Page 12 of Emperor of Wrath

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Like I said, Sota is both mentor and like a father to me. Family. Around our men, and in public, yes, I will always give him the honor and respect that he deserves and is expected within the regimented, ultra-traditional world of the Yakuza. But in private? We can speak a bit more informally.

Sota smiles wryly at me. “I could ask you the same?—”

He suddenly coughs violently. I grimace, moving toward him, but he waves me off, hacking up another lung before he wipes his mouth with a piece of silk and tucks it back in his tuxedo.

“Walk with me, my friend,” he mutters quietly. For the first time, I notice the lines drawn darker on his face, and uncustomary worry in his eyes.

I frown, nodding as I take his arm. The two of us slowly begin to walk across the manicured lawn, past the garden party and around the side of Cillian’s estate.

“I’ve always told you that a leader does what is necessary, Kenzo. Being a king does not mean you serve yourself. You serve those you are charged with leading. Being a king is not about clinging to power but about earning it every single day and showing those under you why you deserve that power.”

I nod my head. “I know.”

Again… One day, this will be me. Sota has no children of his own, and even when he thought Hideo was dead, he adhered to the oath he’d made to the Mori-kai decades previously. The Akiyama-kai is an empire in and of itself. But its allegiance, even today, is to the Mori-kai.

Its allegiance is to me, and Sota has spent years teaching me and molding me into the king I’ll need to be.

I turn to him, smiling gently. “You should be resting back in the city. I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to be up and about in the middle of a treatment cycle.”

“This is important, Kenzo.”

“Well, you also could have just called?—”

“This warrants a face-to-face meeting.”

The lines on his face. The haunted sadness in his eyes. The fear…

“Aoki is dead, Kenzo.”

Something twists hard in my chest.

Aoki Juro is the head of the Juro-kai, a tribute family to the Akiyama-kai. Aoki and I met about fifteen years ago, when I was new to the Yakuza world, and he was the newly crowned nineteen-year-old king of his late father’s empire.

We’ve been friends almost ever since.

I stare at Sota, understanding the sadness in his eyes. I’m not the only “stray” that Sota has mentored. He’s a collector of lost souls. And when, like me, Aoki lost his father, it was Sota who coached him how to step up and be king.

“What?!” I hiss.

“There was an altercation in New York two hours ago. Aoki and some of his men crossed paths with some of Kir Nikolayev’s men. Guns were drawn. Aoki was killed on the scene…”

“Fuck!” I snarl viciously. “Who?—”

Sota interrupts me, his voice cold and brittle. “And Damian Nikolayev, Kir’s nephew and heir, is on life support.”

I go still.

Oh, shit.

Sota looks more worried than I’ve ever seen him.

“Whether the nephew lives or dies, Kenzo… This is bad,” he says quietly. “Very bad. As in, the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand thereby setting off World War One bad.”

I grit my teeth, turning away from him, my eyes stabbing through the window beside us and into the house. My gaze lands on a familiar head of red, and my eyes narrow as I watch my prey sashay through the party.

“An agreement has been reached,” Sota says, pulling my attention back, “to avoid war with the Bratva.”

---