Page 45 of Emperor of Wrath

“Kenzo,” Mal says, elbowing me and tapping his wristwatch. “That time, brother.”

“Shit.”

Hana turns and smiles at me. “Hey, chin up. Like I keep trying to tell you, she’s pretty cool.”

Tak grins at me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Cool or not, you’re about to commit yourself to this in blood. No backing out now, bro.”

Traditionally, blood markers aren’t a thing in Japan. But as the Yakuza world moved into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries and started doing more global business with criminal organizations of the West and Middle East, they’ve become more common.

They’re exactly what they sound like: mafia contracts signed in the literal blood of those involved in said contract. Each signatory places their thumbprint next to their name, too, also in blood. They are absolutely, unquestionably iron clad. To break one is tantamount to excommunicating yourself and your entire organization from the criminal world.

In other words, they’re sort of a big deal.

When the four of us step out onto the rooftop deck of Sota’s brownstone, he, Kir, and Kir’s number two Isaak are already waiting for us.

So are Annika and Freya, off to the side.

I turn, frowning when I see Mal’s gaze stabbing across the roof garden into Annika’s friend. I elbow him sharply.

“Either tell me what the fuck this is, or let it go now.”

He turns to me instantly with his full attention.

“Nothing to let go.”

He nods his squared jaw as we both turn to bow to Sota, who walks over and hugs me close, patting my back before he pulls away.

“I’m proud of you, Kenzo,” he says quietly. “And in his own way, I know your father is, too.”

“Well,” Kir says, gesturing to the table laid out next to him. “Shall we?”

On it is the contract that binds Annika to me, and me to her. We’ll still be legally married a bit later. But this cements the engagement and ensures the wedding will happen. Next to it is the little metal medallion with a pin sticking out of it: the instrument with which we’ll prick our thumbs and sign in blood.

There’s no fanfare. No grand, drawn-out speeches. We both read over the contract, and then without any further ado, Annika is pushing past me to grab the medallion. She winces just a little as she stabs her thumb and squeezes, then dips the old-school fountain pen into the little well that now holds some of her blood.

Her hand moves quickly as she signs her name in rust, then abruptly she stabs her thumb onto the paper next to it.

“Done,” she mutters, like she’s just aced a pop quiz.

She doesn’t look at me as I take the medallion and the pen from her, doing the same routine, signing my name and making a thumbprint next to hers.

It’s official.

I’m turning to Annika to say—what? I’m not even sure yet—when my gaze snaps to the little red dot on her chest, hovering over her heart.

Oh fuck.

The dot slides up to her forehead, and I roar.

“GET DOWN!”

I slam into her, plowing her into the table and sending it, the contract, and us crashing to the ground. The sound is muffled, but there’s no mistaking the distinct pop pop sound of rifle fire as it slams into the wood of the patio. Glass shatters as Mal grabs Sota, and Tak grabs our sister, everyone hitting the deck as more shots ring out.

I whirl, my eyes darting first to Sota. Mal nods curtly, giving me a thumbs up before he yanks a gun out of his suit jacket. Takeshi does the same as I glance at him. It’s only then that I’m aware of the fists pounding on my arms and chest.

“Get the fuck off?—!”

“Stay down!!!” I hiss at Annika as she fights to get me off her. She hits me again, and I grimace as I grab her wrist and pin it above her head. I turn my head, my eyes stabbing into the darkness and across the street to a building one story higher than this one.

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