House of the Kami is book two after The Yakuza’s Jewel.
This story is not intended to be a full-length installment in the Endo saga. Instead, it serves as a bridge between books—offering readers a closer look at life inside the Endo household while also revisiting characters whose stories intersect with Andromache’s world.
Within these pages you will see moments from the Endo compound, the birth of Kanako, and glimpses into the lives of those closest to Andromache, including her sister Briseis and Ella Kang from Anae.
The next full installment of the series, No Gods, Only Us, will release in December 2026 and continues the larger story that began in The Yakuza’s Jewel.
Think of House of the Kami as a brief return to this world before the next chapter begins.
***
The Endo Family · Kobe, Japan
I am tired. Beyond tired. The kind of deep ache in my bones and in the back of my eyes that tells me I need more sleep.
I need a great meal, a massage, and to relax into deep, restful slumber while someone plays with my hair.
“Andromache.” Ichiro’s lips press against the back of my neck. His arms wrap around my waist, squeezing gently, pulling my body back into him. “Time to get up.”
I could ignore him. I want to ignore him. I will ignore him.
He moves slowly, keeping me cocooned in warmth like the gentleman he is. Akata would have ripped the covers off me by now. No, my Ichiro rolls out of bed, and I listen to the popping sound of his spine as he stretches and yawns.
He’ll let me sleep five or ten more minutes. Hopefully.
We have several venues to visit today, and Ichiro will want to make a decision, especially since he has to take over for Haruki.
Keiko is turning two in two weeks.
I’ve been a mother for two years.
It’s hard to believe, but every day I stare into her round, brown face and see her father’s eyes staring back at me.
She has not inherited his goofiness. I feel a little sad about that.
No, my little Keiko is a serious lady. She’s calm and sweet, always something brewing behind her dark eyes. A thought in her mind taking shape. Even at two, she’s incredibly smart, switching between Japanese and English with ease.
Her first birthday party was amazing. Streamers, balloons, a clown, magicians, real horses jumping through loops, and—dare I say it—a tiger.
Courtesy of Kiyoshi, who thought it was a great idea because Keiko loves tigers.
She spent ten minutes crying when she saw it and the rest of the time hiding from it.
She doesn’t like tigers anymore. Giraffes are her thing now, and I have strictly forbidden them from this property.
“Andromache, you’ll be upset that you didn’t have enough time to get ready and eat. Then we will be late, which you will blame me for.”
Ichiro leans down, and I can feel his mouth moving against my bonnet. “Do you not feel well? You had a headache yesterday.”
A pounding one. Damn near a migraine.
“I’m being lazy,” I yawn, turning over in bed. “Has your queen not earned this right?”
He chuckles, that soft British lilt playing over his Japanese accent. “No more Bridgerton for you, Your Majesty.” He taps my ass forcefully. “One last warning.”
Sitting up in bed, I narrow my eyes at him. “You dare order me? I am queen!”
I can see the decisions playing over his face. But he nods and walks back into the bathroom, saying nothing.
Fine.
Kicking the covers away, I stretch and swing my legs over the bed. October in Kobe is actually very nice. Warm, and the humidity isn’t too bad. The windows are open, letting in a soft breeze, and I crane my neck around as Ichiro leans against the doorway.
“Taking your time or taking advantage of my good graces?”
“Both.” I smile as he raises an eyebrow. “I’m coming. Goodness, I can move fast when I want to.”
Ichiro scoffs. “Keiko should be up and dressed, but I’ll make sure.”
As I slather toothpaste on my toothbrush, I point at him. “No costumes. Real clothes, and do not let her bully you.”
Ichiro frowns. “I do not get bullied by a two-year-old.” He walks out of the room, calling over his shoulder. “I am highly open to her suggestions, is all.”
“Suggestions my ass,” I murmur, staring at myself in the mirror.
Keiko is princess here. What she says goes, and there is nothing she cannot have. If Mommy says no, then surely Uncle Kenzo will say yes. Daddy doesn’t have the word no in his vocabulary, and the rest of them are just as bad.
I can already hear her soft whining in my head.
“Papa Yoshi, I need this.”
“You do need it. Give me a minute, Keiko, I promise.”
And Kiyoshi doesn’t break promises.
On one hand, I am eternally blessed to have five husbands who love my daughter—our daughter—like their own.
As I wash my face, I smile down at the yellow gold ring gleaming on my left finger. The pink diamond is a symbol of my marriage to Haruki.
I have five pieces of jewelry that I never take off.
My sleek gold necklace with the onyx stone set in the middle from Ichiro.
A pair of pink diamond stud earrings from Kiyoshi, and he has a matching pair as well.
A paperclip gold chain with blue sapphires between the links adorns my ankle, from Akata.
And from Kenzo, a freshwater pearl on a gold chain that sits snug on my wrist.
Symbols of marriage, fidelity, trust, and love from my babies.
They wear rings, and I have my pieces.
“I don’t want to!” I hear Keiko saying loudly. “I don’t like that.”
I can hear Ichiro murmuring to her and her responding cry.
Lord, have mercy. I have to do her hair anyway.
Walking into the hall, I’m greeted by the sight of Keiko standing in her doorway: pink cowgirl boots on, yellow lace shorts, and a K-Pop Demon Hunters shirt featuring the Saja Boys.
She doesn’t look up at me, arms crossed, brow furrowed as she stares at Ichiro.
“I say no.”
“Mommy says no too,” Ichiro smiles. “I don’t want to get in trouble with Mommy.”
“No,” I say, and Keiko’s gaze snaps up to me. “Papa Ichiro doesn’t. Where are your clothes?”
Keiko scrunches her mouth. “I like this shirt.”
The shirt that clearly has some of her breakfast still on it.
“Keiko,” I begin slowly. “Where are your clothes?”
She’s deciding whether she’s going to cry or not.
“She doesn’t look bad.” Ichiro stands and smiles at me. He’s adopted that tone of trying to convince me. “She just needs a cardigan and—”
“Why do I always have to be the bad guy?” Rolling my eyes, I reach past him and Keiko immediately makes her body go limp.
“Mommy please!”
“Andromache.”
Ignoring them both, I shuffle my daughter into my arms and over to her closet.
“Papa please!” Eyes full of tears, she pleads to Ichiro, arms stretched toward him.
“If you take one step into this room, I will make you regret it,” I snap, pulling down a blue floral country-style dress. She has a pair of brown cowgirl boots that will match, since she’s in this boot phase.
Kenzo appears in the doorway. “Make you regret it… I assume she’s talking to you and not Keiko?”
Ichiro takes a deep breath. “We can discuss tone later.”
“Two things can happen at once.” Kenzo bites into his apple and continues to watch. “Grumpy, baby?”
“Kenzo, don’t start.”
Keiko’s fake tears have dried up as she realizes that she does like the dress I’ve picked out for her.
Kenzo chuckles. “Keiko, why are you being mean to Mommy?”
“I’m not.” She rubs her hands down her dress. “I like this, Mommy.”
“I know.” I sigh, grabbing her boots. “Wear these ones, okay?”
“Okay.” My near two-year-old places her slightly sticky hand on my cheek. “I’m being good, Mommy, I promise.”
How can children go from screaming gremlins to sweet, innocent cherubs so quickly?
Turning my face into her hand, I kiss her tiny palm.
“Thank you, Keiko. You’re Mommy’s big girl?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s make your hair pretty.”
Getting dressed is a daily turmoil. Hair done? Oh, she’s ready for that. She will sit still and look at herself in the mirror, smiling and giving critiques.
The downside? Only Daito and I are allowed to touch her hair. Anyone else gets a firm: “No, thank you.”
Ichiro pulls a chair from the corner for me to sit on as I place Keiko in front of her vanity. She babbles on and on about barrettes and bows and how she wants two ponytails and not three.
Kenzo leans close to my cheek and kisses me softly.
“You are a good mommy, ’Mache.”
I don’t want to grin, but I do.
***
“And I said I was fucking coming. Don’t let that motherfucker try to sneeze his way out of shit, Akio. I’m serious.” Haruki is nearly screaming into the phone as I sigh heavily, carrying Keiko down the stairs.
“If you’re going to curse like that, Haruki, take it outside. I’ve told you.”
Immediately, he turns around, going from raging tiger to sweet puppy as he blows kisses toward me. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Daddy’s sorry,” Keiko parrots.
Thank God she doesn’t mimic him.
Kiyoshi, Kenzo, and Ichiro are at the kitchen table finishing breakfast. A Japanese breakfast this morning: steamed eggs, miso, roasted sweet potatoes, grilled salmon, and white rice. There’s a place set for me, a cup of hot tea waiting.
“Morning, Keiko.” Kiyoshi stands and holds his hands out for her as he leans in to kiss me. “Morning, sexy.”
“Papa Yoshi, look at my hair.” Keiko immediately steals his attention. “It’s pretty.”
Not a question. A statement. And I shake my head, smiling.
“It’s so pretty.” Kiyoshi kisses the top of her head. “Mommy did a good job.”
“Yeah.” She immediately wiggles down and heads to the living room. “Come, Papa Yoshi. I want to see my flowers.”
He stuffs his mouth with rice and nods. “Yes, ma’am,” before hurrying off.
As I sit down, Kenzo tilts his head slightly to the left, looking at me. “What’s wrong, ’Mache?”
“Nothing.” I sigh, rubbing my head. There is something wrong. What, I don’t know, but something is off and it’s bothering me.
Kenzo hums, and I don’t miss the way he looks at Ichiro. “Do you not feel well?”
“I feel fine.” Taking a sip of my tea, I rub my lips together. “What’s wrong? Do I look sick or something?”
Kenzo says nothing.
Ichiro chews slowly.
I hate when they do that.
Haruki rushes back into the kitchen. “Where’s Keiko?”
“Checking on her orchid,” I answer. “Are you sure you can’t go?”
“No.” He crouches in front of me, rubbing his face against my thighs. “I’ll be home this evening and you can tell me everything.” Haruki stands and kisses me softly. “Don’t be mad, Mama. I can tell you’re upset.”
“I’m not.” Pushing him gently, I wave him off. “Go say bye to Keiko.”
“On it.”
***
In the car, I’m staring out the window as Ichiro and Keiko have a conversation about how plants work and why she can’t give her orchid tea. My mind is drifting elsewhere. I’ve been so scatterbrained lately—at least that’s how it feels to me.
I was no one four years ago.
A regular company woman. A foreigner making her way around Tokyo. And then one Friday night, I decided to visit a bar.
I met Kenzo, and he offered me a choice.
A hotel or his bedroom.
I’m an adventurous girl. I like games of chance. I like to be pleasured.
He offered that, and I was much too curious to choose a hotel.
Now here I am. Married to five members of the Endo Faction—the top five—and Ane-san, the First Lady of the Endo Faction. People know my name. They know not to fuck with me.
Power has never been something I thought to acquire in this way, though it’s fun to have when you need it. My life has changed in very significant ways, and yet it all feels so natural.
I’ve been kidnapped, seen a few murders, witnessed car bombings, stabbings, and a slew of other shit that is highly illegal. Yet here I am, whole and unmoved.
Pawns move around me. I’m the queen. I watch what others do and make judgments, not the other way around.
I’ve had a baby, healthy and whole, and yet something feels weird. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Andromache,” Ichiro calls. “What has your attention?”
“Thinking,” I answer softly.
He reaches over to the passenger seat, gripping my fingers. “Your hands are cold.”
“It’s cold outside.”
“It’s fifteen
degrees.”
“Cold is subjective.”
“Sure it is, darling.” He squeezes my hands again before placing them on the wheel.
I can hear Ms. Rachel playing on the tablet. The car is quiet, and Ichiro clears his throat.
“Andromache… you had a miscarriage this time last year.”
“Yes,” I snap, though I don’t mean to. “I was there, Ichiro.”
I didn’t mean to do that.
But there it is.
That feeling. That grief.
God, I was four months along. We’d just found out. Another girl.
Not Ichiro’s baby, though.
We finally make it, and I’m biting a hole in my bottom lip just to keep from crying.
“He wasn’t there then… and he’s not here now.”
“He cannot help that, Andromache. You know that.” Ichiro reaches over, unbuckling my seat belt. “Come here.”
“No.” I blink hard. “We need to get inside.”
“We have twenty minutes.”
“Ichiro, I didn’t—” I can’t cry. “Please, can we just—”
“You’re not even looking at me, Andromache.” His fingers brush against my neck, that same tenderness.
It floods back into my mind, and he immediately gathers me into his arms, pushing his seat back so I can curl into his lap. My face presses against his neck, and I smell the vetiver and leather of his cologne. The soft spice of his soap and aftershave. The soft stubble on his jaw scratches me, and I rub my face against his just to feel it again.
Ichiro’s arms wrap around me tight, near suffocating, but I need it.
It was a normal day. It felt like a normal day. Akata was supposed to be back, and then Haruki got word that he decided to “clean up loose ends” and was staying longer. I was annoyed. He promised to be home that evening.
I don’t know what happened.
That evening, I lay in the tub. I remember my stomach feeling odd.
I stood up from the tub and immediately felt something thick and hot slide down my legs. The pain was instant—white-hot—and slammed me to my knees. I couldn’t cry out. I huffed in pain and cried, praying someone would find me quickly.
It was Kenzo.
Ichiro was with me as I spent the next four hours in agony.
Jiro called it a spontaneous event. All I knew was that the baby Akata and I were having decided to send herself back. The feeling of loss, grief, and guilt swallowed me, and here I was trying to bury it all down.
“Mommy,” Keiko called softly. “It’s okay, Mommy.”
“Mommy’s okay,” Ichiro spoke softly to her. “She’s a little sad right now.”
“Oh.” I could hear her kicking her feet. “We need some ice cream, Papa Ichi.”
Ichiro chuckled. “We can have some later.”
He continued to kiss my head and cheeks, squeezing me tight.
“You know I’m here, Andromache… just tell me you need me more, and I’ll be what you need.”
***
Akata
I know what fucking day it is. I know I’m not there.
No. I’m in fucking Beijing watching this bastard from the Dragon Lotus Syndicate think he’s smarter than the average bear.
I shouldn’t have started smoking again, and I’ll quit, but man, this nicotine is hitting right.
Honestly, when Sora called, I should have said Kiyoshi could handle it. But at the same time… sometimes leveling city blocks isn’t the thing to do.
So, as the asshole moves from his warehouse to the ship on the pier, I take a deep breath and move the cigarette to the corner of my mouth.
I should be home with my wife. I could have made her feel special and whole today… the kind of husband shit I’m supposed to be up to.
The kind of shit I wasn’t there for the first time.
I felt it in my gut that I needed to go home. Felt it like a shinigami’s breath on the edges of my soul telling me I needed to go home.
Nope.
Wrote it off.
Then, as I was on the plane home, I got a call from Kenzo telling me to go from the airport straight home—no deviations—because ’Mache had a miscarriage.
I felt my world give out from under me. Just like that day when I saw her face as I got shot. The color drained from her lips, eyes wide in horror.
I remember my hands shaking, how dry my mouth was, and how lightheaded I felt.
I was so excited.
A little girl.
A baby.
My baby inside my Andromache.
Guess my little brat was too much like me… she didn’t like being told what to do.
I could be home right now.
Holding my wife.
Rubbing her feet.
Holding her down in an effort to try again.
So, as I come up behind this fucking idiot, I blow the smoke at the back of his head. “This is the shipment from Kang Tech?”
“Yeah, what about it?” He clucks his tongue, turning around.
I don’t say anything. I’m irritated beyond all fucking belief, because why the fuck would anyone mess with our shit? So my right hand clamps down on his head, moving the fool left and into the metal wall several times until a bright streak of red coats the gray.
I can’t stop there. Nope. Raising my boot, my foot comes down hard on his neck until a crack reverberates into my leg. His arms twitch, and some crony of his walks from the office and screams.
Kunai in my left hand, I flick that bitch into his right eye socket, watching as he drops like a fly.
Another bastard with a gun, and I might as well be shura
, because I have a feeling I’m not done. Not by far.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I finish kicking some guy in the chest. When I shoot him in the head and chest, it buzzes again and I pull it out.
Mache: I needed you today.
Well, there’s one way to make sure I clean this up quick.
Sighing, I look to my left just as some prick swings a wooden chair at my head.
Catching it, I pull him closer to me, spitting the end of the cigarette onto the floor.
“My wife had a miscarriage last year… I should be home comforting her, but here I am with you.”
The chair goes flying as I snatch it from him, crashing into the opposite wall to splinter onto the floor.
“I—” He huffs, looking around. “I’m sorry?”
Rolling my shoulders, I lick my lips. I need to burn off this energy.
“You’re about to be.”
