Page 11 of Brutal Union (Ruthless Mafia Kings #8)

He wears a traditional black kimono, the fine silk folding precisely across his lean frame, untouched by time or movement.

A serpent curled around a blade, his family crest, sits on the chest—simple, stark, and unmistakable against the deep black of the kimono.

His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back without a strand out of place, not one sign of disorder.

A lacquered tray rests in front of him, centered with a delicate cast-iron teapot and three small ceramic cups—white with dark blue brushstrokes curling like smoke.

He pours the tea himself, slow and careful, bracing the kettle with both hands, without looking up.

The sound of the liquid hitting porcelain is the only noise in the room.

Aleksandr and I stop in front of him, both going into a deep bow at the hip.

“Matsumoto-sama, watashi wa Aleksandr Petrov to mōshimasu. Kochira wa Bratva no shidōsha, Nadia Petrov desu. Oai dekite kōei desu.” Aleksandr says, keeping his bowed formation.

I am shaky at Japanese but I am pretty sure he just introduced us.

Takeda Matsumoto finishes pouring his tea. I hear the pot being placed on the table but I do not break the bow, and keep my eyes on the floor. “ Nihongo wa hanasemasu ka? ”

Do you speak Japanese? He asks me.

I straighten my back, keep my hands still on my thighs, and answer carefully.

“ Sukoshi dake, ” I say. “Very little. But I’m learning. Out of respect for this alliance.”

Takeda’s eyes narrow slightly, as he looks me over. Then he gives a single nod, satisfied.

“In that case,” he says in crisp, almost accent free English, “we will speak in English. Please—sit. ”

“Thank you,” I nod. We lower ourselves onto the cushions across from him, and he bows slightly with his head.

“I have provided ceremonial grade green tea,” Takeda says, his voice calm, almost indulgent. “It is a simple roasted tea, but it is my favorite.”

“Thank you, Matsumoto-sama,” Aleksandr responds smoothly, bowing his head slightly as he reaches for the cup with both hands—the way one should, with respect.

I mimic him, fingers curling around the delicate ceramic as I lift it to my lips. The steam curls gently upward, carrying a warm, earthy aroma—faintly floral with a whisper of smoke.

I take a cautious sip.

The flavor is smooth and layered, deeper than green tea but softer than black. It blooms across my tongue with notes of spring florals, stone fruit, and a trace of honey at the finish—smoky, slightly sweet, and grounding in a way that catches me off guard.

I glance up.

“This is… delicious,” I say sincerely, surprised at how much I mean it. “Thank you, Matsumoto-sama.”

Takeda inclines his head in acknowledgment, his eyes resting on me for a beat longer than necessary.

“It is a tea for those who know patience,” he replies. “A quality I hope we all share.”

“We do,” I nod. “I do not want to take much of your time Matsumoto-sama, but as I take over the Bratva, there are many that do not want to do business with me. I am coming to you to see your intentions. ”

Takeda takes his own measured sip, then places the cup down with a practiced grace. His eyes remain on me as he speaks.

“The alliance your father forged with our organization still holds value,” he says in English, though his cadence is precise—measured like every word is an instrument of control.

“Despite his… absence, the Bratva remains a necessary partner, even with you as the leader. Trade routes, financial networks, weapons distribution—all stable, all profitable.”

Aleksandr nods. “Then we are aligned in purpose.”

Takeda glances between us. “Stability, however, cannot exist alongside uncertainty. And Boris Petrov’s disappearance, aided by one of our own, has created uncertainty.”

There it is. The first real blow. I suck in a breath.

“We believe the Yakuza knows where he is,” I say, keeping my tone even. “We want his location.”

Takeda leans back slightly. “Do you? Or does the daughter seek closure?”

My jaw tenses, but I don’t flinch. “Both.”

A beat of silence. Then Takeda lifts one hand subtly. Matsuda Kenji steps forward from the shadows, voice slick as oil.

“Boris’s location is not without cost,” he says. “We have not forgotten the betrayal. You align yourself with a wanted man, Sho Matsumoto aided in the release of a man who killed your mother and destabilized both our empires.”

“He was supposed to be traded for Boris, not attack you.” Aleksandr’s voice is low. “Sho acted alone.”

“So did Judas,” Kenji replies smoothly .

Takeda raises a hand again, and Kenji steps back. The room settles.

“Last night,” Takeda says, eyes sharp on me now, “Sho Matsumoto was seen leaving the Kitano district. You were seen minutes before. Same block. Same surveillance feed.”

I don’t respond. “There are whispers that he is your… companion.”

“He’s not,” I say quickly, firmly, despite the words burning on my tongue. “We have an acquaintance.”

Takeda’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Then use that…acquaintanceship to your advantage.”

Aleksandr cuts in. “What is it you want?”

Takeda clasps his hands in front of him.

“Surrender Sho Matsumoto to us. In return, we will provide the exact location of Boris Petrov. We will consider the slate clean, and the alliance will remain intact. No retaliation. No war.”

“You know the exact location of Boris?” I question, my eyes narrowing as I lean in forward.

“He ran to us, after he was denied entry in Russia.” Takeda nods, leaning back. “Your father has many allies in Japan. We just haven't felt the need to get him, as he doesn’t have much value to us until now.”

I look over at Aleksandr, but his eyes stay locked on Takeda. “Do we have a deal?”

Aleksandr’s silence beside me is thunderous. I know he wants to say yes. I know what I’m supposed to say .

But Takeda is still watching me—waiting to see if my heart will get in the way of my crown.

I breathe in.

And nod once.

“Agreed.”