Emperor of Lust: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Emperor of Lust: Chapter 25

Kyoto feels…different tonight.

Maybe it’s not the city itself. Or the house.

Maybe it’s her.

We’re all back at the Mori estate, celebrating Sota Akiyama’s seventh-seventh birthday. Well, almost all. Kir and Isaak are busy with something in New York. But I would guess that Kir’s gift, a stunning 1968 Ford Mustang GT 390 Fastback—green, just like in the movie Bullitt, which is Sota’s favorite, apparently—makes up for him not being here.

I watch Hana from one of the garden patios as she moves through the family gathering. There’s a light in her tonight. Something softer, and it’s messing with my head.

Takeshi’s loud laugh cuts through the low hum of conversation. Kenzo is arguing lightheartedly with Mal over something I can’t hear, and Freya and Annika are gabbing excitedly with a red-faced Kai across the patio. But all I really notice is Hana. She’s a vision.

And I hate that I sound like some idiot teenager with a crush, but there it is.

She laughs, her head tilting as she leans in to tell Sota something. He laughs too, and she squeezes his hand. She’s all softness and fire, and I’m drinking her in like I might never get to see her again. Maybe like I’m seeing her for the very first time.

The weird thing is, I feel at peace.

“So is this what you do now?” Freya’s voice pulls me back to the here and now. “Just stand there and stare at her like a creep?” She smirks, her eyes glinting. She laughs as I flip her off.

“Creep, huh?”

She snickers. “Not really. More like lovesick puppy.” She arches a brow. “You know, if you’re in this deep, you might just want to…oh, I don’t know…tell her.”

I roll my eyes. “Pro tip: you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She scoffs, grinning. “Oh, for sure. I mean, what do I know? Not like you’re standing here staring at her like a junior high crush.”

She gives me a look, daring me to deny it, but I don’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, I just sigh, shaking my head as she grins.

Then she leans in, her voice dropping. “By the way, I traced that number you gave me for Edward Radcliff.”

My brow raise. “And?”

“He’s dead, Damian.”

I go still.

“He was found with his wrists slashed in the bathtub of his London flat a few nights ago. On the same night Prescott Harding mysteriously asphyxiated in the hospital after you beat the fuck out of him.”

She eyes me cooly. I don’t blink.

“Something you’d like to ask me, Frey?” I say quietly.

“I would, but I know you weren’t in London that night.” She gives me a hard look. “I checked.” She coughs delicately. “You know, a toll booth picked you up heading to the hospital where Prescott was staying on the night he died.” She exhales slowly. “Don’t get sloppy, Damian,” she mutters.

“Noted. Does anything appear suspicious with Edward’s suicide?”

My cousin frowns slightly. “You know, I’m really fucking good at what I do. But I can be even more helpful if I know what I’m looking for. What exactly am I trying to help you with?”

I shrug, feeling the weight of it settle over me. “It’s…something personal.”

Just then, Hana passes behind Freya. She turns, and when our eyes lock, she gives me a small, easy smile that disarms me in a way nothing else can, or ever has.

I manage to pull my attention back to Freya. When I do, she’s got a look on her face that says it all.

“Something personal involving Hana?” she says quietly.

Slowly, I nod.

“You really care about her, don’t you?”

“What if I do?” I growl quietly.

“I’d say that’s terrific,” she says quietly, squeezing my hand and grinning at me. “I’m happy for you, D. Both of you.”

Her face turns serious again.

“So, I did dig into Edward a little. Hacked his home computer, poked around his bank accounts. The usual.”

“Anything good?”

She makes a face. “Honestly, as suicides go, Edward’s is pretty buttoned up. Money issues. Drug issues. His wife left him a year ago when he got fired from his job.”

“Working for Senator Donahue,” I grunt.

That motherfucker’s father.

Who was shaking Hana down for years, holding what Takeshi did to avenge her over her head.

I blink away the rage and focus on Freya.

She nods. “Right, for Kempton Donahue. He won’t be Senator Donahue much longer, though.”

I frown. “Why not?”

“His term is up in two months, and he’s not seeking reelection. He’s been appointed Ambassador to Japan. He’s actually in Tokyo already.”

My mind flickers to that fucking iPad Hana received.

…Sent through shell companies.

Just then, Annika swings by, touching my arm. “Dinner’s ready. You coming?”

Mal materializes out of the shadows—the fucker’s good at that—and slips his arm wordlessly around Freya. He nods silently at me before scooping a squealing Freya into his arms and carrying her off to the dinner table.

I take my seat beside Hana, who’s sitting with a mix of elegance and ease, as though she belongs nowhere else but here.

Next to me.

Around us, Sota’s old Yakuza buddies share loud, raucous jokes and sake, and the air fills with warm laughter.

Takeshi makes some joke across the table, and Hana laughs, a musical sound that does strange things to my chest. Before I realize it, her hand is slipping into mine under the table and squeezing.

I’m done hiding. I’m done pretending this is anything but the most real thing I’ve ever felt, with anyone.

I lift our hands up and set them firmly on the table, still holding hers for everyone to see. A grin spreads over my face when her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t pull away. Takeshi glares at our hands for a second, but then gives a slight nod. Annika and Freya are beaming ear to ear. Kenzo initially looks confused, but then reads the room pretty fast and tilts his head in my direction. Mal shrugs and giving a silent nod right after.

Sota is the last one. But when I lock eyes with the man who was essentially a father to Hana for years, and he slowly dips his chin and grins at me…

Pretty sure that means I just passed some sort of test.

Sitting here, her hand in mine, a strange feeling settles over me. Like I’ve found my place. Like there’s nothing I’d rather do than hold her hand, for as long as she’ll let me.

The evening passes with a blur of voices and clinking glasses, one constant presence steadying me—Hana.

After dinner winds down we make our way upstairs, her arm looped tightly through mine as if she’s afraid to let go. She’s flushed and grinning from all the sake Sota’s friends kept pouring, and when looks at me mischievously, my blood runs a little hotter.

We’re barely inside her room before she pounces. I groan as she pushes me against the door, kissing me deeply. Fire roars through my veins, my cock turning to steel against her stomach as I grip her ass tightly.

“How about you,” she half-slurs, “go shower.” She grins a tipsy, sultry smile as she brings her lips to my ear. “And then come back and tie me up.”

Okay, she’s drunk. But whatever reservations I have slip away when she cups my swollen dick through my pants and leans close again.

“Don’t you dare say no because I’ve been drinking,” she purrs. Her teeth nip my earlobe. “I want you to take advantage of me…”

Fuck.

My cock surges against the front of my pants.

Hana giggles, slips away from me, and nods to the bathroom. “Off you go. Don’t be long.”

It’s possible I set a new land speed record for quickest rinse-off. Still, when I step out of the bathroom, sans towel, my hunger abates.

Hana’s curled up in bed, fast asleep.

It’s not a “wake me up with your cock” kind of sleep. Not a “take advantage of me” sleep.

It’s a true “the ship has sailed” passed out.

Her breaths are deep and even, her lashes casting faint shadows across her cheeks. She looks so peaceful and vulnerable, in a way I rarely see.

I reach for the covers, pulling them over her, tucking her in. She stirs, murmuring something, her lips pouting slightly.

“I fell asleep,” she mumbles, barely awake, her tone both regretful and apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

I run a hand through her hair, kissing her cheek. “Don’t be.”

Slowly she peels her eyes halfway open. She glances at the space beside her. The sad look in her eyes tightens my chest.

We’re still not sharing a bed. No matter how close we’ve gotten, how many barriers we’ve smashed, there’s still one she can’t cross. But I understand. It isn’t the kind of thing she can just undo, like untying a knot. It’s buried deep in her brain, beyond words, beyond reason.

She sighs, the faintest frown twisting her mouth. “I… I don’t want to be this way. I hate it. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I say softly. I’m not letting this be one more thing she beats herself up over.

I grab a pillow and spare blanket from the armchair in the corner, setting up a makeshift bed on the floor next to her. I lie down, looking up at her as I spread out the blanket.

“This okay?” I ask, reaching for her hand.

Her fingers slip into mine and she squeezes.

“I think… This works,” she whispers softly.

A minute later, she’s breathing rhythmically.

But I stay awake.

I can’t bring myself to let go of her hand. I lie in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing.

How the fuck did I end up here? Despite all the chaos, somehow I landed here—next to her. After a life spent knowing only the brutal edges, navigating the shadows, now there’s…her. Breaking through every fucking wall I’ve ever built.

I’m tired of pretending I’m not grateful for it. Her hand tightens around mine in her sleep, and it sends a warm, steadying, addictive jolt through me. Not calm, exactly—more like a barely-contained storm.

And no one’s going to take that away.