Emperor of Lust: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Emperor of Lust: Chapter 23

Takeshi grins at me as I step out of the hotel lobby. He’s leaning against a neon green Kawasaki racing bike, a hot pink one parked behind it. Kai looks unnerved as he swings his leg off the second bike and yanks off his helmet.

I giggle as I walk over. “You okay?”

Kai shoots Tak a look before glaring at me. “Your brother rides like he has a death wish.”

“Aww, c’mon, Kai,” Takeshi chuckles. “Not my fault you ride like a granny.”

Kai grunts, sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

I arch a brow. “You know, I feel like you’ve been smoking less lately.”

“It’s his new lady friend,” Tak smirks. “She’s being a good influence.”

Kai’s expression turns dark as he whips around to shoot a withering look at my brother.

I laugh as I pat his arm. “It’s cute how bashful you get. But Kai, you’re not exactly good at hiding it.”

“No shit,” Tak smirks. “Just introduce us to her already, dude. I feel like I’ve met her already, with all those fucking hickeys she keeps leaving on your damn neck.”

Kai’s face turns even darker as he puffs on his cigarette.

“Just teasing, big guy,” I grin as I give him a sideways hug and lean my head affectionately on his arm. “And hey—if you have the option not to involve your girlfriend in this insane family, I’d take it.”

“Noted,” he grunts.

My brother glances at me. “Ready to ride?”

“Definitely.”

A still-blushing Kai hands me the helmet he was wearing. Just then, I hear my name called behind me.

I turn, spotting Miyamoto in the back of a sleek black SUV parked at the curb. He gives me a smile through the open window, beckoning for me to come closer. I glance at Takeshi and Kai before I walk over.

“Would you mind joining me for a moment?” Miyamoto asks, his tone friendly but carrying a subtle weight.

I nod. He opens the door and slides over, giving me room to get in. The plush leather interior is warm, comfortable, and smells faintly of cigar smoke and very expensive scotch.

The door closes with a solid but quiet thud, and suddenly, we’re cocooned in the dim glow of the SUV’s soft lighting, separated from the bustling city just outside the tinted windows.

Miyamoto leans back, looking at me and folding his hands, the warmth in his eyes mixed with something calculating. “I wanted to talk to you about a potential investment,” he begins, his gaze flicking from my face to the city lights flashing past outside. “I’ve identified a building for sale in a prime location. It would be ideal for Mori Holdings’ Tokyo headquarters. Later, it could also serve…additional purposes for the Mori-kai.”

I lift an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. We’ve definitely been feeling out our position in Tokyo, but this feels like a huge leap forward. “Oh?”

Miyamoto nods thoughtfully. “The building’s expensive, no question. But I believe it’s worth it. Central location, privacy, strong architecture, a huge underground storage space with truck bays. It has all the features we’d need now and in the future—” He catches himself with a frown and shakes his head. “I don’t know why I keep saying we. Force of habit, I suppose. Or this old brain can’t comprehend the fact that I’ll be retiring soon,” he chuckles.

I grin, but then my brow worries. “Are we really at that stage, Katō-san?” I ask, picking my words carefully. “I mean, the Ishida-kai are watching our every move in Tokyo. Kolya isn’t exactly a passive presence here, and the threats have been…constant.”

Miyamoto’s expression softens, and he nods slowly, looking past me as if deep in thought. “Kolya Ishida,” he tsks, his tone disdainful. “I know this will sound ridiculous, given the way he welcomed you to Tokyo…” His brow darkens. “In my own home, at that,” he spits. “But Kolya is more noise than action. He wants us to fear his presence, to think he has control over every inch of this city, but he’s simply throwing his weight around. A power play—nothing more.”

I frown slightly. “You really think that’s all it is?”

He hesitates, his usual confidence wavering. “I do,” he replies after a moment, not sounding entirely convinced. “Though, Hana…” His voice trails off.

I tilt my head, sensing the shift in his tone. “What?”

He clears his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable, which is rare for him. “I need to ask you a delicate question, and I hope you won’t take it the wrong way.”

I nod, signaling him to continue, though his tone has made my curiosity spike.

“I say this out of respect for you and your father, to whom I still feel I owe a great deal.”

I smile. “Of course, Katō-san. What’s on your mind?”

“The alliance between the Mori-kai and the Nikolayev Bratva…” he begins, choosing his words with care. “Just how…concrete is it?”

I bristle. “Very,” I answer, my voice firmer than I feel. I’m not used to anyone questioning the alliance, especially not someone from the inner circle. “I mean, it’s solidified by marriage at this point. Why?”

He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend. It’s just… Kolya’s aggression might have more to do with your alliance with the Bratva than any plans for a Tokyo expansion. He has history with the Bratva. He might be viewing the Russian involvement as a personal vendetta layered on top of the other complications. If that alliance were not so concrete…”

My jaw tightens. “Are you suggesting we reconsider our alliance with the Nikolayevs?” The words come out colder than usual for me.

Miyamoto looks taken aback for a moment, holding up a hand in a placating gesture. “No, Hana, not at all. I apologize if it sounded that way.” He sighs. “I only mean… If the tension with the Ishida-kai escalates, we may need to take some…creative precautions.”

I nod slowly. “I appreciate the honesty, Katō-san. But as far as I’m concerned, this alliance isn’t going anywhere. The Mori-kai and the Nikolayev Bratva have an agreement that’s as firm as a family bond, and we don’t break those.”

Miyamoto nods, his expression returning to its usual calm. “Understood. I meant no disrespect. Just trying to think as shrewdly as your father would have.”

I let out a quiet sigh, feeling the tension loosen. “It’s fine,” I say. “And you know what?” I smile wryly. “Let’s go ahead and pull the trigger on that building.”

Miyamoto’s eyes light up, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “Yes?” His smile widens. “Excellent news. I’ll get the ball rolling immediately.”

I nod, unable to help smiling myself. “It’s time we started making our mark here properly. Kolya or no Kolya.”

He chuckles. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The rumble of the engine vibrates through me, a high, steady rhythm as we race through Tokyo. The city lights blur past in neon streaks, glinting off Takeshi’s bike ahead of me. I let myself grin widely and rev the engine, losing myself in the thrill and shaking off the world.

It’s been too long since we rode like this, just my brother and me, two machines slicing through the night. Takeshi lives for it, the roar of the engine and the wild rush of the wind. I’m not as addicted, but God, it feels good tonight.

The wind tangles my hair under the helmet, snapping me into a sharper sense of being, alive, present. It’s just him and me, our bikes, and Tokyo’s neon flashing by.

No pressures. No games. No ghosts from the past, or Ishida-kai drama.

Just us.

Takeshi speeds up, leaning low over his bike, and I follow, weaving through the late-night traffic like this is our city and everyone else is just a guest.

Ahead, he veers off to the side, pulling into a small roadside stand that glows under a myriad of neon lights. I roll to a stop beside him and shut off the engine. The silence is startling after the constant roar, and I take a second to adjust, watching him pull off his helmet and shaking out his hair.

“Hungry?” he asks, nodding at the food trucks and street food stands.

“Starving,” I groan, slipping off my helmet and grinning as we browse what’s on offer.

We end up grabbing some takoyaki and a couple of Kirin beers. This is our frequent ritual in Kyoto, too. Our post-ride routine. Our chance to unwind and talk, to catch up on whatever we don’t say over family dinner or at Mori-kai meetings.

We grab a seat on a bench off to the side, the city looming tall, alive, and restless around us. I pop the cap off my beer, leaning back as Takeshi gives me that twin brother stare that doesn’t miss anything.

“So,” he begins, abruptly breaking the silence. “Damian knows, doesn’t he?” His tone is quiet, but there’s an edge to it. “About Josh, I mean.”

I pause, the words catching in my throat before I nod slowly, glancing away. “Yeah.”

Takeshi’s gaze is sharp. “You told him?”

Another nod. I feel something tighten in my chest, a mixture of guilt and relief, hoping that he understands.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

He waves it off. “Don’t be. If you told him, you had a reason. Both to trust him in the first place, and to tell him.” There’s a wry smile on his face. “And, let’s be real—heir to a Bratva empire? Not exactly the kind of guy to rat me out.”

“Low probability,” I agree with a small smile, sipping my beer. “How’d you know?”

Takeshi smirks. “Crossed paths in the hotel this morning. He clapped me on the shoulder and nodded, then went about his day.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You got all that from a shoulder pat?”

“Mind powers,” he deadpans, tapping the side of his head. “Also, most times we cross paths, it’s a miracle we don’t knock each other out, so…”

I laugh, the sound easing some of the tension that’s been living inside me. Takeshi’s good like that. He always has a way of cutting through the bullshit, giving me space to breathe.

He looks at me again. “He doesn’t know all of it, though, does he.”

My gaze shifts away, the familiar dread pooling low in my stomach. “Why would you say that?”

“Hana…” he says, his voice softening, the weight of it settling over us. There’s no judgment, just understanding.

I sigh, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “No. He doesn’t.”

Takeshi’s quiet for a moment, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. “Maybe he should.” Then his gaze turns reflective. “What made you tell him at all?”

I swallow, the memory of the video flashing in my mind. “Do you remember that package? Left for me at the hotel? It was an iPad with a video.”

He frowns in confusion.

“From that night,” I say softly.

Takeshi’s face darkens, his jaw clenching. “Jesus Christ, Hana.”

“It’s nothing,” I mutter, brushing it off even as my heartrate spikes. “I mean, it is what it is.”

Tak swears viciously, shaking his head and shoving his fingers through his hair before glancing back at me. “Who the fuck sent it?” he growls, the protective edge in his voice unmistakable.

“Dunno.” I shrug, feeling the helplessness of that uncertainty settle over me again.

“We could trace the package⁠—”

“Already did,” I say quietly. “Asked Freya to look into it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And?”

I shake my head glumly. “Nothing. Shell company after shell company. The trail just goes cold.”

Takeshi swears under his breath, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You know,” he begins slowly, “I heard a rumor that Prescott Harding got the shit beaten out of him the other night. Right here in Tokyo, if you can believe it.”

My stomach lurches, but I keep my face neutral. “Crazy,” I murmur, taking another sip of my beer. “He does live here, though. Works here now.”

“How exactly would you know that?” he asks, an amused glint in his eye.

I give him a significant look. Takeshi chuckles. “I think I might end up liking your pretend fiancé more than I expected. You think Prescott sent the iPad?”

I shrug, my shoulders tensing. “Maybe. Could’ve been him, could’ve been someone else.”

“We could ask him,” Takeshi says, his tone darker. “Or it could be Edward.”

The name sends a shiver through me, memories I’ve tried to bury clawing to the surface. “Can we please talk about something else?”

Takeshi’s quiet for a second, his gaze flickering to the distance. “Or it could be…them.”

My spine snaps rigid. He doesn’t even have to say, I know who he’s talking about. But Tak’s the one this time who doesn’t know the full story.

Not when it comes to that. To them.

But that’s behind me now.

“Those aren’t people you fuck with…” he continues.

I grit my teeth, sudden anger rising in me. “We’re the Mori-kai, Tak. We’re the ones people don’t fuck with.”

He nods, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. He reaches across, clinking his beer bottle against mine. “Fuck, yeah. Kanpai.”

Tak’s phone dings with a text as we both sip our beers and munch on our takoyaki.

“Fuck,” he grunts, reading it.

I frown as I turn to him. “What’s up?”

My twin’s face is lined and grim as he glances up at me. “Speaking of Prescott…”

My brow furrows. “Yeah?”

“Guess we won’t be talking to him. He just coded out at the hospital.”

I go still.

“He’s dead, Hana.”