Emperor of Lust: Chapter 3

The familiar hills above Kyoto stretch out beyond my window, bathed in the light of a half-moon. I pace the length of my bedroom, my steps soft on the tatami mats, arms wrapped tightly around myself, as if doing so could somehow hold together the pieces that feel dangerously close to shattering.

My mind spins, replaying the night in the warehouse. The heat of Damian’s hands. The moment he—oh God—peeled away my mask.

His cum on my tongue. His eyes burning into mine. That dark, glinting smile.

I stop, squeezing my arms tighter as a shiver runs through me. Damian fucking Nikolayev knows who and what I am.

Not just that I’m The Kitsune.

That alone would be bad enough. But worse, he knows my darkness.

He doesn’t just have the money laundering to hang over my head now—he’s got the vivid image of me on my fucking knees, swallowing his cock, hands bound behind my back.

My face burns crimson as I squeeze my eyes shut, inhaling deeply. I can still feel his breath against my ear, hear the soft, mocking whisper that sent a thrill of terror and excitement down my spine.

“Don’t think for a moment that this ends here.”

After he was done filling my mouth, he pulled out and wiped the head of his cock across my lips. Then he walked behind me and simply cut the ropes, his movements calm, almost gentle, before he leaned into my ear and purred those damning words.

“Don’t think for a moment that this ends here.”

After that, he simply slipped into the shadows, leaving me alone, still kneeling on the warehouse floor and tasting him on my lips, my wrists throbbing where the rope had bitten into my skin.

And then I drove home in silence, everything else a blur, my thoughts wrapped around me like chains I couldn’t break.

Now, standing in my neat bedroom, everything around me in fastidious order, I feel more lost than I have in years. I’ve built this life carefully, each decision a deliberately placed brick in a structure meant to protect me and my family.

And now, in a single moment, with a single action, Damian’s destroyed the whole thing.

I cross to the bathroom, my hands shaking as I turn on the tap and splash cold water over my face. The shock of it clears my head, but only for a moment. I can still taste him, faintly sweet and salty, a mark I can’t erase. The thought makes me flush, my pulse racing with a confusing mix of shame and excitement. I hate that even now, my skin hums with the memory of the thrill he pulled from me.

Swallowing hard, I reach for my toothbrush and start scrubbing away the last reminder of his presence. It’s not just for hygiene. It’s that I want to erase any trace of him, any proof that he’s managed to affect me in ways I never anticipated. Yet as I stare at my reflection, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and still a little dazed, the weight of his gaze descends on me all over again.

I force myself to take a breath, willing my hands to remain steady as I brush my bleach-blonde hair into its usual, immaculate style, without a single strand out of place. I reapply a hint of makeup, still unable to meet my own refection in the mirror.

This is not the time to fall apart. I have a meeting to attend, one Kenzo mentioned earlier, before I made my ill-fated trip to the warehouse. He didn’t give me details, only said that it concerned Mori-kai business and that he’d need me there.

Now paranoia sets in, and I wonder if somehow he knows—if he suspects the tangled web of deals I’ve woven under his nose, the careful laundering I’ve done to keep our empire steady.

I take another shaky breath.

He doesn’t know anything, I tell myself, straightening my shoulders. Nobody does.

No one in my family has a clue about the insane measures I’ve taken to keep things stable, the secrets I’ve taken on to maintain our position. And no one needs to find out—not now, not ever.

I pull on a sleek black blazer and fitted pants, trying to shoehorn myself back into the role I know best: the composed, reliable sister, the one who’s always in control.

I leave my room, making my way down the quiet hallway, past the quiet, empty rooms of the mansion’s east wing. The Mori family residence is a sprawling, gorgeous mix of both modern elegance and traditional Japanese architecture that Kenzo “liberated” about a year ago from one of our enemies. It perches high above Kyoto, nestled among the hills like a hidden citadel, its towering walls and manicured grounds designed to hide it from the prying eyes of anyone who might even think to intrude.

I pass through the central hall, glancing out the big picture windows toward the guest house in the distance where Mal and Freya live, and the enormous garage to my left, where Takeshi is almost certainly working on one of his “ladies.” Takeshi’s private workshop is practically a shrine to his collection of racing motorcycles, each customized to the point of barely being street-legal.

Focus, I tell myself. Kenzo is expecting me, and if he notices even a flicker of anything unusual, he’ll pry, and I don’t know if I’m steady enough yet to answer.

I enter the western-style living room, my stomach clenching when I see not just Kenzo there but the entire family. Annika sits beside him, her blue eyes meeting mine with a hint of curiosity. Freya is there too, sitting on Mal’s lap in one of the leather high-backed chairs by the fireplace. Kai, Kenzo’s head of security and close confidant, sits next to them, his large frame sprawled across half of a couch.

Takeshi, who is apparently not with his bikes, is leaning against the sill of the huge window overlooking one of the koi ponds outside, his muscled, tattooed arms folded and his face unreadable. Sota, the now semi-retired Yakuza Oyabun who acted like a father to Kenzo, Mal, Tak, and me for years, smiles and dips his chin. I force the most normal-ish smile I can muster back at him before I glance back to Kenzo, frowning.

Sorta thought this was a one-on-one meeting.

My older brother clears his throat, his eyes not quite meeting mine. There’s a stiffness in his expression that sends a prickle of unease through me. “This, uh… This concerns the whole family,” he says quietly, as if reading my question telepathically.

He’s still not meeting my gaze.

I look to Takeshi, but he just shrugs. “No idea. Guy didn’t tell me shit.”

Kenzo shifts, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee, a tell-tale sign of impatience in him. I frown, taking a step closer. “Kenzo, what⁠—”

The door opposite where I’m standing swings open, and every head in the room turns as Kir Nikolayev strides in, his presence filling the room with a commanding gravitas. His second-in-command, Isaak, follows a step behind him. Kir’s face is calm and controlled, his eyes sharp as they scan the room, and he gives Kenzo a quick nod before taking a seat in the armchair nearest the fireplace.

I didn’t realize Kir was back in Kyoto from New York, which he calls home most of the time these days. At the same time, it doesn’t surprise me that he’s here. Kir and Kenzo have spent months solidifying the alliance between the Mori-kai and the Nikolayev Bratva. Still, his arrival sends a wave of panic skittering through me.

Not because of him. Because of his fucking nephew.

Damian.

Isaak stands behind Kir, his expression impassive as he takes in the room with a gaze that misses nothing. I force myself to breathe and remain composed as I meet Kir’s eyes, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment. His gaze holds mine for a few seconds, a softness in his eyes as he offers a small hint of a smile and a nod of his chin.

It wasn’t that long ago that Kir, Freya, and I were trapped in a bunker: hostages of a ghost from Mal’s past.

Kir almost died down there in that hole. So did Freya and I. But it’s because of us that Kir’s even still alive, and he’s never missed a chance since to remind me that he considers himself in debt to me.

“We’ll start without him,” Kir says, his voice low but firm as he pulls his gaze from me. “He’ll be along soon.”

My mind snags on the word he. A slow, heated blush creeps up my cheeks before I can stop it and I glance away, praying no one notices.

Perfect, I think darkly. Of course, Damian is coming to this meeting, too.

I feel the weight of the room settle on my shoulders, the anticipation thickening as Kir gets comfortable in his armchair. Kenzo’s gaze flicks toward me but he still avoids my eyes, something hanging between us that I can’t yet name.

“As you all know,” Kenzo clears his throat, his gaze shifting to the family gathered around him. “We’ve been trying to expand the Mori-kai’s and Nikolayev Bratva’s influence in Tokyo. We’ve made progress, but it’s been…slower than we anticipated.”

I clasp my hands together tightly, aware that everyone in the room is familiar with the challenges we’ve faced.

Kenzo glances at me, his expression somber. “Kolya Ishida has made it clear that we’re not welcome in Tokyo. He’s tightened the Ishida-kai’s grip on the city, making it nearly impossible for anyone else to gain a toehold. Every attempt we’ve made has either met with resistance or been outright dismantled.”

Kolya Ishida. I’ve heard enough stories about him and the kind of power he wields to feel a faint chill each time he’s mentioned. The head of the Ishida-kai is half-Russian from his Bratva father, and half-Japanese from his Yakuza mother, who was disowned by her family for running off with a gaijin.

After his father was killed, Kolya grew up fighting on the streets of Russia, clawing his way up in a world that owed him nothing. But years later, he returned to Tokyo and did what no one thought possible—he reclaimed his mother’s name and birthright and took control of the Ishida-kai.

Now, they say he rules with a brutality that’s almost mythical—hence his nickname: Yuki no Akuma, the Snow Demon. He’s carved out an impenetrable territory in Tokyo, and even we’re forced to watch from the fringes, unable to gain a foothold.

Kenzo takes a deep breath, his voice steady but cautious. “However, we may have a way in. Miyamoto Katō, head of the Katō-kai, has indicated he’s interested in an alliance with us. He’s looking to step down and transfer his influence and territory to a trusted family who can maintain what he’s built.”

A flicker of surprise ripples around the room.

“It’s not entirely out of the blue,” Kenzo continues. “Our father, Hideo…” He turns to nod to Sota out of respect. “Helped Miyamoto in his early days, and gave him the resources to secure his first territory. He’s been in our debt ever since, and now he’s offering to repay us by letting us take over his network as he retires.”

Fuck. This is huge. Kenzo’s right, too: if we secure the Katō-kai’s territory and manpower, that’s a giant step into Tokyo, even with Ishida-kai pushback.

“Hana,” Kenzo says, his gaze finally landing on me. “You’ll handle the Tokyo branch of Mori Holdings, open the new corporate offices, and establish our position there. We’re starting with our legitimate businesses to build relationships with local officials and allies. Once we’re secure, we’ll bring in the, ah, rest of our operations.”

A surge of adrenaline pulses through me.

Hell yes.

Yet even as I nod, excitement twisting in my chest, I notice Kenzo’s expression turning serious, his gaze flicking to Kir before he continues.

“The thing is…” Kenzo’s voice is caged. “The Yakuza in Toyko is…traditional. Extremely traditional.”

A low growl rumbles from Mal’s corner of the room, where Freya is perched on his knee. “Meaning?”

Kenzo exhales slowly. “Meaning guys like Miyamoto and the other older Oyabuns in Tokyo may not be willing to work with Hana…”

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. “Are you kidding?” I snap, feeling the heat of indignation rise to my face. “Because I’m a woman?!”

Kenzo’s voice softens as he meets my gaze. “Because you’re an unmarried woman,” he says quietly.

I feel the blood drain from my face.. A bitter sting of resentment flares in my chest.

The room falls silent, but that silence shatters almost immediately as the door swings open…

And Damian enters.

His presence sweeps into the room like a cold gust of wind. He pauses just inside the door and instantly, his purple eyes snap to mine.

A dark, knowing smile dances at the edges of his lips as he takes in my expression, my flushed cheeks, the way my fists are clenched at my sides. As he sees the way my very spirit shrinks inside me—and yes, I’m confident this demon of a man can peer right into my fucking soul.

I feel my face…no, all of me…burn under his gaze. He sends a dark, cold, malevolent grin my way, as if watching a replay of what happened earlier on the projector screen that is my face.

I swallow uncomfortably, my pulse hammering in my ears as I look away from him. And yet, something malicious draws my gaze again. My eyes traitorously slink back to him, and when they do, I shudder. He’s still looking right at me.

Replaying all of it.

Re-watching my submission.

My utter helplessness.

“You’re late.”

Kir’s voice isn’t angry, more like merely stating the obvious as he glances at Damian and nods to the chair next to him.

“Have a seat. Kenzo was just explaining the Tokyo…situation,” he says smoothly.

Damian’s eyebrow arches as he looks at Kenzo, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Kenzo glances between him and me, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face, but he soldiers on.

“To reiterate,” Kenzo says, his voice steady as he addresses Damian. “Hana will handle the expansion in Tokyo. But the Tokyo families aren’t likely to work with her unless…” He hesitates, his gaze darting between Damian and me before he continues. “Unless she’s married.”

I feel my pulse stutter.

“Wait, I seriously have to get fucking married for Miyamoto and those other old fuckers to work with us?!”

Kenzo finally turns to me, his gaze steady, though his eyes hold a hint of an apology. “At the very least, you need to be engaged for Miyamoto to consider working with us,” he says quietly. “Maybe not because of his own ideas about gender in the Yakuza world, but it does matter to the other families he works with or who have allegiance to him.” Kenzo exhales deeply. “Bottom line, we don’t get into Tokyo without Miyamoto and his connections.”

The words hang in the air, each one settling over me with a cold finality that makes my chest feel tight. Engaged. Married. The implications are suffocating, and I hear the blood pounding in my ears as I glance frantically around the room, looking for any other possible solution that doesn’t entail this.

“Hold the fuck up,” Takeshi snarls, pushing abruptly away from the window ledge and glaring at our brother. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You’re going to marry her off⁠—”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort,” Kenzo snaps back, his jaw tight as he levels a hard, warning look at Takeshi. “As I said, she only needs to be engaged, and it obviously isn’t going to be real.”

“You’re seriously suggesting that Hana gets fake engaged to appease this guy,” Annika mutters next to my brother, staring at her husband like he’s just grown a second head.

“Are you suggesting it would be better for her to actually get engaged?” Kenzo fires back.

Annika gives him a look that has his face instantly softening. He reaches out and puts a hand on hers before he turns to face the rest of us.

“It won’t be real,” he growls. “But to appease Miyamoto and the other bigger families, and get us into Tokyo, yes.” He looks right at me. “You need to be engaged.”

“To??” I blurt, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

Kenzo glances at Kir, and suddenly the pieces fall horribly into place, each one more neatly positioned than the last. I glance to Kenzo, then to Kir…

Then to Damian.

No.

His lips twitch with a faint smirk, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, darkly amused, almost triumphant. And then Kenzo speaks, his voice quiet, the resignation in his tone only deepening the chill settling over me.

“To Damian,” he says, the words striking with the force of a hammer. “You’re getting engaged to Damian.”

My world shatters in an instant. The room feels too small, too cold, and the weight of my brother’s words presses down on me too heavily, squeezing the air from my lungs.

Everything explodes into chaos. Annika is yelling at Kenzo. Takeshi is balling up his fists and storming toward him. Mal is yelling, and Isaak suddenly jumps up to stop Freya from lunging at Kir.

Me, I’m just numb, frozen, in a horrified state of shock as I turn to the man who just hours ago had me on my knees, at his mercy.

Damian isn’t yelling. He’s not even moving. He’s just sitting back in his chair, surrounded by the chaos like he was born to it, looking right at me. He smiles, a slow, dangerous curve to his lips that says he hasn’t forgotten the power he now holds over me.

Not for a second.