Page 1 of Emperor of Lust

1

HANA

Some nights,you can feel the mayhem and the violence lingering in the shadows before it ever actually makes an appearance. You cantasteit in the air, like a fine mist, wet on your tongue and lips.

A clamminess that bathes your skin. A little warning light flickering on and off in your peripheral vision.

The towering metal warehouse looms in the shadows of the industrial district just outside Kyoto, bathed in eerie silence and faint moonlight.

I close the car door quietly, willing my nerves to settle as I adjust my mask. I take a breath, willing that lingering feeling of mayhem back to the shadows. Shaking the mist off my skin.

Tonight is not a night of danger and violence, I remind myself. Tonight isbusiness.

Tonight I’m not Hana Mori, corporate CEO and daughter of the Yakuza. I’mThe Kitsune—a ghost, a fox, a shadow without a name.

My black stiletto heels click softly on the concrete, the sound echoing as if the darkness itself is leaning in to listen. The mask rests securely over my face, its delicate curves and painted fox markings letting me slip into a role that feels both dangerous and liberating.

This isn’t the first time I’ve met with clients face-to-face—well, face-to-mask. But the thrill and the slight dash of fear sharpen my focus, as always. With each step, I become more The Kitsune than Hana; more phantom than dutiful sister who keeps her family’s empire running smoothly.

By the time I reach the side door to the cavernous warehouse, my nerves are steel. I step inside, the sound of my heels drawing the attention of the three men waiting for me inside under the lone overhead light.

Won Kyung, Ji Ahn, and Johnny Dae-Kim—three mid-level leaders of three mid-level Korean syndicate factions—glare at me with predatory, pissed-off looks as I click my way across the space toward them. I just breathe in slowly, steadying my heartbeat to a calm rhythm.

I’ve met with dangerous men before. Ilivewith dangerous men. I call them brothers and cousin.

Still, there’s no denying the particularly edged feel in the air, the dark energy hanging like a fog over this whole meeting.

“Gentlemen,” I greet them, my voice filtered through the mask, smooth and unwavering. The Kitsune never falters. The Kitsune is untouchable. “Let us get down to business. You had concerns.”

It’s not the first time I’ve met with dangerous clients. It’s also not the first time I’ve had to keep the patronizing tone out of myvoice while trying to explain basic finance to men who are used to being in charge and told how smart they are.

If you’d told me a year ago that this was how I’d be spending an ordinary Wednesday night—traipsing around warehouses dressed like a spy and wearing a fox mask to engage in money-laundering business…about which my family has no fucking idea about, I might add…with some of the sketchiest men on earth—I’d have laughed in your face.

But here we are.

Johnny Dae-Kim, in the middle—mid-thirties, lean muscle, a scar tracing his cheek from eye to jaw—steps forward, lips twisted in a bitter smirk. He runs a hand over his clean jaw, and my gaze catches on the glinting red garnet stone in his gaudy gold ring. His eyes flick over me, assessing, calculating. Something dark flits through them.

“We’re disappointed, Kitsune.” His words are harsh, laced with a venom that seeps into the empty room. “Our returns have been…underwhelming.”

I ignore the surge of irritation that flares in my chest, keeping my expression steady even beneath the mask. "I assure you,” I reply calmly, “all transactions were processed exactly as agreed upon. Perhaps you’re neglecting to consider fluctuating exchange rates, or?—”

“Exchange rates.” He spits the words like they’re a curse and his gaze grows darker, more dangerous, as if my words are a slap rather than a response.

I exhale slowly. “Gentlemen, there’s a reason you do business with me and not my competitors. I get thingsdone.I get you the best returns for cleaning your dirty money,andI do it at thelowest commission of anyone else at my level.” I shrug. “If that doesn’t work for you, I’m sure my competitors would be happy to have you back.”

My lips curl slightly beneath the mask that covers the top two thirds of my face.

“At their higher fee, that is.”

Johnny’s eyes narrow. “Your commission is not the problem, Kitsune,” he growls. “The fact that you think you can cheat us certainly is.”

In the flickering light, the two men flanking him drift forward, each movement calibrated, like wolves closing in on an injured fawn. My senses sharpen, the air thickening with tension. Instinct tells me to step back, to reach for the small knife strapped under my sleeve, but I resist.

The Kitsune does not retreat.

“That’s a serious accusation,” I say, keeping my voice even, “and not one I take lightly. If there’s been a miscalculation, I am happy to go over the figures together. I’m certain?—”

I don’t get the chance to finish. Johnny lunges, reaching me in an instant. His fingers dig into my arms, cold and unyielding as he yanks me forward and spins me around. The breath leaves my body as he slams me back against a wrought-iron pole, pinning me to it.

---