Emperor of Havoc: Chapter 22

The air feels heavier tonight, pressing on my skin.

Tokyo is alive with its usual chaos, the streets humming with the noise of traffic, chattering passersby, and faint music spilling out from izakayas and shops.

Beneath it all, there’s a tense edge that keeps me glancing over my shoulder.

I’m walking briskly through a narrow alley, my heels clicking against the pavement. The glow of neon signs reflects softly off the rain-slicked ground, casting distorted shapes that shift and flicker with every step I take.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being followed.

It started a few blocks ago: just a prickling awareness at the back of my neck. At first, I told myself it was nothing—just paranoia brought on by the stress of the last few days. Now, I’m not so sure.

I pause at the mouth of the alley, letting the crowd swallow me for a moment as I surreptitiously scan the area. Nothing stands out; no shadowy figures lurk in the dark. Still, the feeling persists, coiled in my gut like a warning.

My fingers brush against my phone in my pocket. I consider messaging Nina or Ryu, who are nearby, still in the restaurant I just snuck out the back door of while pretending to need the bathroom.

However, calling them means explaining why I’m out here alone after sneaking away, not to mention lying to them in the first place.

My contact reached out to me last night, clearly via a throwaway email account, with just a three-line message:

I have information concerning Takeshi Mori’s real motives. Your life depends on hearing it. Meet me tomorrow at Moshi Moshi Café, Nihonbashikakigaracho, Chuo City.

I should have said no. Or just not responded at all.

But curiosity is a terrible thing.

That’s what had me suggesting to Nina and Ryu that we move our business meeting to the ultra-exclusive Sugita restaurant in the same Tokyo neighborhood as the cutesy bubble tea shop my mysterious contact proposed.

Because their message hit a nerve and touched on something I’ve been afraid to admit: that there’s something about Takeshi and his motives for marrying me that he’s not telling me.

Right now, though, I’m not even going to the café. I’m taking a circuitous route around the area, trying to shake the feeling that I’m being watched.

Followed.

I turn left and slip into another alley. This one is quieter, the sounds of the city muted by the towering buildings looming on either side. My pace quickens, my unease growing with every step.

Then I hear it—the faintest scuff of a shoe against the pavement. My heart pounds as I glance behind me, but the alley is empty. The shadows look deeper now, darker, like they’re hiding something just out of sight.

I force myself to move, my steps faster, more purposeful. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else. I need to get back to Nina or Ryu. But as I reach the end of the alley, a figure suddenly blocks my path.

He’s tall, dressed in dark clothing that blends seamlessly with the night. An oni mask obscures his face, but his posture is predatory, radiating menace. My breath catches: for a split second, I’m sure that this is Takeshi, playing a seriously fucked-up game with me.

Except then the masked man speaks.

“Mine.”

It is absolutely not Takeshi’s voice.

Holy fuck.

I spin on my heel, bolting back the way I came. The footsteps follow, heavy and unrelenting, as my skin ripples with panic. My lungs burn as I sprint through the labyrinthine alleys, the city blurring around me. But the figure is too fast, and I can feel him gaining on me.

I round a corner, nearly colliding with a stack of crates, but I don’t stop. I can’t. My mind races, searching for a way out, a safe place to hide. Sugita, the restaurant where Nina, Ryu, and a dozen Ishida-kai guards are all waiting for me—and probably wonder what’s taking me so long in the bathroom—isn’t far. But right now, it feels like miles away.

The footsteps grow louder, closer, and I know I’m running out of time. I dart into a side alley, my chest heaving with exertion.

It’s a dead end.

I whirl, my back pressed against the cold, damp wall. The figure appears at the mouth of the alley, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of the streetlights. He doesn’t speak or make a sound, but his intent is clear.

I reach into my bag, fingers closing around the handle of the small knife I always carry. I pull it out, my hand shaky as I hold it in front of me. The figure hesitates, his head tilted slightly as if assessing me. The air between us is charged, a silent standoff that stretches impossibly long.

Then he lunges.

I react instinctively, slashing with the blade. He dodges quickly and easily and I swing again, forcing him back. He hisses in pain, and my eyes fly to the tear in the front of his shirt, showing a brief flash of pale skin and red blood.

I cut him.

I don’t dwell on my victory. I take the opportunity to dart past him, my legs trembling but determined as I make a break for it.

The streets flash past as I run, fear driving me forward. I don’t stop until I reach the entrance to Sugita, my breath ragged and my heart threatening to burst out of my chest. My father’s men standing guard outside react instantly when they take in my disheveled appearance.

“Inside,” I sign, my hands shaking. “Now.”

They nod, ushering me into the restaurant. I don’t stop until I’m safely inside the private dining room, Nina and Ryu springing from their chairs in shock. My entire body is trembling, the adrenaline refusing to subside.

Nina grabs me in a tight, panicked embrace. “What the hell happened?!” she blurts.

I sign quickly, jerkily. “Followed. Tried to grab me.”

Ryu’s jaw tightens. But he seems to instantly jump over the questions I’m sure he has about where I was, what I was doing, and why I lied about going to the bathroom. “Did you see who it was?”

I shake my head, still trembling. “Had a mask. I don’t know who he was. I cut him, though.’

Ryu nods quickly before he goes to the door, yanks it open, and barks for his men. Four of them step in, nodding grimly when he tells them to surround the building, check every inch of the restaurant, and call in an armed security detail to get us back to Papa’s house.

Nina’s grip on my shoulders tightens. “We’ll figure out who it was. You’re safe now.”

Her words do little to calm the storm inside me. My mind races, piecing together fragments of the encounter. One name keeps surfacing, unbidden and unwelcome.

Takeshi.

Ridiculous, I tell myself. That clearly wasn’t him.

Right?

And yet the doubt lingers.

Later, in the calm sanctuary of my room, I try to collect myself. The fear has dulled, morphing into a gnawing unease. I move to my dresser, grabbing for my phone charger. When I do, I knock over a framed picture of Papa, Nina, and me from years ago.

Shit.

It hits the floor with a sharp crack of shattering glass. I wince as I crouch down, carefully trying to pick the photo out of the mess without scratching it. As the cracked back of the frame shifts, something nestled in the mess catches my eye: a small, sleek device, barely larger than a coin. My heart stutters as I pick it up, turning it over in my hand.

What the hell?

I find Ryu pacing the small room he’s co-opted as his personal command center in Papa’s house. He’s still got men combing Tokyo, seeing if anyone knows anything about what happened to me earlier. He looks up, pulling the phone away from his ear when I step in and close the door.

“I have to ask you something. Before I do,” I sign, “I need you to promise you won’t overreact.”

He frowns. “I’m not sure I can do that, Katarina-san.”

I give him a beseeching look. “Please, Ryu. Honestly, I need you not to react at all. I just need the information.”

Slowly, he nods dubiously. “Okay. What do you need?”

I hold out my hand, the silver coin-shaped device with the small wire sitting in my palm.

Ryu plucks it from my hand, frowning.

“What is this?” I sign.

His scowl deepens.

“Listening device.” His eyes snap to mine. “Where did you find it?”

All the air rushes out of the room at once and my vision blurs as the implications hit me like a freight train.

Someone’s been listening to me.

No. Not “someone”.

Takeshi.

“I need to know where you found this,” Ryu growls. “This is serious.”

I shake my head. “The man who was following me tonight… It fell out of his coat pocket,” I lie. “Is there any way of finding out where it came from? Or who it belongs to?”

“Actually, yes,” he mutters. “Look.” He points to lettering on the back side of the device. “That’s Cyrillic. This is Russian-made.” His eyes drag back to me. “Most people in this city using bugging devices like this would buy either Japanese or Korean. The Russian ones tend to be a little more high end, and a lot more expensive.” His face darkens. “There are only two, maybe three Yakuza families in Tokyo who use Russian tech.” He frowns. “Actually, probably just two.”

“Who?” I motion slowly. I’m sure I know the answer, I’m just dreading hearing it.

“Well, us,” he grunts, eyeing the bug. “And…the Mori-kai.”

That motherfucker.

The man in the alley tonight might not have been Takeshi. But the high-end listening device hidden in my fucking bedroom?

Definitely him.

Whatever connection I thought we were developing, whatever fragile understanding had begun to form, it’s shattered now.

“Katarina—”

“Remember what I said,” I sign firmly. “Please don’t react.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“That’s an order.”

He eyes me coolly for a second before his loyalty kicks in. I hate myself for playing that card.

“Understood, Katarina-sama,” he growls.

“Thank you, Ryu,” I sign, putting my hand on his arm and squeezing. “Really. Thank you.”

As I head back to my room, the fury inside surges.

Takeshi.

He’s a psychopath. A manipulator. I was crazy to think I could trust him, even for a second.

I grab my phone, typing out a message to Nina. “We need to talk tomorrow. There’s something I have to handle.”

Whatever game Takeshi thinks he’s playing, I’m going to be the one who wins.