Emperor of Rage: Chapter 5

Something’s wrong.

Almost an hour into this fucking party, I can still feel it: the strange, prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like someone’s watching me. I’ve always been good at sensing things like that, picking up on the subtle shifts in energy that other people ignore. It’s a survival technique—one I honed growing up in an environment where danger lurked around every corner.

But this… This feels different.

Also, whenever I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see those piercing ice-blue eyes boring into my soul?

Nada.

Not a fucking thing. It’s like I’m looking for a ghost.

I sip my drink, my eyes scanning the room for the hundredth time. The crowd has grown since I arrived, and the low murmur of conversation hums in the background, blending with the soft clink of glasses and the muted shuffle of feet on the marble floor. It’s all very civilized. Polite. A display of power and wealth, disguised as a celebration.

But there’s something dark beneath the surface. I can feel it.

My fingers tighten around my glass, my eyes flicking to Annika and Kenzo. They’re in the center of the room, surrounded by a small knot of well-dressed guests, laughing at some joke Kenzo just made. Annika’s smile is perfect, her laughter light and easy, but I know her well enough to see the strain beneath it.

She doesn’t want this. She’s never wanted this.

The thought sends a flare of anger through me, but I force it down. This isn’t the time.

I take another sip of vodka, the alcohol burning as it slides down my throat, and glance around the room again. That strange feeling hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Like the air itself is charged with something I can’t quite name.

It’s terrifying.

I turn back toward the bar, hoping another drink will help calm my nerves, but as I do, a figure moves into my line of sight, blocking my view.

Sota Akiyama.

He’s dressed impeccably as always, his suit perfectly tailored, his silvery-white hair slicked back in an effortlessly powerful way that makes everyone pay attention. He’s got that old-school Japanese gangster look to him, complete with irezumi style Yakuza tattoo ink peeking out of his cuffs.

He’s also missing a pinky finger.

Yubitsume.

It means at some point, Sota had to make amends with his oyabun—his boss, before he himself became the man at the top. And when you need to make amends with a Yakuza boss?

You cut off your own pinky.

The Bratva has a reputation for being hardcore. But the Yakuza fucking redefines the word.

To be polite, I bow stiffly as he walks up to me. He smiles, chuckling quietly and shaking his head as he stops in front of me.

“While I appreciate the gesture of respect, there’s no need for that, Miss Holm.”

I arch a brow. Sota smiles.

“You’re surprised I know who you are.”

“A bit, yes.”

He nods. “You’ve had many people looking at you tonight, haven’t you, Miss Holm?”

I glance down at my outfit. “I’ve…noticed some interest.”

Sota chuckles quietly. “I’m sure. And I’m sure that was at least part of your goal.”

I clear my throat. “Sota-san, if I’ve offended you with my attire this evening⁠—”

“Far from it, Miss Holm,” he says with that same polite smile. “In fact, I think this party—if we’re even calling it that—could use the sort of life a spiked choker injects into the conversation.”

I grin. “Thank you.”

He dips his head. “I too was looking at you.” He holds up a hand. “Not for any inappropriate reasons, I can assure you. And not for the same reasons others might have been. No, Miss Holm, I was looking at you because I’ve heard a lot about your…talents.”

My brow quirks up again as I sip my drink.

“I’m not sure⁠—”

“Specifically with computers, and gaining information.”

I feel my cheeks heat slightly.

“Oh?”

He dips his chin again. “I have a similarly talented man in my family. Perhaps you’ve met Mal Ulstäd?”

I force back the shiver that finger-walks up my spine.

No, but he’s been staring at me like he wants to either skin me alive or fuck me all night. Or both, in that order.

“I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure,” I say through a tight smile.

“Ah, well, he’s quite good at what you do.”

Interesting.

“And,” Sota continues, “with your organization and mine setting aside hostilities, I was hoping I might be able to entice you with some employment opportunities. Provided, of course, that Kir approves.”

I smile at Sota. “That’s very kind of you to offer, Sota-san. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

He beams. “Excellent. That would be—ah!” He looks past me as the cold, chilling sensation returns, dragging like a blade up my spine. “Here he is. Mal—come and meet Miss Holm.”

Before I can come up with a reason to extricate myself from this hellacious situation, I feel it—a shift in the air, like a gust of cold wind sweeping through the room. My heart stutters, a low pulse of dread rippling through my chest as I turn and follow Sota’s gaze.

My breath catches in my throat and my body goes rigid as he approaches, each step measured and deliberate. The dark energy swirling around him is almost suffocating, like a black hole that pulls everything toward him. My heart races, but I force myself to stay still, tightening my fingers around the glass in my hand.

Sota smiles, the picture of charm and grace, when Mal finally reaches us.

“Freya Holm,” Sota says, turning to nod at me. “I’d like you to meet Mal Ulstäd, Kenzo’s cousin. Like the Mori siblings, I consider him one of my own children.”

I swallow hard, trying to keep my face neutral. Mal doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. The weight of his gaze is plenty. He watches me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, his eyes sweeping over me like he’s cataloging every detail.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then, slowly, he extends his hand.

My pulse quickens, but I force myself to take it, my skin tingling when his fingers touch mine. His grip is firm, unyielding, and when I try to pull away, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he holds my hand for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, his ice-blue eyes never leaving mine.

“Freya Holm,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, laced with something…more.

It’s not a greeting. It’s a statement. A reminder.

Just then, one of Sota’s men comes over and whispers something in his ear. Sota nods and turns back to me. “I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Holm.”

“Likewise, Sota-san.”

I’d shake his hand before he goes.

But mine is occupied.

Trapped.

Ensnared in Mal’s powerful grip. He hasn’t let go yet.

Sota smiles at Mal, claps him on the shoulder, and then follows his man into the crowd and disappears out of sight.

The silence between Mal and I is defeating. The energy around us throbs like a black cloud.

He’s still holding my hand.

The moment drags on until it’s gone a hair past “awkwardly strange” and become “downright uncomfortable”. It’s only then that Mal’s hand suddenly drops, releasing me.

That’s just the start of it.

I gasp sharply as he moves almost dead against me, his body practically pressing to the front of mine. My head spins as he leans his head down, his lips brushing the edge of my ear.

“Or is it Karen Vanderschmit. I confess, I’m a little confused.”

The floor drops out from under me, and the entire world goes still.

Oh God.

He knows.

Because he’s him.

The man from the other night. I’m almost touching the very monster who caught me that night. Who pinned me, and stroked his fingers over my tongue…

Heat explodes across my face. My core spasms as my throat closes off. And all I can do is raise my wide eyes to his, staring at him in awe and fear.

It’s either two seconds or eight hours that I stand there breathlessly, staring at him like I’m face to face with the devil himself. But when the moment’s over, suddenly, he’s just…gone…turning and slipping back into the crowd like a shadow.

Two seconds. I’m pretty sure it was just two seconds.

That’s all it took for him to shake me to very fucking core.

I stand there, staring in the direction he’s gone, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Freya.”

I almost scream as I whirl, choking on my breath to find a confused-looking Kir standing behind me. He frowns, eyeing me like I’ve gone insane.

“Everything okay?” he murmurs in that dark, accented voice.

“Yeah, I—” I shake my head. “You just startled me. Sorry.”

He arches a brow in amusement before any trace of emotion drops from his face and he raises his wrist, tapping his Patek Phillip.

“It’s time. We’re signing it on the roof deck.”

He means the mafia blood marker that will seal—in blood, obviously—the agreement that Kenzo and Annika will be married, cementing the peace between the families.

“Oh. Yeah. Right…”

I blink, my brain foggy from what’s just happened.

From what I’ve just learned.

Kir frowns. “You sure you’re all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I have.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” I shake my head, forcing myself back to some semblance of normalcy. “Just… It’s a lot to take in.”

He smiles wryly, nodding. “I know. But it’s the only way we move forward without a war. Annika knows that. Just like she knows that if Kenzo Mori lays a finger on her or hurts one hair on her head, I’ll put him in the ground.”

I grin, biting my lip. “Thanks, Kir.”

He glances at me. “For?”

“Just…thanks.”

My movements are robotic, shock still pulsing through me as I follow Kir toward the staircase. A million questions are racing through my mind, but there’s no time to dwell on a single one.

Not now.

We reach the roof deck, the night air cool on my skin as we step out and join Isaak off to one side. The view from the roof of Sota’s home—New York’s skyline stretching out before us like a sea of glittering lights—is stunning. But I barely notice it. I’m focused on the group gathered near the patio.

Sota stands beside Kenzo’s twin siblings. Hana looks ultra put together with her dyed silvery blonde hair perfectly in place, making her look like the CEO of a space company in some sci-fi movie. Next to them, her twin, Takeshi glares as he watches over the entire situation like the savage, avenging lord of darkness and chaos that he, purportedly, is.

Kenzo and Annika are standing side by side, their expressions arranged in carefully neutral expressions as they wait for us to join them.

And past them all, lurking in the shadows with those cold, ice-blue eyes stabbing into me, is Mal.

The blood-marker—a mafia-world contract signed in literal blood—is nothing more than a formality at this point. It’s already been decided: Annika and Kenzo are getting married, sealing the alliance between Bratva and Yakuza.

But as I stand there, I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to go wrong. The air feels heavy with tension, and my mind keeps drifting back to Mal. To the way he looked at me. The way he said my name.

The way he touched me the other night.

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind as I take my place beside Kir. Annika glances at me. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in her eye that looks a lot like fear.

The ceremony is quick. Efficient. Kenzo takes the contract first, his hand steady as he stabs his thumb with the little pin set into the medallion of the blood marker, pushes his bloodied print to the page, and then dips the old-school style pen into the blood before signing his name. Then it’s Annika’s turn. Her fingers tremble slightly as she pricks her finger, touches the contract with it, then takes the pen, her gaze flicking up to meet Kenzo’s for the briefest of moments before she looks down again.

She hesitates.

For a second, I think she’s going to refuse. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, she signs her name, her movements jerky.

It’s done.

The tension in the air thickens even more. My heart races in my chest, my pulse too loud in my ears.

Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is⁠—

The sound of gunfire shatters the silence.

It happens so fast I barely have time to react. One second, everything is still. The next, the air is filled with the crack of bullets, the sound ricocheting off the buildings around us. Panic erupts, the guests scattering as the first wave of chaos hits.

But I can’t move. I’m frozen, my body locked in place as my eyes fly to Mal’s across the roof deck.

He’s staring right at me. Perfectly still. Not even flinching when another shot rings out.

Like a machine.

A boogeyman.

A monster.

His expression is unreadable. But there’s something dark in his gaze, something that makes my blood run cold.

And that’s when I realize two things:

One, I’m in danger.

And two?

It’s not from the bullets hurtling through the air.