Page 23 of Emperor of Lust

Kenzo was born at one of her family’s estates in England. Then, a few years later, she decided to try to rekindle things with Hideo. She returned to Japan, and they had another wild affair.

…But once more, Hideo’s Yakuza lifestyle was too much for Astrid. She returned to England,pregnantagain, with Takeshi and me.

Hideo never knew about any of us. Our mother never told him.

Later, our father met and fell in love with the woman he was probably always supposed to find: a Korean-Italian singer named Bella. They had a daughter together, and Hideo decided to retire from the world of the Yakuza.

But tragedy struck as he was trying to extricate himself. A rival attacked him, killing Bella in the process. Hideo and his young daughter, Fumi, escaped to the US with new last names, still not knowing about us, and us still not knowing about him.

These days, we’re no longer mysteries to each other. Takeshi isn’t into it so much, but Kenzo and I have started forging relationships with our father and our half-sister. She’s a hot-shot lawyer in New York now, as well as the state Governor’s wife.

But while I care for the man who gave me half my DNA, it’s Sota who I really think of as a father. Sota took Kenzo in when my brother first came to Kyoto to discover his Japanese side. He took Takeshi and me in after Mom died, too, as well as our cousin Mal. Sota had been our father’s best friend before his disappearance, and even he thought Hideo was dead.

Long story short, Sota Akiyama isn’t just a trusted friend of my father. He’s family to me in every sense of the word, and always will be.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

He tilts his head, studying me keenly, and sighs quietly. “I know all this is a lot to ask of you,” he says gently.

I shrug, looking away, unable to fully hide my irritation. “It’sridiculous, is what it is. All for the sake of appearances.”

He nods, his gaze softening. “Yes, but you know how important appearances are in our world. You know what it means to beMori-kai. The Yakuza is in your blood, Hana,” he adds, sighing deeply. “An affliction I’m afraid you were born with.”

I smile wryly as I meet his eyes in the mirror. Sota smiles warmly as he stands behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. My eyes drop to the stub of the missing pinky on his left hand: a scar that speaks to a dark moment in his past when as a young man he accidentally disrespected hisOyabun.

The penalty was being ordered to commityubitsume—aka, cut offhis ownpinkyas proof of loyalty, humility, and commitment.

He rarely speaks of it, but the missing finger has always been a reminder to me of the sacrifices he’s made to the Yakuza.

So… I mean… If Sota can cut off his own finger to prove his loyalty, I can wear a ring and fake a smile, even if my fake fiancé is Damian the fucking psychopath, who sees the darkest part of me and holds my sins over my head with a smug grin on his face.

Right?

“Just the same,” Sota sighs, a wry smile on his face as if reading my thoughts, “Iamsorry, Hana. This is nothing I ever wanted for you.”

“It’s just pretend,” I say with practiced smoothness, more for me than for him. “And it’s not permanent. As soon as we gain our foothold in Tokyo, we can be done with it.” I shrug. “It’s a small price to pay for family.”

Sota smiles quietly, as if he wants to say more, but realizes now isn’t the time. Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small velvet box.

“This belonged to my Keiko.”

That’s another part of Sota’s past he doesn’t talk about much: his wife, who tragically died of Ovarian cancer after only a year of marriage.

Sota flips the lid open, and my breath catches as the light hits the gorgeous diamond necklace within.

“Here,” he says, his voice quieter. “I’ve always told you: she’d have loved you.”

“No, Sota, it’s?—”

“Please,” he says softly. He gives me a reassuring smile, his eyes warm. “She’d want you to wear it tonight,” he says, his tone so certain and filled with quiet pride that I can’t refuse.

I nod, bowing my head slightly as he gently clasps the necklace around my neck. After he steps back I lift a hand to the necklace, feeling the delicate weight of it that somehow feels like a shield, a piece of his strength and family pride that he’s sharing with me.

He gives me a final look that says more than words could. “Fake or not, she’d be proud of the woman you’ve become,” he says, his voice thick with emotion that he rarely shows. “Same as I am.”

A lump forms in my throat but I push it down, determined to stay composed. Still, I stand and turn to embrace him. “Thank you, Sota. I…” I let the words trail off as I pull back, knowing he understands.

He inclines his head, offering a faint smile. “It’s what family does.”

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