Emperor of Lust: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Emperor of Lust: Chapter 19

I step out of the car, the cool Tokyo night wrapping around me. Damian’s already here, leaning against a black SUV, and his eyes snap to me the second he sees me. I catch his gaze, and a spark of electricity shoots through me, like a dangerous, silent current.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat.

He tilts his head, smirking slightly. “Hey yourself.”

The fundraising gala we’re attending is for a local planning and zoning minister who both the Mori-kai and the Nikolayev Bratva plan on speaking with…okay, bribing…for easement on future construction projects in Tokyo. Damian and I opted to arrive separately and meet outside, as we’ve both been in a barrage of different meetings all day.

A strange sort of shyness settles between us. I’m not used to this uncertainty. Damian usually fills the entire space with his sheer presence, but right now, he’s giving me a look that’s softer, gentler, almost intimate.

“How were your meetings?” I ask, trying to fill the silence. “Good?”

He nods. “All good.”

His eyes trace unabashedly over me, drinking in the black Dior gown with the silvery sequin accents and trim, the daring—thought not nearly as daring as on the dress I wore to Miyamoto’s house—neckline and plunging back letting the cool air tease over my skin.

“You look fucking amazing,” he murmurs, a dark edge to his tone as his gaze slides over me again.

I blush. “Thanks, you too.” I hesitate, glancing down and pricking my fingers together before lifting my gaze back to him. “Thanks for last night,” I shrug, feeling the weight of the unspoken words. “For listening to my whole sob story. I mean, I’d prefer⁠—”

“No one’s going to hear it from me,” he growls. “If that’s your concern.”

“Thanks,” I smile. “Really.”

His eyes hold mine for a beat. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low. He nods up at the ballet theater where the gala event is being hosted in the upstairs foyer. “You a fan?”

“Of the ballet?” I lift a shoulder. “A little, I guess.”

“If we’re ever in New York together, remind me to take you to the Zakharova Ballet. Kir’s a generous patron.”

He holds his arm out. “Shall we?”

“Gotta make the people happy, I guess,” I grin.

We’re starting to head inside, arm-in-arm, when I clear my throat.

“I got your gift, by the way.”

This morning, I woke up alone in his bed. Or, I guess it’s our bed, I just haven’t been using it aside from last night. He was already off to early meetings. But when I rolled over, I found myself smiling at a little origami crane—tied in red yarn, of course—sitting on the pillow next to me.

Damian shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, they were fresh out of fingers today. So…”

I giggle, a strange thrill spreading through me, heat creeping up my neck. We walk into the gala side by side, an odd, easy silence hanging between us.

The upper foyer is tastefully opulent: chandeliers dripping with crystals, dark wood paneled walls gleaming under soft light. The crowd is a mix of politicians, businessmen, and Yakuza bosses, mingling together like they’re all part of the same twisted, corrupt club.

Probably because they are.

Before I can blink, Annika’s at my side, tugging me away from Damian. Takeshi couldn’t come tonight, but Annika was adamant about joining, and brought Kai as her date.

She grins, waving a drink in my face. “There you are! Thought you might still be avoiding me after ditching us last night.”

I roll my eyes, laughing. “I already told you, I crashed hard.”

When I never made it back to Takeshi’s suite last night, I texted them that I had to work out some quick business stuff with Damian. But then I never came back, so…

Be honest,” Anni says with a sigh. “Was D being a dickhead?”

“Nah” I say slowly, thinking back to the previous night. “He was…actually really great.”

Annika raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Great?”

I swallow. It’s strange: what I shared about myself with him last night is something no one knows about.

Not even Kenzo or Mal.

Only Takeshi—and now Damian. It’s unsettling, but there’s a sort of calmness in it too.

“Yeah,” I say. “He helped me with some business stuff we had to go over. So—” I blurt, worried she’ll see through the lie, eager to change the subject. “Do we know where Takeshi is tonight?”

She shrugs. “Not sure. He’s got this whole clandestine plan involving the Ishida-kai, so he’s off doing…that. Something to do with Kolya Ishida’s heir, maybe?”

Kolya’s name alone sends a chill through me, but that’s not why I’m frowning.

“I didn’t think he had children,” I murmur.

Annika glances around, her voice dropping. “That’s the thing: no one’s sure. Some say his daughter died years ago. Others claim she’s been spotted recently.”

“Seriously?”

She looks around again. “No idea, but apparently it’s the hot topic of gossip in the Yakuza circles of Tokyo these days.”

Before I can ask more, Annika’s attention shifts as someone nearby calls her name.

She groans as she glances at a well-dressed women eagerly waving at her. “Shit. Her husband knows Kenzo. I should probably go be charming. Catch you later.”

I give her a quick hug before she darts off. Then I turn toward the bar, needing a drink to steady myself, my head still swimming from all the truths that came out last night.

“Hana?”

The voice is familiar, hesitant. I look up, eyes widening in surprise when I realize who it is.

“Scott?”

He looks just as shocked to see me as I am to see him.

“Wow, Hana…” He smiles awkwardly. “You look fantastic.”

I give him a quick hug before I pull back, looking at him curiously. “What are you doing in Tokyo?”

He adjusts his tie. “I, uh, just got a new job with a financial firm here. Edo Analytics?”

My brows shoot up. “Wow, I actually have a meeting with them next week.”

“Oh?”

I nod. “Yeah, Mori Holdings is expanding into Tokyo. That’s why I’m here. We might be using Edo, actually.”

He smiles. “Well, I’m the brand-new vice president of internal investments. I’ll tell them they’d be idiots not to partner with you.”

I grin. “I’d appreciate that.”

He looks down, still clearly uncomfortable. “I…heard you got engaged?” It almost sounds like he’s afraid of my answer.

I feel a brief flicker of guilt. Part of me wants to tell him it’s all fake, a show. But, for one, I really can’t say that, especially not here in a room full of people who need to think Damian and I are everything we’re claiming to be. But also…is it fake at this point?

“I am, yeah,” I say.

Scott nods, clearing his throat and forcing a smile. “Well… I’m happy for you, Hana. Really.” He pauses, then adds, “Oh, I almost forgot! I’m working with someone who knows you⁠—”

Before he can finish, I smell citrus and bergamot and feel a strong arm slide around my waist, pulling me close. I don’t even have to look to know who it is. Damian’s fingers press possessively into my hip, staking a silent claim that sends a jolt through me.

“Who the fuck are you?” Damian growls, radiating tension, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that cuts through the air. His eyes fix on Scott murderously. “And why the fuck are you talking to her?”

I sigh, exasperated. “Damian,” I mutter under my breath, but he’s not listening. His stare drills into Scott, unblinking and furious.

Scott shifts uncomfortably, glancing at me before meeting Damian’s glare. “I’m Scott Hiroyuki,” he says, trying to keep his tone polite. “Friend of Hana’s.”

Damian’s jaw tightens, unimpressed. “Friend?” He spits the word like it’s poison.

“Scott and I dated,” I blurt.

The admission makes Damian’s face darken further. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me even closer, a gesture that isn’t lost on Scott or me.

“Right,” Scott says with a nervous smile, glancing between us. “Well, it was, uh…nice to meet you.” He hesitates, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Looking forward to seeing you at the office next week, Hana.”

Damian’s response is instant. “Get lost.”

Scott gives me an awkward nod, clearly taken aback by Damian’s blunt dismissal, and mumbles goodbye before quickly walking away.

The second he’s out of earshot I whirl around, glaring at Damian. “What the fuck was that?” I hiss, trying to escape his arm.

Damian doesn’t budge. “That,” he growls quietly, “was me getting rid of some loser who thought he could just stroll back into your life.” His eyes turn icy. “What the fuck did he mean about seeing you next week?”

“He works for an analytics firm Mori Holdings is considering using here in Tokyo,” I snap, my voice tight. “If we do end up using them, then what? You going to stroll into his office and shoot him in head?”

“I was thinking more throwing him through his office window and counting the seconds before he becomes sidewalk goo. But your way admittedly sounds more efficient.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re not well.”

“And you’re not working with a man you used to fuck,” he growls through clenched teeth.

“It’s none of your damn business,” I retort.

“Oh, it definitely is,” he snaps, the dark possessiveness in his voice sending an unwelcome thrill through me.

I glare at him. “It’s not, actually. And for the record, I never slept with Scott.”

Damian scowls. “What?”

I feel a flush creeping up my cheeks, annoyance flaring. “I never…I just… I don’t really sleep with people.”

Confusion darkens his features. “You never slept with a guy you called your ex-boyfriend.”

“No,” I say testily.

“Why.”

“Because I just didn’t want to, okay?!” I snap. “Don’t get so fucking alpha about it. Also, why do you even care if I slept with him? This isn’t real, Damian,” I whisper, the frustration bubbling up inside me.

His hand tightens around my arm, pulling me closer, the intensity of his gaze burning into me. “Maybe I’m method acting,” he growls darkly, his voice rough. “Or maybe I just don’t like the thought of anyone else touching what’s mine.”

I lean in, my voice a harsh whisper. “I’m not yours.”

“Debatable,” he mutters, eyes blazing.

I pull away, my frustration boiling over. “Not. Really,” I say through clenched teeth, then storm away before he can say anything else.

I keep my distance from him, working the crowd as much as possible. But less than an hour later, the gala’s quickly losing its charm. Too much conversation, too much pretending, too much forced smiling. I need air.

I slip out of the foyer and into a quieter hallway. The windows here are open onto a government park outside, letting in a breeze that’s cool and refreshing, washing away some of the tension. I lean against the windowsill, staring out at the park and the city beyond, finally feeling able to breathe.

“Of all the gin joints, huh?”

I freeze, the words snapping my spine rigid. My entire body stiffens, like a rope suddenly pulled tight.

Slowly, I turn around and come face to face with a ghost from my past.

The monster from that night all those years ago, Josh, is dead. But his two best friends, Prescott Harding and Edward Radcliff—both American like him—were also in the room that night.

Laughing at my screams. Jeering. Cheering their friend on.

It’s Prescott who stands before me now, smiling like we’re old friends.

Like he didn’t howl with laughter as I screamed for mercy while his buddy was trying to rape me.

“You look good, Hana,” he says casually.

I can’t speak. Almost can’t breathe. He was there that night and did nothing. He watched, laughed, egged Josh on as⁠—

“What are you doing here?” I finally whisper, my insides twisting with fear I thought I’d buried long ago.

Prescott chuckles easily. “Just working,” he shrugs. “I’m with Edo Analytics now—actually, I just started working with an old friend of yours. Scott Hiroyuki?”

All I can do is nod, any words I might utter sticking in my throat.

“Small world, bumping into you here, isn’t it?” He smiles the charming grin I remember, the one that used to fool everyone into thinking he was harmless.

I can’t move, my head swimming. He’s talking to me like we’re just old classmates, like he didn’t sit there and laugh as I was held down, as I screamed⁠—

“Between you and me,” he says, leaning in and lowering his voice, “I’m staying in Japan for a while. You know, with all those deposition summons going on with the Donahues.”

My stomach twists violently. “Deposition summons?” I echo faintly, barely holding it together.

Prescott raises an eyebrow. “They didn’t contact you?” He groans. “Josh’s parents are on the warpath. They claim they’ve got evidence it wasn’t a drunk driving accident.” He shrugs. “I guess they’re looking for someone to blame.”

I shake my head, feeling like the ground’s slipping out from under me, staring at him with a floaty sort of disbelief as he glances at his watch.

“Shit, I have to run. Video call with my new boss.” He grimaces. “Fuckin’ Japanese have zero concept of work-life balance, am I right?” He grins at me. “Great seeing you, Hana.”

He starts to turn but then frowns, stopping and glancing back at me with a look that chills me to the bone. “Look… I just have to say it. What happened back then… We were all just stupid kids, right? And you were totally in on it, yeah?”

I stare at him, my mind whirling, barely able to process what he’s saying. “Excuse me?”

“Josh told us later that was your…thing.” He winks. “You know. Having an audience, being assaulted. A rape kink.”

I feel sick, my vision blurring at the edges as his smile only grows wider and more nauseating. “Too bad he had whiskey-dick that night, huh?”

My reality shatters, fragments splintering and my breath catching, shallow and sharp. My fingers dig into the window-ledge behind me to ground myself as the old memories claw up from the depths.

“Since we’re both here in Tokyo, we should get a drink sometime. Catch up.”

My voice briefly fails me, but then it calls out unbidden as he turns.

‘What were you saying about the Donahues and deposition summons?’

Prescott rolls his eyes. ‘Who knows. I just heard a rumor they’re trying to claim it was foul play, not that asshole driving around loaded.’ he chuckles. ‘But, I mean, come on. It’s not like anyone killed him or anything.’

My face goes numb. Prescott smiles.

“Good seeing you, Hana. Let’s catch up soon. Really.’

And with that, he’s gone, strolling down the hall as if he hadn’t just ripped open old wounds, pouring salt and acid into each one.

I stumble back, my vision blurring. I feel sick. Shattered. I can’t breathe.

And then, when I whirl away, I slam into a firm chest, instantly gasping as a hand shoots out and wraps around my throat, lifting my chin until my eyes lock with Damian’s.

“Who the fuck was that?”