonna talk about what just⁠—”

“Nope.”

He tilts his head, taking a large sip of his drink. “Okay then.”

“Kenzo. Mal.”

We turn at the sound of Sota’s voice, both of us bowing, as we’re around the kind of guys who like to see that sort of behavior. When I straighten up again, I realize he’s not alone.

My jaw sets as I stare at Valon Leka, the Albanian smuggler Annika was getting far too cozy with at our engagement party.

My eyes narrow a little as I size him up. Never mind what Hana said about him being a psychopath: I don’t fucking like the look of him. He’s not an unattractive guy, but there’s something unsavory about him. Like he’s wearing a suitably handsome mask to hide the rot underneath.

I don’t necessarily buy into all that auras and energy and woo-woo crystal shit. But if I did?

This fucker’s got bad vibes coming out of his ass.

“Kenzo,” Sota says. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Leka.”

Valon puts his hand out to shake mine. I almost don’t take it, but that would be as insulting to Sota as it would be to this prick. So I grip his hand, maybe a little more forcefully than necessary.

Leka looks at me with a strange glint in his eyes that I brush off as the psycho thing Hana was mentioning.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mori,” he purrs in his Eastern European accent.

“As you know, Kenzo, I’ve been speaking with Mr. Leka about going into business together. He⁠—”

Valon coughs delicately. “I get things from one place to another, Mr. Mori,” he growls. “It’s been suggested that you and I could work together.”

I glance at Sota. He smiles and steps closer to me, leaning in.

“This is all yours,” he murmurs in Japanese, patting my hand. “Your deal to make or not. The decision, terms, and execution are all up to you.”

I arch a brow at him. “Do you want this?”

Sota turns to smile broadly at Leka, who very clearly has no idea what we’re saying, not understanding Japanese.

“I think he’s a slimy little snake,” Sota says, still grinning pleasantly.

Mal coughs to cover his snort of laughter.

“I think he’d sell his own mother if he got a good price. But…” Sota shrugs. “He’s apparently one of the best. Either way, it’s your call, Kenzo.”

He turns back to Leka and switches to English.

“Kenzo and you can work out the details. He has my blessing to speak for both his organization and mine.”

Sota and Mal exchange a look, glance back at me, then head over to the bar.

“He speaks highly of you, Mr. Mori,” Leka smiles at me.

“Sota-san is a good man.”

“And I want to congratulate you on your marriage.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“She’s a lovely girl, that Annika.”

My smile hardens. “Yes, she is.”

“I won’t keep you.” He flashes a shark-like smile at me. “But let’s talk soon⁠—”

“Mr. Leka, I’ll be blunt.”

I’ve already decided. I don’t like this fucker. I don’t like the way he talks, or the way he schmoozes, and I really don’t like the way he calls my wife a lovely girl.

I fix him with a flat, businesslike smile.

“I’m not really looking to bring on more people right now. I’m happy with our current network. Nothing personal, of course.”

His jaw sets, and a flash of malice crosses his face.

“Mr. Mori, I think if we could sit down and speak, I could show you⁠—”

“No need. My mind is made up. Again, nothing personal.”

His face darkens. “Perhaps we should invite your wife into this conversation.”

Something vicious snarls and claws inside of me.

“Perhaps, Mr. Leka,” I growl, stepping closer, “you should keep my wife out of this conversation, and utterly out of your thoughts. Because that, I can promise you, I will take personally.”

Valon scowls. Then he clears his throat, pasting on a smile.

Yeah, he gets it. He might be hot shit back in his little fiefdom or when he’s running drugs for the Cosa Nostra or the Turkish Mafia. But here?

Here, I’m a fucking Emperor. Here, he bows to me.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

“Of course. My apologies, Mr. Mori. I hope that if you ever revisit the question, you’ll keep me in mind.”

Eat shit.

I smile politely as I nod my chin. “Of course. Thank you for coming all the way to Kyoto to meet⁠—”

“Oh, I had other business here as well.”

I don’t give a fuck.

“Then I hope it’s fruitful, Mr. Leka. And I hope you’re able to spend some time in Kyoto enjoying yourself.”

“Maybe I will,” he says with a lackluster smile.

I nod, turning and making my way through the crowd to find Sota and Mal. On the way, I bump into Annika. I’m unable to stop the grin from spreading over my face.

For her part, she beams smugly as she holds up an iPhone in an X-rated manga case.

“Uh…what the fuck is that?”

She winks. “Tamura’s phone. You’re welcome.”

I snort, but then I shake my head. “Nice pull. It doesn’t change the fact that we can’t crack an iPhone.”

“You men, always thinking there has to be brute force involved.”

“I’m not sure I’ve heard much complaint from you about my brute force.”

Her face heats, her lip catching between her teeth, but then Annika clears her throat. “No need for brute force when you have the password.”

My jaw drops as she calmly types it in, unlocking the phone.

“How the fuck did you get that?”

She grins. “I saw him type it in. All I had to do was bat my eyes, show a little cleavage, ask if he wanted my number…”

I growl savagely and grab her arm, making her gasp sharply. Annika’s big blue eyes snap to mine, a shiver of something heated crossing them.

“Jealous much?” she teases, her voice husky and breathy.

“Maybe I just don’t like my wife flirting with other men,” I mutter.

“It was to get the phone,” she murmurs softly.

“I don’t care.”

Her lips curl into a grin. “You know, they have a name for that.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Jealousy.”

I roll my eyes as she giggles. She drops her gaze to Tamura’s phone, tapping on the screen and making a face.

“Okay, lotta anime porn on here. Jesus.” She frowns. “But also…spreadsheets.” I watch as she scrolls. “Oh, yeah, right here.” She turns the phone toward me. “Yeah, he’s skimming.”

She passes me the phone and pats my chest.

“I’m going to go grab a drink. You’re welcome.”

I watch her as she slips away. I’m not thinking about the damn phone, or even Tamura.

I’m still thinking about her lips.