Emperor of Havoc: A Dark Forced Marriage Mafia Romance

The clatter of my keyboard fills the otherwise quiet study. Reports, files, calendars, meeting schedules… They all blur together, but I force myself to focus.

I have to.

Frankly, this is all piling up faster than I expected it to. Papa being in and out of the hospital, the ever-evolving political landscape of the Yakuza in Tokyo, the constant need to push our organization to the next level…taken together, it’s a lot.

But I can do this.

…Probably.

I’m exhaling distractedly when the door to Papa’s office, where I’ve set up operations, swings open.

I don’t need to look up to know who it is. For a start, there’s only one person in the world who would walk into Kolya Ishida’s home office uninvited and without announcing himself, even if the man himself wasn’t here. And also, the air shifts in a very particular way whenever Takeshi steps into a room.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, his voice edged with challenge.

I finally glance up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Really,” I sign dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirks. Infuriatingly.

“Although if I have, could it have something to do with you fucking with my birth control?” My hands move furiously as I glare at him.

“That may have had something to do with it, yes,” he throws back nonchalantly.

I roll my eyes. “I really don’t have time for your bullshit just now, Takeshi.”

“I…” He clears his throat awkwardly, his brow furrowing before he finally gets it out. “I apologize for my…less-than-appropriate actions.”

That posh British accent mixed with the rough, bad-boy charm gives him a totally unfair advantage.

Infuriatingly unfair.

“Less than appropriate,” I motion, unsmiling. “That’s…one way of putting it.”

He coughs again, shoving his fingers through his hair.

“In any case, come outside,” he says, as casually as if he were inviting me to tea.

I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Is that your way of apologizing?” I sign deliberately.

He smirks. “Apologizing’s not my style, princess. I’ll let you decide if this makes up for it, though.”

My curiosity wins, and I follow him through the house and out the front door. Then I see them—two sleek black Yamaha racing bikes, gleaming in the neon light of the city around us.

“We’ll practice in the driveway first. Or, if you want, you can just ride with me.”

Takeshi picks up a helmet, tossing it to me smugly. That smugness falters when I catch the helmet easily, tossing him a look.

Oh, this should be fun.

I stride over to the closest bike, swing my leg over it with practiced ease, and fire up the engine. The roar has pure adrenaline thrumming through my bones as I rev it confidently, pulling the helmet on, fastening it deftly, and flicking the visor up to look at him.

“Well?” I sign.

Takeshi’s smug grin falters for a split second, replaced with a look of grudging admiration. “Well, well,” he mutters, his voice tinged with surprise.

“Just try to keep up,” I motion.

Okay, I may have oversold my abilities a little.

In the end, I’m the one who struggles to keep up—but only because I want to actually survive the evening, unlike Takeshi, whose riding style suggests he has a fucking death wish when he’s on the back of a bike.

The streets of Tokyo blur into streaks of neon as we weave through the city. When he’s not being recklessly suicidal, Takeshi rides with a precision that borders on arrogance, zigzagging through traffic like the road belongs to him.

I follow as best as I can, my hands tight on the handlebars as I follow behind him, my heart pounding in my chest. The city roars past, my senses tuned to the max as I push myself to the limit just to keep him in sight.

Fuck me, is it exhilarating— if terrifying.

Finally he slows, pulling up outside a small, nondescript bar tucked into an alley. I roll my eyes when I see the ridiculously on-the-nose name of the bar, flickering in faint neon kanji lettering above the door.

Kaiju.

Monster bar.

Of course.

Takeshi kills the engine and glances over his shoulder at me as I do the same.

“Drink?” he asks casually, as if we’re two normal people out for a night on the town.

I swing off my bike, removing my helmet. “Why not,” I sign, following him inside.

The bar is dimly lit, the scent of smoke and alcohol hanging in the air. It’s quiet, with only a handful of patrons scattered around the room. Takeshi orders for both of us, sliding a glass of whiskey in front of me after leading us to a corner table.

“Why motorcycles?” I sign, taking a sip. The burn is sharp, but it’s a welcome distraction from his overwhelming presence.

“Freedom,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “There’s nothing like it—just you, the machine, and the road.”

“And where’d you learn to ride like that?”

Takeshi leans back in his chair, his glass balanced between his fingers, the whiskey catching the dim light.

“Akira,” he says quietly.

I stiffen, my fingers tightening around my own glass. I remember how he spoke of Akira before, and the implication that my father had something to do with his disappearance.

“Who was he to you?” I sign, curious.

Takeshi looks away across the quiet, low-lit bar.

“Part mentor. Part friend. A teacher, I guess.” He turns his glass on the table. “When I was a teenager, I was…sort of a terror.”

“Unbelievable,” I sign, a sarcastic look of surprise on my face.

Takeshi grins. “Honestly, whatever you’re imagining, the reality was five times worse. I was running with the wrong crowd. I also didn’t know what to do with the…” He shakes his head. “With the thoughts I have inside me, sometimes.”

His darkness. The psychotic tendencies I’ve witnessed first-hand.

His kaiju.

“Anyway, my mom met this guy, Akira Ohno, through her various social circles. He was Japanese, had money and status like our family, and I guess she figured he’d be a good mentor for me.” He shrugs. “I fought it at first, because of course I did. But pretty soon, he was like the cool uncle I never had. He taught me about engines, about finding the balance between chaos and precision.” His dark eyes fly to mine, and I can see the weight of unspoken words there.

He taught Takeshi how to control his monster.

“Do you still think my father was responsible?” I sign sharply.

He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he smirks. “I think, for tonight at least, I’m having too much fun to go digging up ghosts, princess.”

Back on the bikes, the streets feel different. Or maybe I’m what feels different. I’ve just had my first real date in my entire life.

With my husband.

Talk about ass backward.

The hum of the city has an edge to it, like the shadows are watching. Takeshi rides ahead, less maniacally now, his form silhouetted against the neon glow. I follow closely, the thrill of the ride rushing through me.

It happens very quickly.

I spot movement in my peripheral vision—a dark shape closing in. Before I can react, a motorcycle roars up beside me, the rider clad in black and wearing a helmet shaped like a menacing oni demon mask. The figure swerves toward me, forcing me closer to the edge of the road, making my heart leap into my throat.

My hands sign desperately in the air toward Takeshi ahead of me. But he can’t see me. The rider next to me veers close again, and my pulse jangles when he raises a hand and points right at me.

What the fuck.

In a panic, I start to hammer the horn, blasting it over and over.

The other rider careens in again. His arm lifts, and horror washes over me as I realize he’s reaching for me.

Terror explodes through my system as I hit the horn again and again and ram my bike into a higher gear, shooting forward and away from the masked rider, recklessly lurching into oncoming traffic before I cut back into the proper lane, getting closer to Takeshi. I pound the horn again, and this time, his head jerks to the side when he hears me.

I wave a hand frantically. Just as I do, the other rider roars up again, insanely close to me, sending my heart into my throat.

Wordlessly, Takeshi drops back, gunning his engine, surging toward the other rider. The man roars forward, dodging Takeshi easily. I watch in terror in my rear view mirror as Takeshi races into oncoming traffic, narrowly missing a taxi before cutting back into the correct lane.

Suddenly, my bike jams to the side, my balance wobbling as I almost lose control of the front wheel.

Holy fuck.

The unknown rider just rammed me.

He veers toward me again, reaching for me with a gloved hand. Just as he gets close, his bike jerks, slamming sideways into me.

A silent scream rips from my throat as my front wheel wobbles wildly. The bike veers left, then right, tipping dangerously as it prepares to flip. I can feel gravity getting ready to drag me down to the road and rip me to pieces.

Suddenly, an arm snakes around my waist and a strong hand grasps my riding jacket, yanking me off my bike just as it completely spirals out and goes crashing into the back of a parked van with a smash of metal and glass.

My heart skips as a familiar grip grabs me and hauls me onto the back of his bike, my arms around his midsection.

Takeshi.

I can barely breathe or think as he guns the engine, roaring off down the neon-lit street as I cling to him for dear life.

But the masked rider doesn’t let up. He’s still on our tail, his bike weaving expertly as he gains on us. Takeshi grips the handlebars tightly, his body tense as he pushes his machine to the limit.

“Hang on!” he yells over the wind ripping past my ears.

The entire world tilts as Takeshi turns sharply, tires skidding on the wet pavement. I cling to him, my heart pounding so loud I can barely hear the roar of the engines.

What happens next is a blur. The pursuer rams into us, the impact sending our bike skidding out of control. Takeshi twists the handlebars expertly, letting us hit the street at an angle that sends us sliding across the pavement instead of tumbling.

Still, all I know is pure fear as we hit—hard. The bike skids out, Takeshi grabbing me and kicking us away from the metal as it scrapes across the pavement. His arms encircle me, both of us groaning as we tumble together, rolling over and over until we end up crashing into a pile of garbage bags next to a dumpster.

Holy fuck.

Pain explodes through my body, the air knocked from my lungs. An engine backfires as the other bike roars over, pulling up nearby.

The rider dismounts and starts to stalk to where we’re both slumped on the ground. The oni mask is even more terrifying up close, its grotesque features twisted into a permanent snarl. Suddenly, Takeshi is lurching to his feet and pushing in front of me. He reaches behind him and pulls a blade out of the back of his jeans, brandishing the knife in a fighter’s stance.

The man in the oni mask pauses for a second as time stops. Then he reaches into his own jacket, and pulls out a short katana.

Oh God.

One second, the two men are just standing and facing each other. The next, they’re colliding.

Takeshi grunts as he slams into the masked man. They’re basically the same size, and equally fast. I claw to my feet, panic and fear exploding through me as the man tries to jam the katana into Takeshi’s stomach. Takeshi blocks it, taking a slash to his arm before he stabs his own blade into the other guy’s thigh, eliciting a roar of pain.

Quickly, the fight shifts as the masked rider rams into Takeshi with his shoulder, knocking him backward and off his feet. My husband scrambles to grab the knife he’s just dropped, and then I watch in horror as the other man kicks it away and storms over.

He looms over Takeshi, brandishing his katana as my world slows to a frozen stop.

No…

Suddenly, it all shifts again. Gunfire rings out, shattering the frozen moment. The man in the oni mask ducks as bullets spray the brick wall behind him.

“KATARINA! GET DOWN!”

It’s Ryu, leaning over the hood of his car, gun trained on the man with the katana. He fires off another few shots, sending the masked attacker scurrying back to his bike and jumping on before he turns to level a blank, emotionless stare at me. Then the bike roars to life and screams off down the road.

Takeshi is halfway to his feet as Ryu rushes over, but then he collapses again to his knees, his breathing labored. I scramble over and grab him, easing him to the ground as he pulls his helmet off with a wince, his face tight with agony.

“Are you okay?!” I sign with shaky hands.

His expression is strained but defiant. “I’m fine,” he grits out, his hand coming up to touch his side gingerly.

Oh shit.

The white t-shirt under his riding jacket is slowly turning red.

“What the fuck was that!” Ryu hisses as he runs over and drops down next to where I’m crouched with Takeshi.

“Road rage,” Takeshi grunts.

Ryu pulls back Takeshi’s jacket, frowning. “We need to get you back to the house. It’s not deep, but you’re losing a lot of blood. We need to move, now.”

Takeshi complains loudly, but allows Ryu and I to pick him up, his arms slung over our shoulders as we help him toward Ryu’s car.

“Got a real talent for making friends wherever you go, don’t you?” Ryu mutters.

“I was just trying to take my wife out on a fucking date. Jesus,” Takeshi grits.

I turn to him, grinning in spite of all the adrenaline, fear, and danger still coursing through my system. He glances at me, his lips curled in a smug smile.

“How’d I do with that, by the way?”

“Best date of my life,” I sign back.

Suddenly, I wince. Something sharp pricks into me, and through the haze of adrenaline, I realize that what I’m feeling in my side isn’t an itch.

It’s pain.

Frowning, I glance down, pulling aside my jacket before my heart drops.

Oh, fuck.

That’s…a lot of blood.