Emperor of Wrath: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

The alcohol is strong and fierce and it rolls down my throat like fire. I don’t normally chuck booze straight like this, but given the events of the last two hours?

Yeah. I think this is necessary.

I pause, letting the first massive gulp of vodka settle in my stomach before I tip the glass back and swallow the rest of it. I inhale deeply, wincing as I set the glass down before reaching for the bottle again.

Like I said: necessary. Plus, I am half Serbian.

Drinking vodka like water is in my DNA.

Mercifully, there’ve been minimal casualties from the car bomb that ripped through the church earlier—and miraculously, no fatalities. Kenzo’s brother Mal has a nasty gash across the temple from shrapnel, and seven other Mori and Akiyama men have various minor injuries from the blast.

Lev, one of Kir’s guys, is in the worst shape after taking a piece of van in the stomach like a machete. But even he’s going to be okay. So are the four other Nikolayev men who took shrapnel.

No one else was hurt.

My first fear in that terrifying moment after the explosion rocked the church was for my sister, of course. But by the time the van came crashing through the front wall, Drazen was already hustling her out through the side door, and they were outside when the bomb went off. They’re both fine.

Kir was apparently similarly dragging Freya out before the bomb even blew, and Sota Akiyama and Hana were also already outside as well.

But even knowing all that…and even though I grew up in the mafia, and went through what happened to my family, and then spent so many years living with danger… I’m still shaken by what just happened.

Hence the drinking.

I pour another hefty glass and bring it to my lips. It stings a little less this time, with the first shot already numbing my body a little, and settles inside to warm my core.

“Keep him there, Mal,” Kenzo growls into his phone across the room.

We’re in the penthouse apartment he keeps in Manhattan; a stunning spot high above Central Park East with huge double-story walls of glass that look out over the city. The penthouse is sparsely decorated and furnished, since he doesn’t spend much time here, and even when he is in New York, he’s mostly at Sota’s place.

Kenzo explained all of this in a few words when we first walked in.

“I don’t give a fuck that he’s angry,” Kenzo hisses, turning his back to me perched on the couch as he paces near the windows. “We’re all angry. His fucking job right now is to sit his ass down and guard Sota and Hana, not run around the city looking for a fight. Tell Takeshi I’m pulling rank and that’s a goddamn order.”

I glance back at my phone as I keep swigging vodka.

Freya

You’re SURE ur good??

Me

Yeah. Tons of security. Five of Kenzo’s guys watching the lobby plus three of Kir’s.

My brow knits.

Me

Are YOU okay?

After the explosion, Kenzo insisted on bringing me here, which he claims is one of the safest places in the city. Freya, meanwhile, went with Kir to his place. I’m not worried about her safety there, because I know Kir’s place is impenetrable. But I am worried about the fact that we both just experienced a fucking bombing.

Freya

I’m good. Kinda shaken. Like WTF

Freya

We thinking Kenzo’s enemies, or ours?

It’s impossible to know yet. All anyone does know is that the van was driven into the church and detonated via remote. It was a rental, too, and I’d bet my ass that the rental was done using a fake ID. No one would be stupid enough to bomb a mafia wedding and leave any possible trail back to themselves unless they wanted to die with their genitals stuffed down their throats.

Me

No idea, honestly. It DOES seem more like a Bratva move than Yakuza?

Not that the Yakuza don’t have open conflicts, too. But with firearms being so controlled in Japan, the Yakuza tends to wage war quietly. Swords, poison, that sort of thing. It’s the Russians who like to go barreling in with guns blazing and blowing shit up like a bunch of fucking cowboys.

I shiver as I glance back at my phone.

Me

Kir sent guys to watch Damian, yeah?

Damian’s last surgery was a huge success. But they’re giving him a few extra days in the induced coma after all, to help him heal a little more before they bring him out of it. The thought of him just lying there helpless in the hospital, easy pickings, sends a shiver up my spine.

Freya

As if that wasn’t my first thought?

Freya

Or Kir’s?

Me

Sorry. Kinda freaked out

Freya

Same. I’m just giving you a hard time. Yeah, there’s like ten guys at the hospital right now.

I exhale slowly. Thank God.

After I tell Frey to stay safe and to text again later, I pour myself yet another glass of vodka and knock half of it back. Then I check in with Taylor. Obviously, she’s holed up safe and sound in Drazen’s luxury tower penthouse, probably surrounded by like a thousand guards and fucking air support, knowing her husband.

It’s also pretty clear neither Drazen nor my sister was the target of the attack today.

Me

How r u?

Taylor

We’re good. I mean Drazen is ready to level the whole city right now. But once I calm him down, he’ll be good

I grin, happy that my twin is as safe as she can possibly be. At the same time, I hate that this happened with her there—that the messiness of my life almost got her hurt.

When I’m finally off my phone, I polish off the glass sitting next to me and pour…fuck. I’ve officially lost count. But I’ve stopped shaking, so there’s that?

Across the room, Kenzo is speaking quietly in Japanese. I don’t really know any, but I can vaguely guess from his tone that he’s probably talking to Sota.

I sip my drink, feeling warm and fuzzy as I watch him.

My husband.

I groan, scrunching up my face.

Fuck that feels weird to say, even inside my head.

I never once—and I truly mean that—pictured myself getting married. When I was younger and on the run, romance or even talking to a man never even crossed my mind. It’s hard to date, or even flirt, when you’re struggling to survive.

Later, of course, there was him. But….

I shudder as I bring the glass to my lips and drink deeply.

That was something else. That was hell. A prison. And even in the depths of my most pathetic moments with he-who-will-not-be-named, I never once thought it would end in marriage.

And after the horrors he put me through were behind me, I could barely look at another man. Much less date one. Or fall for one. Or even touch one…

A warm feeling spreads through me as my eyes drag across the dimly lit penthouse. Rain falls softly outside, pattering against the tall glass wall as I watch Kenzo. He’s still on the phone, but as I stare at him, his back to me, he shrugs off his jacket and gets rid of his tie. He holds the phone against his broad shoulder as he unbuttons his dress shirt and peels it away.

My lip slips between my teeth.

The vodka feels real nice in my core right now.

My eyes drag slowly over Kenzo’s broad, muscled, lean back. The irezumi style Yakuza ink that spreads across his skin ripples as his corded muscles clench.

Down, girl.

Kenzo says a last few words in Japanese, nodding stiffly before he ends the call and slips the phone into his pocket. He keeps his back to me as he sighs heavily, and for the first time, it hits me that he’s more than just this smug, steely-eyed Yakuza prince.

The man…cares. A lot. At least, about his own family. In this moment, you can almost see the weight of his future empire pressing down on his shoulders, and his back almost bowing under the heaviness of it.

I flinch slightly as he suddenly turns. His eyes stab across the penthouse right into mine. His chiseled jaw ripples a little, and when he rolls his neck, his pectorals flex.

Fuck me, the man is shredded.

Hard, lean muscle curves down his ribs and bands across his abdomen. The clearly defined eight-pack of his abs clenches as he starts to walk toward me, the ink on his chest and arms rippling with each step.

My eyes drop to the sinfully defined v-lines that cut down his hips into the waist of his dress pants, like warning signs on a dark road.

Caution. Turn back. Danger ahead. Step the fuck away, Annika.

“Let me take a look at that.”

His low, growling voice yanks my eyes from his body to his face. Then I glance down, following his gaze to the blood seeping through my wedding dress over my thigh.

I checked it out in the bathroom when we first got here. It’s not a bad cut at all. From the tear in the satin itself, I’m guessing it was a piece of church pew, or maybe the van, that blew past me.

Well, not quite past me.

“I’m fine,” I shrug, picking up my glass and draining it. “It’s nothing. I already bandaged it up in the bathroom when we got here.”

His dark brows furrow. “I’m only going to ask this once,” he growls, moving closer to me.

He plucks the bottle of vodka from the table, looking right at me as he brings it to his lips and takes a long, drawn-out gulp. Then a second one. When he sets it back on the table, he rubs his jaw with one hand.

“Okay: who’s trying to kill you?”

I frown. “Who says anyone’s trying to kill me? You’re the up-and-coming⁠—”

“I am well aware of all the people who want me dead. I’m even somewhat aware of the people who might want Kir dead. And that wasn’t any of them.”

I roll my eyes. “What are you, Sherlock Holmes? How the fuck could you possibly know that?”

“Because I’ve taught myself to be observant,” he growls. “And mindful of my surroundings. Unlike some people.”

I flip him off. “If you feel compelled to talk about how great you are, there’s a mirror in the bathroom that might be a better conversationalist.”

“Funny,” he mutters. “The shooter the other day was aiming at you.”

Do you think it was him behind it? The shooter, I mean.

I flinch as the face of he-who-shall-not-be-named emerges from the blackness in my mind.

But no. It can’t have been him.

He wouldn’t hide in the shadows when he tried to kill me.

“Today’s the second time in as many weeks that someone’s tried to kill me or my family, and I generally like to limit that to once a month. I want answers. Now.”

His abs clench as he reaches for the bottle again, towering over me, and brings it to his lips. I just glare at him.

“I don’t have answers, because I have no more fucking idea who might be behind today than you do.”

“Bullshit. Annika⁠—”

“What are you going to do?” I spit angrily, grabbing the bottle as soon as he sets it down and taking a heavy swig. “Torture me until I give you a name?”

“No. But I believe there was mention of punishing you.”

My face explodes with heat, and I can feel my lip shrinking back between my teeth as I look away.

“Let me see that wound.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter quietly.

“The hell you are.” He starts to reach for the hem of the wedding dress. Before his hand gets there, I slap it away in a clumsy, vodka-slowed motion.

“Leave me alone.”

Kenzo rolls his eyes. “Are you always this goddamn stubborn?”

“Things you would have known if we’d spoken for more than nine seconds before getting engaged.”

His eyes narrow. “I think we’ve done more than speak for nine seconds.”

“Really? I’ve forgotten,” I say, casually shrugging.

“Some of us didn’t forget you drugging and robbing them,” he growls tightly. “Now stop being a pain in the ass and let me see your wound.”

“You’re bleeding, too.”

He glances down at his wrist, frowning, as if noticing the red on his skin for the first time.

“It’s not my blood,” he grunts, and wipes it off on his pants.

“Oh.”

“Now are you going to show me the wound, or am I going to cut this dress off you to see it?”

Without waiting for an answer, Kenzo drops to his knees right in front of me. I watch him almost in a daze as he takes the hem of my wedding gown in his hands and gently pushes it up over my knees. His big, veined hands slip easily around the back of my knee and thigh without any sort of care about invading my personal space. He lifts my leg a little, causing the dress to ride up higher on that side.

My face throbs as he leans closer, his brow furrowing.

“Where the fuck did you learn to dress a wound, TikTok?” he grunts, scowling at the admittedly half-assed job I did in the bathroom with three Band-Aids and some old wrap tape.

“It’s fine,” I mumble.

“It’s a fucking infection waiting to happen. Don’t move.”

Kenzo walks away, disappearing into the darkness outside the dim glow of the living room. He returns a few minutes later with a first aid kit.

Still shirtless.

Distractingly shirtless.

My head floats a little, the alcohol burning in my veins. Kenzo says nothing as he drops to his knees again in front of me. Once more, he pushes my knee to the side.

My breath catches sharply as his hand skims up my inner thigh to a few inches past my knee. His long, strong fingers grip the edge of the tape and the Band-Aids, and without any warning, he yanks my crappy bandage off.

“Shit!” I wince, hissing as my leg jerks back. “What the fuck!”

“Hold still,” he mutters without looking up at me. He grabs hold of my leg again, a little roughly—honestly, right now, I don’t mind—peers at the cut, then reaches down and brings up a wet antiseptic wipe. I hiss sharply as he dabs it on the small gash on my thigh.

“Fuck!” I blurt, my leg jerking again.

“Calm the fuck down.”

I roll my eyes. “Your bedside manner is shit, for the record—ow!”

I glare at him as he roughly dabs the cut again.

“Oh…sorry,” he says, without a trace of apology in his voice.

Smiling. He’s fucking smiling.

Asshole.

I purse my lips, refusing to whimper as he finishes cleaning the cut. Then he tapes a bandage over it, pressing down on the edges and dimpling my skin as he makes it stick fast.

“There,” he grunts, nodding his chin at his handiwork. “Much better.”

Admittedly, his work does look like I went to a doctor. Mine looked like a stoned raccoon did it.

“Wonderful,” I mutter. “Are we done now?”

“Almost.”

It happens quickly. And yet, it also feels like the moment is drawn out for hours. I watch, my eyes slowly widening and my mouth falling open as Kenzo leans down, brushing the bandage gently with his thumb.

Slowly, he lowers his mouth. His lips press to the white gauze in a brief, soft kiss.

For a moment, we both freeze. His lips hover a half inch above my bandage, his warm breath teasing over my bare skin. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears his fingers grip my thigh tighter, the raw power of his strength pulsing off his fingertips and into me.

I shiver when he leans back down, his lips brushing my bandage once again. My breathing becomes quiet little staccato gasps as his dark eyes slowly lift to mine. He holds my gaze unflinchingly and mercilessly as he slowly moves his mouth an inch higher.

This time, it’s bare skin that his lips touch. A zap of something electric throbs in my core, tingling and teasing every extremity with nervous, buzzing energy. Kenzo’s strong hands on my thigh push a little bit higher, sliding the dress up with them.

His mouth follows, dropping another teasing, soft, electrifying kiss on my tingling skin.

Oh fuck.

We’re both utterly silent as he pushes the wedding dress even higher, letting it slide almost all the way up to my panties. My breath catches sharply as his mouth drops to land another soft, wet kiss against my skin—though this time, it’s a little harder.

More insistent.

Less fluttery.

Demanding.

I bite back the involuntary whimper that forms in my throat as his hands slide boldly up my thigh, pushing on my leg. He pushes the dress up to my waist, and a heat flushes scorchingly through my body and over my face as he lewdly spreads my legs wide.

His eyes never leave mine as he moves his mouth higher. This time, when his lips brush against my skin, it’s followed by a sharp—and I do mean sharp—bite of his teeth on my bare inner thigh that makes me gasp.

“Fuck…” I choke in a breathless whimper, my throat closing in on itself as my eyes widen.

Then he does it again, marking me again with his teeth in the same fucking spot. I wince, a raw, erotic pain throbbing through my skin, electrifying me and making my thighs tremble. I can feel my core clench and my nipples tighten as his tongue swipes at the bite he’s just given me.

“Kenzo,” I mumble quietly. “What…”

“I did warn you, princess,” he rumbles darkly, his eyes sweeping up to mine before he lowers his mouth again. I cry out when his teeth rake over my skin, followed by a slow, wet swipe of his tongue.

His gaze drops between my legs, and I watch the raw, black fire in his eyes pulse with something vicious as they lock onto the apex of my thighs, covered only by a thin strip of lace.

“When you’re my wife, it’ll be in every sense of the word.”

He roughly pushes my legs wider apart, spreading me open.

“You…” I choke on my words as his strong hand pushes up my thigh. “You can’t just⁠—”NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

“Watch me.”

I try to close my legs, but he slaps my thigh, pushing them apart again, making me whimper. His lips brush my skin once more, and I cry out when his teeth come out to play again. The sting of them sinking into my flesh sends a raw throb through my core, and I’m still shuddering from the bite when his hand boldly slides up between my legs.

Oh, FUCK.

Kenzo’s huge hand cups my swollen pussy through my wet panties. My face burns with heat. My eyes hood as I stare at where his hand is resting, watching, biting back a moan as he drags one finger up my lips through the slick lace.

My breathing becomes heavy and rasping, my skin tingling everywhere as my nipples tease against the inside of my dress.

Our eyes lock⁠—

And I hiccup.

Mother. Fucker.

Kenzo’s brow furrows, and his hand starts to pull back.

“What are you doing?” I blurt.

His hand stays where it is, his palm against my needy sex. But his finger isn’t moving anymore. His eyes lock with mine.

“You’re drunk,” he growls quietly.

“No, I’m noooot.”

Fucking fuck. Even I can hear the slurring of my words as they slide from my lips. My eyes drift to the side table, landing on the empty glass and the bottle of vodka with the sizable dent in it.

Okay, maybe all the vodka is catching up to me.

With a vengeance.

“I’m really noooot⁠—”

“Yes,” he growls. “You are.”

I hate how disappointed I get when his hand moves away.

“What,” I mumble. “You won’t touch a drunk girl?”

Kenzo says nothing as he starts to stand.

I snort loudly. “Wowwww. And here I thought you were this big tough Yakuza badass.”

“And that necessitates sexual assault?”

“Can’t rape the willing.”

The nanosecond those words leave my mouth, it’s like I sober up instantly. My hand slams over my mouth as heat explodes across my face.

What is wrong with me?

That’s not the only thing that happens when those words fly out into the universe. Kenzo freezes as if turned to stone. His eyes change from their usual intense dark fire into this breath-arresting darkness throbbing with wrath and malice.

Slowly, those eyes lock with mine, and a flame ripples through my core.

“Say that again,” he rasps, his voice rippling with a dark energy that both terrifies and electrifies me.

I shiver as he moves up, crouching between my lewdly spread thighs with my wedding dress bunched up around my hips, looming over me. He reaches down, and I whimper as his powerful fingers wrap like a vice around my throat.

“I said,” he growls savagely. “Say that again.”

I tremble but shake my head. “No.”

Kenzo’s lips curl monstrously.

“Careful, princess,” he murmurs. I bite back a whimper as he leans down into me, his body spreading my thighs wide as his mouth brushes my neck and my earlobe. “I might just get used to that word and like it a bit too much.”

I shudder, a heady mix of fear and raw lust exploding, raining liquid fire through my core and my veins.

“I—”

“You want my hands on you?” he snarls.

I cry out as his hand roughly pushes between my legs, cupping my throbbing pussy through my panties. A whimper falls from my lips as his fingers slip underneath the edge. His arm jerks, his muscled forearm rippling, and rips the fucking lace away from me.

That’s just the start of it.

Suddenly, without any warning, I feel two thick fingers push between my needy lips. A raw, aching groan is torn from my throat as he roughly sinks them into me, shoving them deep.

“FUCK….” I choke, shuddering as my hands instinctively reach for and grab hold of his muscled forearm.

“How about now, princess,” he snarls dangerously. His fingers start to slide out, only to instantly ram right back in, curling up against my g-spot.

“Oh…” I whimper, shivering and shuddering as he starts to stroke his fingers in and out of my aching, wet pussy.

Then he cranks it up and starts to finger me even harder and more roughly.

“And now?” he purrs darkly.

“Yes…” I choke pathetically, clinging to him as the waves of dark pleasure begin to swell and crash against my insides.

I can still feel the alcohol surging through my veins. I’m drunk—very drunk—but all it does is throw fuel on the fire surging in my core. The room spins and my senses swirl and pulse. The slow descent into inebriation walks hand in hand with the dark pleasure he’s wringing from my body, and all I want to do is ride this wave for fucking ever.

“Who knew my wife was such a desperate, needy little slut,” Kenzo hisses in my ear.

I moan, loudly.

“More,” I whimper desperately, feeling myself tighten around him.

He chuckles darkly. “More?” he growls. “What a greedy little slut.”

He suddenly adds a third finger. My eyes fly open, my mouth gaping wide as I’m suddenly filled like I never have been before.

“Shiiiiit…” I moan.

I’d meant more filthy talk.

But this is….

Fuck.

It’s unreal. Untethering. Unearthly. The sensation of his huge fingers stretching my pussy wide and filling me to my limit is even more intoxicating than the vodka—an aching adrenaline rush mixed with the desperate need for pleasure.

His mouth drops to my neck, and I cry out as he bites down hard. His fingers curl tighter around my throat, pinching off my blood flow and my oxygen just enough to take the swirling sensation of the alcohol in my veins to an otherworldly level.

Everything blurs and turns to liquid fire. My skin comes alive, and I beg him for more, more, more as he roughly savages my neck with his teeth and fingers me into oblivion.

“Why don’t you be a good little fuck-toy and fucking come for me like the greedy little slut you are, wife,” he snarls viciously into my ear. His thumb starts to rub my clit as his three huge fingers keep ramming into me. “Come on my fucking hand, now, like a good girl.”

Sweet. Fucking. Jesus.

When I explode, it’s like reality itself blurs around me. Like the world I know blips out of focus for a second, sending me spiraling in a freefall into blank space. I cry out, my hands clutching his forearm as tight as I can, feeling the tendons and muscles under his tattooed skin ripple as his fingers curl deep inside of me.

He bites me one last time, dragging a moaning shriek from my trembling lips. Then his fingers slip out from between my legs. His mouth and hand pull away from my neck and throat.

Shit.

My head is spinning, and while the orgasm is part of it, it’s also obviously the several shots of vodka I had all starting to creep up on me at once. I bite my teeth together and cling to the chair as the room starts to spin a little.

Suddenly, I’m being lifted. I drag my loopy gaze up and then feel a fuzzy smile spreading over my face as I look up into Kenzo’s eyes.

He’s carrying me somewhere, one arm under my knees, the other under my back, like I’m a baby.

“Where…” I mumble, my words slurring badly. “Where’re we going?”

“To bed,” he growls curtly.

Heat throbs through my core.

“Are yooouu gonna fuhck-me noooow?”

I hate how disappointed I get when he scowls and shakes his head.

“No.”

My lips twist petulantly. “Whyyy?” I whine, sagging against his strong arms as he carries me through the penthouse. “Cause I’m not Matsui Aki’s bimbo daughter?”

He smirks when I say it. I hate that too, dammit.

We walk into a huge, dimly lit, very masculine bedroom. I gasp a little too dramatically as he drops me onto a huge, insanely soft bed. I grin as I feel my body snuggle into it.

“I’m not going to fuck you while you’re passed out,” Kenzo growls, pulling a blanket up over me as my eyes begin to drift closed.

“You could.”

I freeze instantly. So does he, the blanket halfway over me.

“What did you just say?”

There’s a lethal, dangerous edge to his voice. I open my eyes to see him leaning close to me, his black eyes boring into mine and sending little pulses of nervous heat tingling through every nerve in my body.

“I…nothing⁠—”

His hand wraps around my throat again.

“What did you just say,” he growls.

“I…I said you could,” I whisper breathlessly.

My eyes drop closed again. My mouth goes slack as the comforting embrace of the bed begins to swallow me whole.

“Fuck me…”

The blanket is pulled up over me.

“Get some sleep, princess.”

Then I’m out.