Emperor of Havoc: A Dark Forced Marriage Mafia Romance
Emperor of Havoc: Chapter 12

The Ishida-kai are watching me, waiting, like jackals sizing up a lion. Testing, prodding for weakness.

They don’t realize I see it—the way they gather in corners, voices low, eyes flicking to me when they think I’m not looking. But I see everything.

It’s all obviously Katarina’s doing. She’s been busy, that fiancée of mine. Moving chess pieces, whispering into the ears of various Ishida-kai allies. It’s almost cute how hard she’s trying to freeze me out.

Almost.

But this is a game I’ve been playing much longer than she realizes.

The captains are huddled near the far side of the study when I enter, talking quietly. Kolya was back in action as of two days ago, but then earlier this morning his doctors called him back to the hospital for some more tests.

His health issues aren’t common knowledge, of course. Only the extreme inner circle—i.e., the captains I’ve just walked in on—knows about their Oyabun’s medical condition.

It goes without saying that I’m not supposed to know, either. But what can I say: I’m good at reading people, and I’ve figured out what’s going on with Kolya.

Just kidding. I bugged half the rooms in the house the first time anyone was dumb enough to let me wander around unsupervised.

A tumor on the spine sounds…brutal. Perhaps it’s part of the reason Katarina is so on edge recently.

That, or she’s still trying to reconcile her burning hate for me with what I’m sure is a burning desire for me to follow through on the dark fantasies she voiced to ‘Kaiju’.

She’s close with her father—unlike me. Mom had Kenzo, and then Hana and I years later, with the same man: Hideo Mori, who at the time was the fearsome head of the Mori-kai in Kyoto, where our Norwegian mother had been studying abroad.

Freaked at the prospect of raising a child in the world of the Yakuza, she fled Japan when she was pregnant with Kenzo, never even telling Hideo she was expecting. Years later she went back to Japan, hoping to re-ignite things with him. But once again, she decided that she couldn’t raise a family with a Yakuza kingpin as the patriarch.

She left Japan a second time, now pregnant with Hana and I, and never came back. Hideo ended up moving on, finding his own happy ever after, and changing his name to leave the world of the Yakuza behind.

He’s in New York now, living his best life as Hideo Yamaguchi. Our half-sister, Fumi, is there as well—a top hot-shot lawyer at a top hot-shot law firm, not to mention First Lady of the state, since her husband is Governor.

It’s a strange world.

Hana and Kenzo have bonded with Hideo at little, but I haven’t much. Nothing personal—it’s not like I fault him for not even knowing we existed until recently. We’re just…not close.

Akira and I were, though.

Mom had met him through the various aristocratic circles she floated through. I never knew much about his background, except that he came from a prominent political family in Japan, had money, and was probably the coolest motherfucker I’d ever met.

I was getting into some dumb shit with the wrong kind of people, who knows why. Maybe it was a lack of male role models. Or lack of direction. Perhaps it was what a shrink would later call my “psychologically atypical personality traits” beginning to manifest.

Anyway, that’s when mom had Akira over to our place for dinner.

At first, I thought it was bullshit and maybe a little racist that she’d found the one Japanese guy living anywhere remotely close to us in the English countryside to play buddy-buddy with me. But by the end of it, when Akira took me outside and showed me his old BSA Y13 motorcycle?

Fuck me. I was in.

After that, especially as mom got sicker, and Hana developed her own circle of friends, Akira became like the cool uncle I’d never had. To me, he was like an Asian Patrick Swayze: effortlessly cool, smug, and fun. Over the next few years, he taught me everything that made me who I am today.

Bikes and cars. Engines. Music. Girls. He taught me how to lift, how to channel all the rage I felt inside into constructive activities like building my first street-racing motorcycle from the ground up, working out, getting my first girlfriend.

And then one day, Akira said he had to go back to Japan to deal with some family stuff.

He never came back.

Never called, wrote, emailed. Nothing. It was like the guy had vanished off the face of the Earth.

Years later, after I’d followed Kenzo and Mal to Kyoto, I started digging into it. That’s when I learned the truth. Akira didn’t just magically disappear.

He was killed.

I’ve been trying to retrace his path and figure out where the trail ends ever since, so I can find whoever did it and make them and their immediate descendants wish to God that they’d never been born.

And as of a few months ago, I finally figured out where that trail leads:

…To Kolya fucking Ishida’s front door.

I think that at least partially explains why I wanted to slither my way into the Ishida-kai, via Katarina. Yes, my primary duty is to the Mori-kai. And yes, marrying Katarina ends the potential violence between our families, and allows Kenzo to officially set up shop in Tokyo without setting off World War Three.

But there’s more to it than that.

By the time I’m done here, not only will I figure out what happened to Akira—and when I do, someone will pay dearly, even if that person is my soon-to-be father-in-law—but I’ll also control the Ishida-kai from the inside out, like a puppet-master.

Both the empire, and the princess…

Across the room, Yamamoto’s heavy brows are knit as he grumbles something to the others. He’s been in Kolya’s circle for as long as anyone can remember, which makes him one of the most influential voices in the room.

Influence I need.

“I didn’t know we were having a meeting,” I say casually, striding into the room. I don’t have to raise my voice; the captains hear me anyway. Their heads swivel in unison, and the room goes quiet.

“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” Yamamoto says, his voice a low rumble.

I smile faintly, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Really? Last I checked, I was engaged to Katarina Ishida. That makes me family. Family is concerned with everything.”

“Family earns its place,” Baku Katagiri, another Ishida-kai ally, shoots back. His tone is sharp. “You haven’t done that yet.”

I let the insult roll off me as I step closer.

“I will earn my place soon enough,” I say, evenly, unbothered. “Whether you approve or not.”

“You think marrying Katarina-sama makes you untouchable?” Ryu’s voice is like a blade. I turn slowly to see him standing near the door, arms crossed, mouth set in that insufferable, perpetual scowl of his.

Here we go.

“Untouchable?” I repeat, letting the word hang in the air. “I don’t think it makes me untouchable. I think it makes me necessary.”

He snorts softly, his gaze dark. “You’re delusional if you think we need you. You’re a guest in this house—that’s all.”

“Guest?” I echo, my lips curling dangerously. “The moment I marry Katarina, I’m no longer a guest. I’m part of this family. Privy to everything.”

“That,” Ryu says, “is Katarina’s choice to make.”

I smile wryly, my gaze locking with his. They think this is a fight they can win. That Katarina can outmaneuver me, keep me in the dark while she runs her little show behind closed doors. It’s admirable how loyal they are to her. But loyalty doesn’t change reality.

I keep smiling as I calmly step closer to Ryu.

“You’re very loyal to her, aren’t you.”

His face remains impassive as he stays silent, glaring at me. My smile widens.

“I’ve seen how you are around her,” I continue. “So protective. So attentive… It must goad you to no end to see me waltz in here and pluck what you’ve watched from a distance and waited for so patiently.”

Ryu’s eyes narrow. “What you’re insinuating is both disgusting and offensive, gaijin.”

Slowly, I lean closer to his ear, delicately coughing. “I’ll have to tell you all about the wedding night later, so you can see if what I get to taste is everything you’ve always imagined…”

The room goes utterly still. I brace myself, waiting for Ryu to explode.

He doesn’t even blink. He doesn’t draw his katana, or hit me, or say a word. But finally he clears his throat and leans into me.

“If you think you’re the first little maggot to try and get under my skin, you are sorely mistaken, gaijin. Unlike you, I’m not at the mercy of my emotions like a child. I don’t take orders from anyone except Katarina—a woman, I might add, who I consider my own blood.”

I sigh. “Ryu⁠—”

“No, gaijin. You aren’t going to provoke me, no matter how disgusting you are. But if she asks it of me?” His smile widens. “I will not hesitate for a second to separate your foul-mouthed head from your body.”

For a moment, I say nothing. I just smile, slowly and deliberately, letting him feel every inch of the threat I’m not voicing. Then I turn away, reclaiming my glass and strolling back through the study past the cluster of captains and out into the hall. Let Ryu stew. I’ll deal with him in my own time.

For now, I have something much more…interesting to deal with.

I find Katarina in her wing of the house, as I knew I would.

Now, I can’t claim to have known I’d find her drying off her naked body after a shower, but here we are.

There’s still a faint sound of running water when I let myself into her bedroom. The door clicks shut softly behind me and I lean against it, watching her through the open bathroom door and the steam-fogged glass shower walls.

She doesn’t notice me at first, too preoccupied with turning the water off and then wrapping herself in a towel. I take the opportunity to poke my head into the small office in the adjoining room, frowning when I see that fucking tiger cub asleep on the sofa.

I close the door to the office and its clawed occupant and turn to lean against it as I watch Katarina.

She catches sight of me a second later as she steps out of the shower and freezes, her entire body going rigid as her wide, gray eyes snap to mine.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?!” she signs, her movements furious as she violently yanks the towel around herself.

I smile, calmly walking toward the bathroom. “Looking for you, wife.”

Her face flushes with fury—and something else I know she doesn’t want me to see. “Get out.”

I take a slow step forward, my eyes dragging deliberately over her—the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck, the curve of her bare shoulders, the way her chest rises and falls unevenly. She scrambles back a step, clutching the towel tighter. The movement only makes me smile wider.

“What are these games you’re playing?” I ask softly, tilting my head. “You can’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is it really purely by chance that the waka gashira and other allies all go silent when I walk into a room?”

“Not chance,” she signs. “It’s probably your repellent personality. Or, I don’t know, the fact that you’re their enemy.”

“Was,” I growl. “Was their enemy. Now I’m their boss.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Roll them all you like, princess,” I purr. “When we’re married, what’s yours is mine, including control over those sulking, pouting captains. So, no more games. Although I promise they’re doing nothing but amuse me.”

“They’re not games,” she signs, glaring at me. “They’re protection.”

“Protection?” I echo, amusement threading through my voice. “From?”

“You,” she signs fiercely. “You think you’re in control here, but you’re not.”

“Control?” I move before she can react, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her close. I feel her pulse flutter beneath my fingers, quick and erratic.

“I’ve been using the carrot, Katarina,” I murmur, my voice low as I look down at her. “But I could always switch to the stick. What do you think your captains would say if I told them how much you love being chased?” I whisper. “How much you love being roughly used?”

Her hand flies up, fingers spelling out the word before I can finish my sentence.

“Asshole. I’d simply tell them how small your dick is,” she signs furiously.

The laugh that escapes me is genuine, dark and sharp.

“We don’t need to wait for the wedding night, princess,” I growl. “I could fuck your tight little cunt right now. Then we’ll see if the word small is still in your lexicon.”

Something wicked ripples in her eyes. Her cheeks heat, her throat bobs up and down as her lower lip trembles.

Darkness flexes inside me, hunger beginning to gnaw at my mind as I slowly push her back until her ass is against the vanity, boxing her in as my hands go to the counter on either side of her.

I smirk, my eyes dragging over her again. “Tell me, princess,” I purr, my voice dropping to a growl, “will it be a white wedding? Will we be staining the sheets with virgin blood when we consummate our marriage?”

Her face flushes crimson, and for a moment, her hands are stunned into silence. “That is none of your business,” she eventually signs furiously. “And we are not consummating anything.”

“Of course we are,” I counter. “It’s expected.”

“How romantic.” She rolls her eyes.

“I’d be lying if I promised you romance,” I say bluntly. “But I can promise you’ll be orgasming all over my face, fingers, and cock.”

The blush on her cheeks deepens.

“I think I’m right,” I growl quietly. “I think for all your kinkiness, looking online for a stranger to chase you, catch you and fuck you while you struggle, you’ve never actually been fucked before, have you?”

Her eyes widen as her mouth falls open in shock. She raises a hand to say something. But before her fingers can move, I’ve captured them in mine, silencing her.

“The way you always put up a fight…” I murmur, pressing her back against the cool marble of the vanity. Her breath hitches as I push my body to hers. “It’s beginning to make me assume that you like it. You like the fight, princess, and I think you love it when I make you lose that fight. You want me to overpower you. Don’t you.”

Her breath catches sharply as I whirl her around to face the mirror. I grab the front of her towel and yank it out of her grip, ripping it away and letting it fall to the floor.

Katarina squirms and fights, trying to wriggle out of my grasp as I pin her to the vanity.

She’s not going anywhere.

“I wonder if you even know what you look like when you lose,” I murmur.

Her lips part in protest, but then my hand slides around to roughly cup her breast, my fingers pinching her nipple and rolling it tightly, and her body tenses against me.

Her eyes roll back as a flush creeps over her cheeks and a sound close to a moan rumbles way in the back of her delicate throat.

She instantly tries to cover it up, but there’s no hiding it from me. I grin darkly and pinch the nipple again, rolling the little nub between the pads of my fingers, causing her to jerk against me again.

My other hand slides over her hip, moving to the front of her body. Her eyes widen in the mirror, her body shaking slightly as I keep her pinned there, my hand snaking down her stomach. My fingers run over smooth skin. Then soft, trimmed, coppery-blonde hair.

Katarina’s body jolts, and a sound that turns my dick to forged steel catches low in her throat as my fingers slide lower, finding molten, wet heat.

“This, princess” I murmur into her ear, “is what you look like when you’re mine.”

I plunge two fingers into her dripping wet pussy. Katarina arches against me as I pin her hard against the counter. My fingers curl deep, stroking against her g-spot, making her legs shake.

My mouth drags down her delicate neck, and when my teeth clamp down sharply and my fingers plunge deep into her, an enormous shudder rips down her spine.

I growl as I grind against her, the beast roaring inside me. My fingers mercilessly twist and torment her nipples, my teeth raking down her skin. I can feel her pussy clamping down around me, dripping all over my hand as I grind my palm against her clit. My fingers curl deeper, stroking against her g-spot over and over.

She falls forward, her eyes wild and her face slack as one hand braces herself against the mirror. The other drops to my own hand—whether to push it away or urge me on I don’t know, but either way, I don’t slow or stop what I’m doing. She clings to my wrist, nails digging into the back of my hand as I finger her harder and faster, feeling her body tremble against mine as her mouth opens in a silent scream.

Suddenly, her pussy ripples and clamps down tight on my fingers, her eyes rolling back and her body going completely rigid. Wetness floods my hand, and I feel her feet kicking against the tiled floor as she comes all over my fingers.

I keep her pinned where she is as I slowly slide my fingers from her quivering cunt. I drag them wetly up her body, rubbing them over her tender, swollen nipples and then bringing my hand up her throat until my fingertips drag across her lips.

“Open,” I growl quietly.

She does.

Our eyes lock in the mirror as her lips part and I slide my wet fingers inside. Her eyes fly wide as I roll one of her nipples again, her tongue dancing over my fingers as she licks and sucks them clean, lost in the moment.

I lean into her ear, and she jolts when I bite down hard on the lobe.

“Good girl.”

It’s either the name, or the bite. But something shakes her from that floaty, post-orgasm bliss. Instantly, her face changes, her eyes narrowing on me. She pushes me back, and this time, I allow her to squirm free. She snatches the towel off the floor, her face burning as she turns away and hastily wraps it around herself.

She whirls on me, her eyes blazing, her lower lip trembling as she holds the towel against her still-shaking body.

“Get the fuck out,” she signs hurriedly.

“Your pillow talk needs some work, princess.”

Her lips purse.

“I never said you could touch me like that.”

I snort. “You never said I couldn’t.”

“No, because you didn’t let me.”

I roll my eyes. “Or maybe you were just too busy coming all over my fingers like a greedy little slut to even remember how much you hate me.”

Her throat works. Her bottom lip sucks between her teeth. Her hands move sharply, her gray eyes flinty.

“Get out. Get out and go to hell.”

I grin. “I’ll save you a seat, princess.”