Page 20 of Emperor of Havoc

He lifts a shoulder. “I could certainly use a change in conversation,” he signs back to me. “And I’m curious.”

Nina’s hand brushes mine under the table in a small gesture of solidarity. A minute later, the door opens again. Ryu steps through, a black look on his face as he moves aside.

And then, Takeshi Mori enters the room.

It's like spilled ink staining a pristine page. He's dressed simply in a black button-up shirt and slacks, his presence a bottomless pit that pulls every gaze to him.

I swallow as I take in his height, his broad shoulders, and his ridiculously chiseled jawline.

Takeshi, like his twin sister Hana and their older brother Kenzo, is half-Japanese, half-Norwegian. On Takeshi, the mix gives him the appearance of a sinfully good-looking but dangerous samurai, with the hulking size of a savage Viking warrior. His mid-length black hair is slicked back, his dark eyes piercing as he approaches the table.

Without any preamble, he hefts the white beverage cooler in his hand, setting it on the table with a heavy thud.

A faint trail of red drips from one corner.

“Kolya-san,” he says, an almost sarcastic smile on his face, his voice smooth and unhurried. “My invitation to dinner must have been lost in the mail.”

Papa eyes him, unfazed, ready for anything.

“I’m quite positive you were sent no invitation.”

Takeshi grins. His eyes sweep over the table, and when they hit me, I feel an electric zap sizzle through me as his piercing eyes cut into me before moving away.

“I forget that you Russians are much more versed in the unspoken manners involved in a Cold War. I should have?—”

“What do youwant, Mr. Mori,” Papa growls quietly. “And what…” My father’s gaze drops to the cooler, then slowly lifts back to Takeshi’s. “Isthat.”

Takeshi clears his throat, glancing at Sergey and Rodion.

“It would be best if we spoke alone, Kolya-san.”

“And I’m of the opinion thatit would be bestif you didn’t interrupt my dinner parties uninvited, Mr. Mori,” Papa says coldly.

“Hey, buddy,” Rodion slurs, dragging his gaze up to Takeshi. “If you’re taking orders, can you get rid of this shit and bring me some real food?” He shoves his plate of sashimi and sighs heavily. “I don’t know why we’re eating raw fish anyway.”

Dark amusement flashes across Takeshi’s face.

“You’re eating raw fish,” he growls quietly, “because your host is trying to throw you off just enough to put you on his terms. It’s a power move. Him being both JapaneseandRussian allows him to dip into both cultures, thus either allying or distancing himself as necessary. He could easily be serving you borscht or potatoes or whatever passes for food in Russia to make you both happy. But by serving you sashimi, he makesyouthe outsider, and since his roots are in this culture, he does so without looking like a poser or an outsider himself.”

I blink, stunned, as Takeshi calmly reaches out, deftly plucks an untouched piece ofHamachifrom Rodion’s plate with a fresh set of chopsticks, and pops it into his mouth.

“Mmm. Delicious. On a related note,learn some fucking manners, and try to cultivate a better palate, you dumb Russian fuck.”

Sergey lurches to his feet, a vicious scowl on his face.

“Howdare you?—”

“Provoke you into fighting your adult son’s battles for him?” Takeshi smiles sadly. “Pathetic, I agree. And yet, here we are.”

Sergey whirls to Papa. “Kolya-san,” he growls. “I ask your permission to beat this Mori-kai piece of shit myself. I won’t have a known psychopath waltzing in here and insulting me or my son!”

My father is silent for a moment.

“Kolya!” Sergey snarls. “I said?—”

“I heard you,” Papa murmurs quietly. “And no—you may not.”

“This fucking guy bothering you, Dad?” Rodion lurches unsteadily to his feet and whirls as if to throw a wild punch at Takeshi. But the huge Samurai-Viking of a man quickly grabs Rodion’s fist and twists his arm violently. Rodion screams, his face wrenching in pain as Takeshi calmly spins him around, grabs the scruff of his neck, and slams him face-down into hisHamachi.

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