Page 110 of Emperor of Wrath

She turns to bat her eyes at me. “Who, me?”

“Annika—”

“You know he’s skimming?”

“Yes.”

“And the evidence is probably on his phone?”

“Again, yes. But before you go stealing it, you can’t hack into an?—”

“Why don’t you let the professional handle this, okay?”

In the blink of an eye, she turns, leans up on her toes, and kisses my cheek.

We both blink in shock, like neither of us saw that coming.

She blushes and quickly looks away. “I’ll be back,” she blurts, melting into the crowd.

Mal waits a whole three seconds before clearing his throat.

“We, uh, gonna talk about what just?—”

“Nope.”

He tilts his head, taking a large sip of his drink. “Okay then.”

“Kenzo. Mal.”

We turn at the sound of Sota’s voice, both of us bowing, as we’re around the kind of guys who like to see that sort of behavior. When I straighten up again, I realize he’s not alone.

My jaw sets as I stare at Valon Leka, the Albanian smuggler Annika was getting far too cozy with at our engagement party.

My eyes narrow a little as I size him up. Never mind what Hana said about him being a psychopath: I don’t fucking like the look of him. He’s not an unattractive guy, but there’s something unsavory about him. Like he’s wearing a suitably handsome mask to hide the rot underneath.

I don’t necessarily buy into all that auras and energy and woo-woo crystal shit. But if I did?

This fucker’s got bad vibes coming out of his ass.

“Kenzo,” Sota says. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Leka.”

Valon puts his hand out to shake mine. I almost don’t take it, but that would be as insulting to Sota as it would be to this prick. So I grip his hand, maybe a little more forcefully than necessary.

Leka looks at me with a strange glint in his eyes that I brush off as the psycho thing Hana was mentioning.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mori,” he purrs in his Eastern European accent.

“As you know, Kenzo, I’ve been speaking with Mr. Leka about going into business together. He?—”

Valon coughs delicately. “I get things from one place to another, Mr. Mori,” he growls. “It’s been suggested that you and I could work together.”

I glance at Sota. He smiles and steps closer to me, leaning in.

“This is all yours,” he murmurs in Japanese, patting my hand. “Your deal to make or not. The decision, terms, and execution are all up to you.”

I arch a brow at him. “Do you want this?”

Sota turns to smile broadly at Leka, who very clearly has no idea what we’re saying, not understanding Japanese.

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