Emperor of Wrath: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

I need to get the fuck outside and away from all of this right now.

It’s all of it: seeing Damian so helpless. Freya subdued. Kir insisting that I’m marrying the monster who’s been chasing me for five fucking years and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I storm out through the front doors of the hospital in a fury, wanting to scream until my throat is bloody. Instead, I jam my hand into my clutch and yank out the e-cig I keep there for emergencies.

Yes, it’s a shitty habit. A lousy coping mechanism. But there are worse ones, trust me.

I haven’t smoked actual cigarettes in almost ten years. I barely even use this stupid thing. But when I feel like I do right now, it’s one of the few things that’ll bring me back from the edge.

I suck on the nicotine and exhale vapor. It calms my nerves a little, but the pure rage and anger is still there, throbbing beneath my skin and trying to claw free.

I hate this.

I’ve outrun every monster. Every hardship. Every darkness that tried to swallow me whole. And now I’m being gifted to one.

The one.

A stupid fucking necklace.

That’s what I took from Kenzo that night in Kyoto five years ago. A stupid. Fucking. Not-even-very-expensive. Necklace.

Okay, there was the watch, too. But that was like five grand. Throw in the money in his wallet and we’re up to six thousand, tops. I took the necklace because it looked expensive. In the end, all I got for it was four thousand from a reputable appraiser.

Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money for a lot of people. But not for a Yakuza waka gashira like Kenzo. Certainly not an amount that would warrant chasing someone down for years.

So it’s not about the money at all.

Sentimentality isn’t something I have in spades, because I had to lose that along the way as dead weight that would have slowed me down. But other people have it, and that makes them dangerous.

With Kenzo, it clearly isn’t about the necklace. It’s about whatever sentimental value he attached to it. That’s why he hunted me and why I’m so terrified that I’m being given to him now.

I pull on the e-cigarette again, exhaling white vapor as my jaw grinds. I could tell Kir about all of this. I mean he wouldn’t be pleased that I drugged and stole from a Yakuza lieutenant, especially after he’d officially taken Freya and I in and we’d agreed to stop with the petty larceny. But still, I could tell him what’s going on and why I’m so scared of what Kenzo might do to me.

But ultimately, what is that going to achieve?

Best case scenario, Kir talks to Kenzo and warns him not to harm me. Kenzo swears to be a good boy, and once we’re married, skins me alive and buries me in a shallow grave anyway.

My brows knit. Or…not.

I’m pretty sure that would end whatever truce our nuptials are supposed to usher in. So maybe he won’t kill me.

Maybe he’ll just lock me in the basement and keep me barely alive so he can torture me for years.

I take another drag, thinking.

Ultimately, I know I’m not going to say shit to Kir. Because one of the reasons I respect him is that he takes care of things. He simply gets shit done, without bitching and moaning. Honestly, I think one of the reasons he likes me is that he knows I’m the same.

So no, I won’t be a baby and go crying to Kir that my new husband might be mean to me because I stole from him five years ago.

Which puts me squarely back at square one.

Dammit.

I turn, and my gaze lands on a sporty-looking black and smoke-gray street motorcycle parked near the curb with a blood-red hannya mask painted on the gas tank and the kanji for “Mori-kai” written beneath it.

I smile coldly, reach into my clutch, and pull out my little switchblade.

I have no idea why Kenzo is here, but it doesn’t matter. That fucker might think he’s caught me, but he’s going to learn that I come with claws. And he will rue the day he ever thought it was a good idea to get into a cage with me.

The air hisses out of the tires in angry gusts as I stab them, smiling smugly.

Take that, fucker.

A mere taste of what’s to come. I slip the knife away and take another drag on my e-cigarette.

“That’s a disgusting habit.”

Kenzo.

Turning, I lock eyes with him as I take another long, deliberate drag and then exhale the vapor directly in his face.

“Okay,” I deadpan.

Kenzo’s lips curl slightly at the corners. “It’s going to stop when we⁠—”

“Please don’t even finish that sentence.”

Kenzo’s changed out of the tuxedo he was in earlier. Now he’s in black slacks with a fitted black dress shirt, open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up his rippling, veined, tattooed forearms. He folds this arms over his broad chest as he leans against one of the stone pylons that separate the hospital parking lot from the sidewalk.

“Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true. And just so we’re clear, when you’re my wife…” He emphasizes the words in that infuriatingly attractive accent. The blend of that tone and those specific words are…not playing nicely together.

Kenzo points at the e-cig. “When you’re my wife, that’s done.”

I glare at him. “Are you just here to fucking gloat?”

His brow furrows. “About what?”

“Trapping me.”

I gasp as he surges off the pylon and right into me, grabbing me by the throat and looking down into my stunned face. There’s a heat emanating from his huge body that tingles against my skin. The clean, woodsy, slightly spicy scent of him invades my senses, and I shiver.

“Believe me, princess⁠—”

“Do not call me that.”

His lips curl.

“But that’s what you are, isn’t it?” His eyes narrow. “A princess?”

I grit my teeth. I know why he’s chosen that obnoxious name for me. Because once upon a time, in a life that burned to the ground, that’s what I was: a prim and proper, pampered little mafia princess.

But I lost that version of myself years ago.

When I say nothing, Kenzo’s jaw clenches and his fingers tighten around my throat.

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I choose,” he snarls. “And I didn’t want to trap you. I wanted to exact vengeance on you.”

I fight back a shudder. “Well, you’ve succeeded.”

Something sinister glints in his eyes.

“Not yet, I haven’t.”

The shudder breaks free, rippling down my spine.

“Not even close, Annika.”

I jut out my chin at him. “Amazing,” I spit back. “Mr. tough Yakuza bad-boy all upset about one stupid little necklace⁠—”

I gasp sharply, whimpering as Kenzo shoves me against the stone pylon behind me. It hits my ass and the small of my back, but he keeps pushing until I’m half bent backward over it, with him looming over me.

“That necklace,” he hisses viciously, “belonged to my mother.”

I wince, the color draining from my face.

Cocksucking sentimentality.

“So whatever you pawned it for, I can promise it was less than a hundredth of its value to me.”

I chew on my lip for a half second before speaking. “So, that’s why you set this all up?”

“I thought I was clear a few seconds ago when I emphatically said I did not want this,” he snarls. “I’d rather marry anyone else on Earth before you.”

I shoot him a dirty look.

“Uh, thanks. Same to you, shithead. Look, if you’re also against this, why don’t we work together to get ourselves out of⁠—”

“That’s not happening, and you know it,” he says coldly.

We glare at each other for another few seconds before I bring the vape to my lips and take another pull, blowing it right into his face again.

Kenzo doesn’t blink. He doesn’t even flinch.

“You never answered my question, jerkwad. If you didn’t come here to gloat⁠—”

“Aoki Jura was my friend,” he murmurs quietly. “As is the sole survivor from the group that walked into that nightclub earlier.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the hospital behind him. “He’s in critical condition. That’s why I’m here.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

His brow furrows. “What, that I give a shit about a friend who’s lying injured in a hospital bed?”

“I was going to say that you have a heart or a conscience. But yeah, that works too.”

He smiles coldly, closing the last half inch between our bodies. His huge, muscled frame pins me against the stone digging into the small of my back as he leers down into my face.

“We’re going to be married, princess. Deal with it. And when you’re my wife, I will expect…”

His eyes slowly drag from mine, down to my lips. Then further. I shiver, feeling the wrath of his gaze as it slides over my neck with his fingers still wrapped around it, then lower, to the plunging cleavage of this stupid dress I’m wearing.

Without a bra.

It’s…a little chilly out.

His lips curl deviously. “Everything that comes with that.”

Something heated fires through my core before I set my chin.

“Go to hell⁠—”

“Manners.”

“Fuck off.”

“Obedience.”

I try to push him away, but it’s like shoving at a brick wall.

“Eat a bag of dicks⁠—”

His other hand jerks up, grabbing my chin while the first one keeps its firm grip on my throat.

“And making every part of you mine.”

That fucking fire returns with a vengeance, electrifying my core and making my thighs clench.

“In fact,” Kenzo murmurs quietly, “we may as well start where we left off the last time.”

“Try it and you’ll beg for mercy.”

The fucker chuckles.

“Here’s the thing, Annika. You and your devil-may-care attitude don’t scare me. Because you belong to me now.”

I laugh right in his face. “You think just because of this arrangement⁠—”

“This arrangement has very little to do with it. Tonight was a trap, you must know that, right?”

He leans closer.

“My trap. To catch you. And I did.”

“Go fuck your⁠—”

“We’ve already covered that,” he says dryly. “At the end of the day, this is how this is going to play out. You belong to me. All of you.”

I quickly jerk my hand out from between our bodies and shove it into my clutch. I yank out the little switchblade, flicking it open and bringing the edge to his throat.

Kenzo still doesn’t flinch. Or blink. Or even move.

“Touch me, and I’ll remove your head,” I hiss.

He smiles.

He fucking smiles.

“It’s adorable that you think knife play doesn’t turn me on, Ms. Brancovich. Or should I get used to saying Mrs. Mori?”

His hand leaves my jaw to grab my wrist, pinning the blade against his own neck.

“What other depravities can you tease me with?”

“You will not⁠—”

“What? Touch you? That’s just the appetizer. When I want to touch you, I will,” he growls darkly. “When I want you on your knees with your lips around my cock, I will put you there. And when I want to fuck you, however I want, wherever I want, I goddamn will. That is how you repay me.”

A shudder ripples through my entire core.

“H—how long,” I choke.

Kenzo smiles.

“Excuse me?”

“How long,” I spit.

He chuckles quietly. “Well, before, it would only have been until I deemed your debt repaid. But now, you’re simply…mine.” I tremble as he cups my jaw again, his eyes eviscerating me. “So it’s forever.”

In a blink, he drops his hands from me. He keeps his body pinned tight against me for a second longer, letting his eyes cut into my soul before he slowly takes a step back, taking his heat and that clean, woodsy, spicy scent with him as he starts to walk toward the bike. I allow myself to grin smugly.

“You might want to call a cab,” I call after him, my voice sparkling with joy. “Your bike might not be working so well.”

He stops, glancing back at me with a puzzled brow. I grin, twirling the switchblade in my hand. “Oopsie!” I giggle obnoxiously.

Kenzo arches a brow, turning to look at the flat tires on the motorcycle.

“Oh, that’s not mine.”

The smile drops from my face.

Shit.

“What the FUCK happened to my fucking bike?!”

I cringe at the rough, savage, furious voice behind me. We’ve never met, but I know who he is the second I turn and face the villainous guy who looks like an even more weaponized version of Kenzo.

Takeshi, his younger brother.

I know all about Kenzo and his siblings.

Know thy enemy, as they say.

“Seriously… What the fuck!?” Takeshi roars.

Again, we’ve never met. But I know his reputation. It’s reflected in his nickname in the underground fighting circles he dabbles in: the War Machine.

Fuck.

Kenzo smirks as he lifts a brow in my direction.

“Very diplomatic, princess.”

“This was fucking you?!” Takeshi bellows like a wild beast as he whirls on me with a fury that terrifies me.

I pale and start to back away as he advances on me.

“I—shit, I’m sorry⁠—”

“You’re sorry?!” he roars. “What the fuck sort of psycho bitch⁠—”

“That’s enough,” Kenzo growls as Takeshi takes another step toward me, looking like he seriously wants to hurt me.

“I—I’ll pay for it⁠—”

“NO FUCKING SHIT!!!”

In that moment, two things happen. Takeshi charges at me like a fucking rhino on steroids. But Kenzo moves as well.

And he’s faster.

He springs between his brother and me, his back to me as he plants both palms on Takeshi’s broad chest.

“I said that’s enough!” he snarls coldly.

It’s…unexpected.

Hell, I figured he’d love to see his animal of a brother tear me apart. Or at least let me squirm a little while longer. I would have lost big money on the “Kenzo steps between you and stops it” bet.

Takeshi glares at me around his brother. But then he rolls his neck and takes a step back. Kenzo turns to level a dark look at me. “You’ll pay him back for the bike.”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“I—yeah, of course⁠—”

“We’re done here…princess.”

He turns to face me, and steps close. My breath catches as he leans down, letting his lips brush my earlobe again.

“For now.”