Emperor of Lust: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Emperor of Lust: Chapter 22

It’s well past midnight and Tokyo is blanketed in moonlight outside the dark hotel room. I sit on the corner at the foot of the bed, watching Hana sleep.

I won’t be joining her.

For all the barriers we’ve broken through, this one remains—a last ghost of her past. She still can’t bring herself to sleep in a bed with me. We did try earlier tonight, and she made a heroic effort to look like she was fine. But it was painfully clear she wasn’t.

We’ll get there. Maybe we won’t. Either way, the fact that I’m saying shit like “we” speaks volumes.

Speaks to a reality I’m still not sure how to process, and never expected.

She’s so beautiful. So strong and yet so delicate…

A wave of protectiveness rolls over me as I watch her chest rise and fall, and I don’t even realize I’m still on the phone until Kir’s tone on the other end sharpens.

“Are you hearing me?”

I exhale and turn away from Hana, the moment shattered.

“Yeah,” I growl quietly. “I hear you.”

“I don’t care if Prescott is a douchebag, Damian. Both the Mori family and ours had plans to work with Edo Analytics. Your little stunt is putting more eyes on us than we need right now.”

“You can still work with them,” I drawl unhurriedly, leaning into my irritation. “I bet they’d be thrilled for the business.”

“Damian.” Kir’s voice tightens. “You put one of their senior analysts in a fucking coma.”

I scoff, enjoying the memory—the feeling of Prescott’s facial bones breaking, of releasing all the anger I’d felt simmering just below the surface.

“This is not why I sent you to Japan,” Kir hisses, voice icy.

Something inside me snaps. I stalk to the bathroom, half shutting the door so as not to wake Hana, my restraint wavering. “Then why did you send me here, Uncle?” I challenge, my voice dark. “You know what I am. You know what I do.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

Yeah… Kir does know who and what I am. He’s probably the only reason I learned to remotely cage those urges—learned to assimilate into normal society and channel my violent tendencies in productive ways.

Well, productive if you happen to be a member of a Bratva family.

“Damian…” Kir says, softer now. “What happened back there?”

I grind my teeth, my eyes flickering toward the half-open door where Hana sleeps. I don’t want to tell him, but for once, I don’t think I can hide what I’m feeling. Kir’s quiet a few seconds, then he sighs.

“Can I take a guess?”

“Go ahead,” I snap.

“It’s Hana, isn’t it.”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. The silence stretching between us is answer enough, and I know Kir hears it too.

“I never taught you how to deal with that, did I,” he murmurs quietly. “Balancing your rage and your impulses against having feelings for someone.”

“Why,” I growl. “Because you never excepted me to find someone to give a shit about?”

He exhales. “The men in our family rarely do,” he says quietly. “Trust me.”

Kir’s a striking, good-looking man. He’s tall, he’s built like a guy half his age, not to mention he’s phenomenally wealthy and one of the most powerful Bratva leaders in the world.

You’d expect a man like him to have women falling for him all the time. And, yes, they frequently do, but he’s not exactly trying to catch them. I don’t think Kir’s dated once the entire time I’ve known him. Annika and Freya used to joke that he was secretly into men. But that’s not it.

No, I think he’s right: the men of our family don’t typically find…

I glance across the darkness to Hana again, my heart beating a little faster.

This. Whatever this is.

“There’s something else I need to talk to you about,” I mutter. “Kolya Ishida made contact tonight, via an envoy.”

I can practically hear Kir’s jaw grinding. “Did he, now,” he growls. “What does he want?”

“For us to split with the Mori family and partner with him.”

Kir snorts. “Of course he does. Divide and conquer. His Russian half is showing.”

I sigh heavily. “Yeah, well, the offer came with threats.”

“Against?”

“Our family. The Mori family.”

Kir exhales. “And your thoughts?”

I shake my head. “I don’t doubt that Kolya is a man of action, even brutal action. But I think the threats tonight were simply that—threats. I also think they mean he’s worried,” I mutter. “He sees the writing on the wall and realizes that a joint Nikolayev-Mori incursion into Tokyo is going to throw off the balance of a lot of things he has an interest in here. He needed to make his voice heard, loudly, because he needs to split us from the Mori-kai to weaken his enemies.”

Kir chuckles quietly. “You’re a good student, nephew.”

“I had a decent enough teacher,” I grin.

“What does the student think we should do next?”

I draw in a breath. “I doubt Kolya is going to try anything. But I do think we should bulk up security. We’ve got some men just sitting around in Kyoto. I’m going to get them on a bullet train here by tomorrow morning, and I’m going to suggest to Kenzo that he send some of his guys with them.”

“Fortification. Smart move,” Kir murmurs. “Good work.”

There’s a pause.

“Is the extra security for our interests, or the Mori-kai’s?”

I frown. “Well—we’re on the same team…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then speak clearer,” I growl.

“Fine.” My uncle coughs delicately. “Is the extra security for you, or for Hana?”

My jaw sets.

“I can handle myself, Kir.”

He chuckles quietly. “That’s the only answer I need.”

Part of being a good hunter entails being good at waiting.

That’s exactly what I do when it comes to Prescott Harding.

In my world, I don’t have the luxury of believing in coincidences. So when Hana gets a random surprise iPad delivered with a recording of her assault on it, and then one of the fuckers from that night just happens to cross her path within twenty-four hours?

Like I said: me and coincidences don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.

Prescott’s been in a medically induced coma since I beat him so badly that he had brain swelling, but he’s awake now.

Which means it’s time to pay him a visit and have a little chat.

I’m not worried about him tattling to the authorities. I’ve checked with my sources, and while the police were at the hospital earlier to talk with him about the attack after he woke up, Prescott was smart enough to say he thought it was a random attack by a stranger.

That, or someone smarter than him had the good sense to gently let him know who exactly I am and suggest that might be a wise response.

I adjust the mask over my nose and mouth, squirming uncomfortably in the one-size-too-small hospital scrubs I stole from the employee locker room. Nobody pays me any attention as I slip through the halls of the hospital until I get to Prescott’s room.

It’s unguarded. Maybe he’s not so smart after all.

I slip inside the dim room, locking the door before I turn to level a cold glare at the man lying in the hospital bed. He’s asleep, the machines he’s hooked up to beeping and whirring rhythmically as I approach. I turn off the sensor connected to the main nurses’ station.

No need for us to be interrupted when his heart rate inevitably goes through the roof.

The table beside his bed is full of bouquets of flowers and cards: some from his coworkers at Edo Analytics, some from his family back home in the U.S. There’s also a framed picture of him with some girl that appears to be his girlfriend.

I take a picture of it, glancing at the card next to it to see that her name is Sarah. Sarah will soon be hearing from me, suggesting that she ask her boyfriend about the night he watched and laughed while his buddy tried to rape a girl.

Should make for interesting date-night conversation.

I grab Prescott’s phone from the table, bring it to his face, and pry open one of his eyes to unlock it. The fucker stirs but doesn’t wake.

The phone does, though.

I flip through his recent calls, and my mouth tightens. Yeah, just as I thought. There’s one earlier today, probably right after he came out of his coma, to Edward Radcliffe.

The other motherfucker who watched that night: rats, clinging to each other as the ship goes down.

I move closer to the bed, my fingers tightening into fists as I lean over him. Prescott stirs again, and this time his eyes flutter open. His gaze slowly comes into focus, and when he sees me leaning over him, he jolts with a startled whimper, the confusion in his gaze giving way to pure terror. His mouth starts to open, but my hand clamps it shut and keeps it like that as his eyes bulge.

“Hush now,” I murmur, sick satisfaction rolling through me. “This won’t take long.”

Prescott’s face turns the color of rotten milk, his eyes wide and horrified.

“I’m going to ask you a question. Then I’m going to release your jaw so that you can answer. If you scream, call out, or otherwise bullshit me, I’ll kill you long before any help arrives. Nod if you fucking understand.”

He nods emphatically.

“Good boy,” I growl, leveling my gaze at him. “Did you send Hana an iPad the other day?”

I lift my hand away from his mouth.

Prescott’s brow furrows, then he quickly shakes his head. “No!” he blurts. “No, I⁠—”

“One with the video one of you little fucking ghouls took of her that night, when your dead pal Josh tried to rape her with his limp whiskey dick?”

Prescott shakes his head again. “No. I swear to you⁠—”

My hand clamps down over his mouth. “Next question. Who all knows about that night? Be specific, and don’t you dare fucking lie.”

He gulps as my hand comes away again.

“There…there was me⁠—”

“No fucking shit,” I growl.

He shrivels under my gaze. “And…and Josh. And Edward.”

“Who you called earlier.”

He swallows heavily, his throat working. “Yeah, just to check in and⁠—”

I flick open my knife.

“Okay, okay!” he whimpers. “I got a text from him when I was still under.”

“Saying?”

“Nothing really,” Prescott bleats. “Just that he wanted me to call him asap.” He shrinks again under my glare. “You can check my phone.”

I do. Sure enough, there’s a text from Edward, two nights ago:

I frown at it before my eyes slide back to Prescott. “What was he scared of?”

“Dunno.”

“But you called him.”

“Yeah. But he didn’t answer.”

I exhale sharply. “Well, what would he be scared of?”

Prescott makes a face. “Take your pick.”

I frown. “Meaning?”

“Ed’s into some bad shit, man. He’s…” he winces. “He’s trying to get help, but he’s got some issues.”

“Like?”

“Gambling and cocaine, mainly,” Prescott mumbles. “It’s fucking up his life. His wife left him last year after the senator fired him.”

My brow furrows. “Senator?”

Prescott swallows heavily. “He worked for Josh’s father, Senator Donahue. They tried to get him to clean up, but eventually, they had to let him go because of the drug issues.”

I scowl. “Who else knew about what happened that night?”

Prescott hesitates.

“Answer me,” I snarl coldly, making him cower.

“Josh’s parents,” he blurts, his face stricken. “After what happened… I mean, we all had suspicions.”

“About the car crash?”

Prescott’s eyes dart side to side nervously.

“Something you’d like to mention?” I growl.

“Well,” he says nervously. “It was suspicious.”

“How so.”

He looks at me. “Josh was the most popular guy I’ve ever known. I mean, he was magnetic. The dude always had a flock of people around him, girls hanging off him.”

“How the fuck does that make his death suspicious?”

Prescott answers instantly. “Because if the guy was going to drive drunk off a cliff, there’d have been at least one other drunk kid in the car with him.”

Shit.

I guess Takeshi didn’t think about that.

“Anyway,” Prescott swallows. “Senator Donahue and his wife came to me and Ed. Like, they had questions, same as us.”

“And?”

He looks away. “We…told them about that night.”

My teeth grind.

“Who filmed the video.”

Prescott gives me a weak look. “Please,” he whispers. “I mean, we were all kids⁠—”

“Who.”

His face turns the sort of shade that tells me the answer before he grows the balls to spit it out.

“I did,” he whispers.

I nod slowly, turning to grab the spare pillow from the chair behind me. Prescott’s eyes go wide.

“Woah, hang on!” he cries anxiously. “You said⁠—”

“I said I was going to ask you some questions, and you were going to answer them. Thanks for that, incidentally,” I growl. I cock my head at him. “Prescott, do you have any children?”

His brow furrows. “W-what?”

“Kids. Children. Offspring. Heirs,” I hiss. “Do you have any.”

It’s the one thing that might spare him tonight. What can I say, I hate turning kids into orphans.

Prescott shivers as he shakes his head side to side. “N-no?”

“That’s too bad.”

He does scream, briefly. But the pillow swallows it as I press it down over his face. He fights me as best he can for a minute, batting weakly at my arms as his legs kick and squirm.

I don’t do anything but watch. I even laugh at one point, just to make it that much more poetic. Eventually, he stops struggling and goes still.

Guess he and Sarah won’t be having that awkward conversation after all.

When I step out of the hospital, the city around me feels sharper, clearer. I pull out my phone and dial Freya. She picks up on the second ring, her voice a mix of surprise and weariness.

“Hello, favorite cousin,” I say, my tone almost pleasant.

She sighs. “Only cousin. The word you’re looking for is only.”

I grin. “Who says it can’t be both?”

She chuckles quietly, and I can hear the click-clacking of her laptop keyboard in the background, which means she’s probably working. “What do you want, D?”

“Can you trace a number for me?”

Freya laughs wryly. “I’m a superhero, Damian. I can do anything.”

“Love the enthusiasm. I’m texting it to you now.”

I pull the phone away from my ear just long enough to text her Edward Radcliff’s number.

“Got it?”

“Yeah, got it,” she answers, laughing to herself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she snickers. “This kind of request has been popular tonight, is all.”

I narrow my eyes, suddenly alert. “Meaning?”

“Hana called earlier,” she says, a chuckle slipping into her voice. “She wanted me to trace the shipping origin of a package.”

My fiancée’s a smart girl.

“And I’m assuming a superhero such as yourself managed to accomplish this?”

“Obviously. But it was a dead end. The package was sent from Seoul, but from a fake corporation.”

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Well, that wasn’t the dead end. But when I dug into that company, I came up with another fake company in Barcelona that sent it from there to South Korea. That’s the dead end.”

I sigh. “Got it.”

“Look, it’ll take me a little while to trace this. Want me to call you when I get it?”

“That’d be great. Thanks, Frey.”

“Anytime. So, how’s Tokyo, by the way?”

“Huge. Very neon.

She laughs. “And Hana?”

My answer doesn’t come right away, because my mouth twists into a grin as my pulse spikes.

None of this is lost on Freya.

“Well then,” she giggles.

“Not what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s pretty close,” she laughs. Then she exhales slowly. “You’re being…good, though, right?”

I frown. “Meaning?”

“Damian…”

“Freya…”

“Hana is a friend.”

“And?”

“Play fucking nice with her,” she mutters. “Or else.”

“Bold move, making threats against people who are literally twice your size,” I chuckle.

“Oh, I wouldn’t fight you,” she says airily. “I’d just hack your bank account, steal your identity, fuck your credit, maybe set you up for a couple of felonies. You know, depending on my mood.”

I roll my eyes, grinning. “Miss you, Frey.”

“You too, dickhead. For real, though. You fuck with Hana, it’s going to end badly for you.”

I smile. “Heard loud and clear.”

I’m still smiling when I hang up. But my grin fades when I turn to glare up at the hospital.

The threats are starting to pile up. Pretty soon, something’s going to have to give.