Page 38 of Emperor of Havoc

Ryu bows stiffly, shooting Takeshi another lethal look before turning on his heel and marching away.

“Now…when you saytake care of him…” Takeshi sidles closer. “Should I assume that includes your pretty mouth wrapped around my dick?”

“More like your ass wrapped around agun, with a trigger I pull until the chamber is much, much lighter.”

Takeshi’s brows arch in amusement. “That was…graphic.”

“Can you just leave me the fuck alone?” I sign tersely.

“Not even married yet and already we need counseling,” he sighs.

“Youcertainly do,” I sign sarcastically, shooting him a glare. “Plus medication.”

Takeshi chuckles. “You havenoidea, princess.”

“I think I can make an educated guess,” I fire back. “And don’t think that any of this means you can step on my toes,” I sign, my movements sharp.

“Meaning?”

I glare at him. “Meaning stay the hell away from my allies and stop trying to drag them to your side.”

“And here I thought what’s yours was mine, and what’s mine was yours,dear,” he smirks.

“You thought wrong,” I toss back.

“And I’m sorry,” he continues. “Yourallies?”

“I’m my father's number two. You’re merely an accessory. A handbag.”

Takeshi’s grin widens. “Ahandbag? You wound me, princess.”

“I’m sure I’ve told you a hundred times by now to stop calling me that.”

“What else should I call you, then? Beloved fiancée?” He drops his voice. “I think you like it more than you admit.”

At that moment dinner is announced, cutting our conversation short. I throw Takeshi one last glare before stalking toward the table.

Dinner begins, the atmosphere tense, and eventually the centerpiece of the evening—fugu, AKA pufferfish sashimi—is presented with great fanfare.

While delicious, pufferfish isextremelydangerous due to the high levels of tetrodotoxin in their organs and skin—enough in one fish to kill thirty people. The chefs that prepare and serve it train for years to be surgeons with their knives, making sure to only serve the edible parts, and not anything that’s going to kill a whole dinner party. Fun fact: as part of the final exam to gettheir license to serve it, they have to eatfuguthey have prepared themselves.

No pressure.

The chef, a man well-known to our family, begins slicing, his movements precise. But halfway through, Takeshi rises from his seat beside me.

“What are you doing?” I sign, glaring at him. “Sit down!”

He smiles benignly as he walks around the table to Chef Sawada. “May I?” he murmurs in Japanese.

Chef Sawada frowns, his eyes darting to me. I glare at Takeshi. “Stop embarrassing yourself. Your bullshit in this case has the potential to kill people. Sit. Down.”

“Relax, princess,” he says smoothly. “I’ve done this before.”

He takes the knife from the chef, ignoring the man’s protests and beginning to slice the fish himself. The room watches in stunned, horrified silence as he works, his hands steady, his expression cool and unreadable. When he’s done, he slips a piece onto my plate and leans close to me, his voice a quiet murmur against my ear.

“You should know how good I am with a blade, fiancée.”

The challenge hangs in the air, thick and heavy. I hesitate, my pulse hammering as I look at the piece of fish, translucent and perfect and potentially deadly.