Emperor of Havoc: A Dark Forced Marriage Mafia Romance

The morning of my wedding is almost unnervingly quiet. The house feels different—no captains coming and going, no tense undercurrent of secrets.

Today, it feels as if the Ishida estate itself knows something is about to change.

I sit before the vanity in my room, Furrcules chasing dust particles in the sunlight coming in through the windows while I let Nina fuss with my hair. She’s good at braiding, pinning, smoothing. I’m not. My hands are too impatient. Nina, though, seems to find comfort in it.

“You’re quiet,” she says, glancing at me in the mirror.

I roll my eyes. She snickers. It’s one of our favorite dumb jokes.

But she’s…not wrong. I am quiet right now—at least pensive. I glance away, my cheeks warming.

He’s been in my head. Not because today’s the day I’m fucking marrying the psycho, the one who keeps barging into my world and past every boundary I have. Not because of what happened two days ago in the bathroom, either: if we’re being honest, the fixation on my part started much longer ago than that.

It’s maddening. And yet, there’s something about him…

The way he looks at me, constantly calculating, always two moves ahead. Like he’s trying to figure out—and easily succeeding—how to unravel me. Bind me to him.

Control me.

The scary part is, I’m not sure I hate it quite as much as I should.

There are two prongs to Takeshi’s attack on me. The first is going after my power within this family. On that, I’m not fucking budging. This is my empire, and no one—no man, not even a husband—will take that from me or try to control it through me.

But there’s a second part to Takeshi’s assault: the attack on me and my control over…well, myself. And on that front, I’m losing badly.

Maybe the aim of that is to control the organization better, but it feels more personal than that. More targeted.

More intimate.

“He’s getting to you,” Nina says, her tone light but knowing.

I flush for a second, trying to shake my thoughts away, as if merely thinking them has displayed them on my face.

“That’s what he does, Kat,” she continues. “Men like him love to burrow under your skin, make you question yourself.”

“I’m not questioning myself,” I sign sharply. “I’m questioning his motives. He wants control. Over me, over the Ishida-kai. I won’t let him have it.”

She frowns. “You think the marriage is a Trojan horse to gain control of our family?”

I lift a shoulder. “You don’t?”

Nina’s gaze meets mine in the mirror in front of us. “It’s crossed my mind. But I’m sure it’s crossed your dad’s mind too. He wouldn’t let this marriage happen if he thought Takeshi’s whole goal was to turn you into a puppet and rule through you.”

There’s a knock at the door before it opens and Papa steps inside.

“Nina, would you give us a moment?”

Nina nods, bowing slightly and giving me a small, reassuring smile before leaving the room. My father closes the door and turns to me, his sharp eyes taking me in as though memorizing every detail.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice like gravel.

“Thank you,” I sign, my throat constricting slightly.

He steps closer. He’s still pale from his hospital stint, but the strength in his presence hasn’t waned. His shoulders are still broad and proud, and he looks every inch the powerful, feared Oyabun that he is in his dark, three-piece fitted suit with the traditional kimono draped over it. Furrcules makes a throaty meowling sound as he pads over to rub his face against Papa’s knee, purring contentedly as my father reaches down to rub behind the tiger’s ears.

My father glances up at me with a smirk. “Has Takeshi had the pleasure of meeting our Furrcules yet?”

“Yes, and he almost pissed himself.”

Papa chuckles, scratching at the top of Furrcules’ head before he rights himself and walks over to where I’m sitting. He places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Thank you, Koshka,” he says. “I’ve asked a lot of you these last few weeks, and you’ve taken it all in stride. I’m proud of you.”

The words hit me hard. My chest tightens and I blink quickly, refusing to let any tears fall. Instead, I just lift my hands and sign slowly. “I learned from the best.”

Papa’s lips twitch with a rare smile, and he nods. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Then he sighs.

“What’s wrong?”

He smiles wryly. “I… I was thinking of your uncle this morning.”

My lips lift a little at the corners. It’s been a long time since I saw Papa’s brother, my uncle Jin. It’s been a long time since anyone has.

Uncle Jin is what in Japan we call hikikomori—essentially a shut-in or hermit. Usually men, they’re people who one day just decide that the world is too much for them, and decide never to go out again.

In my uncle’s case, there’s also some mental health issues going on. Before he shut himself away in the apartment that Papa bought him, Jin was in and out of a couple of different hospitals, trying to manage his psychosis and paranoia. But eventually, what seemed to bring him the most peace was just tuning out the rest of the world.

Papa takes care of him, of course. He gets meals, supplies, and anything else he needs delivered daily. Every so often, he sends out notes out from the apartment: sometimes to Papa, sometimes to me. They’re not always so lucid. But once in a while I’ll get a random one that says something kind and simple like “Thinking of you. Love you.” It’s always a good feeling.

“I know this wedding is what it is,” Papa sighs. “But even so, it would be nice to have the last of your blood relatives here today.” He smirks. “He’d have a thing or two to say about the groom, I can guarantee that.”

I grin briefly. Then my lips twist. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he nods.

“Do you think Takeshi is a Trojan horse?”

Papa smirks just a little bit. “Yes. Of course he is. But do you know what you are?”

“Bait?” I sign testily.

He smiles and shakes his head. “No. You’re the one nailing the trap door of the Trojan horse shut and threatening to light it on fire. And don’t forget, daughter,” Papa continues, “that the street runs both ways. For both us and the Mori-kai, this arrangement between our families stops any bloodshed. It also gives you the power to lead this empire without question.”

“But I don’t need to lead. You’re here.”

He smiles wryly. “For now.”

“Papa—”

“It’s important to plan for all future outcomes, Koshka.” He steps over to me, smiles, and takes my hands in his. “You’re ready for this. Don’t let anyone—not even Takeshi—make you doubt that.”

“I won’t.”

My father isn’t a very touchy-feely kind of guy. So when he does hug me, like right now, I hold him tight, hanging onto the moment, hugging him back before we finally break apart.

“I’m proud of you,” he says softly.

When he’s gone, I sit in silence for a moment, letting his words settle over me. Then, with a sigh, I turn back to the vanity and reach for my makeup kit. When I open it, something catches my eye—a white envelope with gold trim, tucked neatly amongst the brushes and powders, just like the one on my plate at the engagement party.

I pull it out, my fingers trembling slightly.

Inside, in heavy black ink, two words:

Still mine.

My heart skips a beat, and my mind races. Takeshi? It has to be. But it feels weirder than his usual brand of control and mind games. There’s a skin-crawling creepiness to it I haven’t really seen from him before.

I shove the note back into the envelope and bury it beneath the other items in the kit, forcing myself to focus. I have other things to worry about right now.

The ceremony in the back yard of the Ishida house is a blend of Western and Shinto traditions. The guests sit quietly as the San-san-kudo ceremony begins, the air thick with the scent of incense and heavy with the weight of expectation.

For all his disdain for the Yakuza, despite being the Yakuza, it was actually Papa who suggested—make that insisted on—adding the San-san-kudo to the wedding. The traditional “three cups” ceremony involves the bride and groom each taking three sips from three different sized cups of sake.

I stand across the small altar table from Takeshi, my hands steady despite the storm raging inside. The lacquered cups gleam in the soft light as the sake is poured from the teapot, the smallest cup placed before Takeshi first. He lifts it with a grace I wouldn’t have expected. Then I watch as he takes three slow, measured sips before setting it down. His movements are calm and controlled, as if this is just another day for him.

Then it’s my turn. I lift the cup and take three sips. The look in Takeshi’s eyes as he watches me makes it impossible to relax.

The medium cup comes next. I go first this time, then pass it to him. His gaze lingers on me as he drinks, the tension between us palpable. The final cup—the largest—is placed before him, and I hold my breath as he lifts it.

Three sips. Slow. Intentional.

I can barely hide the small, satisfied smile while I pretend to sip from the cup when it’s my turn.

I don’t actually drink from that last cup, though. It’s not a dumb little show of rebellion against the wedding. It’s because I snuck downstairs earlier and…tampered with the largest cup.

The one he just sipped from.

I didn’t do it out of malice. I did it as a warning, just like he did before to try and get me “under control.”

It was the note that pushed me from merely fantasizing about it to sneaking down here and actually doing it.

Still mine.

It just grated on me.

For a second, as I watch him, I remember the numbness and that sense of fear that tingled through me after he fed me the pufferfish—the piece he’d cut himself and purposefully left a tiny bit of skin on, so that I’d feel the effects of the toxin.

The priest pronounces us man and wife. I just stand there, holding back my smug smirk, wondering if Takeshi’s tongue is going numb yet from the pufferfish venom I laced the last cup with.

But then suddenly—he moves.

Before I can react, Takeshi grabs me, his hand firm around my wrist as he pulls me close. His other hand tangles possessively in the back of my hair, grabbing it in a fist as he yanks me to him.

His mouth crashes against mine, hard and unyielding. I’m too stunned to resist, my thoughts spinning as his hand winds through my hair.

And then I taste it.

Sake.

My eyes widen in horror as I realize he’s pushed the poisoned sake into my mouth, forcing me to swallow it before I can pull away. When he finally releases me, I’m gasping for breath, my heart pounding in my chest.

Takeshi’s eyes lock on mine as he leans close, pressing his forehead to mine. “I hope you know your doses, princess,” he growls quietly, his voice dangerous.

Panic floods my veins as I feel the beginnings of a faint tingling on my tongue. Takeshi’s grip on my wrist tightens briefly before he lets go, his expression almost amused as he watches me. Then, slowly, he begins to sway.

“Takeshi…” I try to sign, but my hands feel numb and leaden.

His knees buckle and he drops, the lacquered cup clattering to the ground beside him. The room erupts into a chaotic blur.

The last thing I see before everything goes black is Takeshi’s face, his lips curled into the smallest hint of a savage, dark grin.