Chapter Twenty-Two Nathan

The scent of damp earth and old wood filled my senses as I pushed open the hidden door behind a rack of colorful bouquets in Grant Avenue Floral.

This was where we did business—the Prohibition-era tunnels beneath Chinatown. The tunnels stretched out like the veins of San Francisco, connecting the Zhou empire's lifeblood to its various organs. The click of my boots on the concrete was the only sound echoing off the walls, a solitary march towards an inevitable confrontation.

I could still feel the tension in my knuckles, the memory of flesh giving way under my fists. The scene replayed in my mind—the mess I'd left in the kitchen at Mandarin Palace, the way the Andrew Lin's face had looked before and after I'd vented my rage at him. It wasn't something new—violence was part of the job, part of who I was.

But last night was different.

Last night, Abby's face kept flickering in my mind with each blow I dealt.

And then…when I'd come back to the house, I'd hurt her just as badly.

In a different way, sure. But I wanted to show her that she couldn't change me, couldn't make me weak.

All I'd done was make myself feel like more of a monster.

Abby, with her green eyes that held secrets I couldn't fathom, and a cover story that was too polished to be anything but a lie. My gut told me she was trouble the moment she walked past the flower shop, the moment I'd offered her that bouquet. Yet, there was something about her, something that made me hesitate.

I didn't hesitate.

Not ever.

So why now? Why her?

"Focus, Nathan," I muttered to myself. The Serpent wouldn't care about my distractions. To him, it was all about control, power, and the survival of the Zhou legacy. A legacy I was born into, one that I was expected to uphold with unwavering loyalty and brutality when necessary.

I rounded the final corner and approached the steel door that served as the entrance to the main base. It was a place few knew existed and even fewer dared to enter. I pressed my palm against the cold metal, feeling the weight of my father's expectations pressing back against me…then I put in the code on a keypad beside the door.

The lock clicked, granting me entry.

The basement was always colder than the streets above, the air thick with the scent of old concrete and rust. The dim glow from the overhead bulbs cast long shadows along the corridor as I made my way toward the heart of our operations.

This place was industrial, brutalist—but billions of dollars had moved through it over the years, the center of our network. My father's office was at the middle of it all, a glowing golden box at the center of this temple to vice.

"Ba," I greeted Kenny Zhou, the Serpent's Head, as I stepped into his office. His eyes, sharp as ever, met mine with an unreadable expression. Beside him stood Knuckles, his right-hand man—the man who had been more of a father to me than my own had ever been.

"Sit down, Nathan," my father said, motioning to the chair opposite him without breaking our eye contact.

Knuckles cleared his throat, shifting slightly in the corner of my vision. I glared at him, still frustrated about what had gone down at Grant Street Floral.

"I cleaned up the mess at the flower shop," I muttered, shooting Knuckles a chastising glance. "No evidence left behind."

"Good." My father's voice was even, but there was an edge that hadn't been there before. "But we need to talk about your recent…activities."

My heart pounded. They couldn't know about Abby, could they? Did they know I was keeping her captive, that I was about to bring down hell on the Serpents…?

I leaned back, crossing my arms—maintaining a cool facade. "What about them?"

"First the man in the flower shop, now Andrew Lin. You're getting reckless," he accused, his tone tightening like a noose. "What happened to control, Nathan? To taking calculated risks?"

"I didn't bring that man there," I murmured.

"But you did kill him."

"Because Alex had already made a mess of him," I muttered. "You want to talk about reckless—"

"And Andrew Lin?"

I paused, my fists clenching and unclenching.

"Andrew Lin needed to be taught a lesson," I shot back, the memory of my fists colliding with flesh still fresh. It had felt good, too good. A release that I craved more with each passing day.

"Taught a lesson?" Ba's voice rose slightly, a dangerous sign. "You beat the hell out of him. We're not street thugs; we're businessmen. Our moves should be strategic, not impulsive."

"Sometimes fear is the best strategy," I countered, feeling the familiar fire of defiance burning within me. "Fear keeps our enemies in line."

"Or it creates more of them," Ba said quietly, leaning forward until we were mere inches apart. His eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I saw the ruthless leader who had clawed his way to the top, the man who had survived years in hiding and emerged more powerful than ever.

"Control, Nathan," he repeated, the words a mantra in this underground kingdom of ours. "Without it, you're no better than the rabid dogs we put down."

I held his gaze, unflinching. "I've got control."

"Control?" Ba scoffed. "Let's talk about control when it comes to that lead you followed. The one that's landed us right where we didn't need to be." He leaned back, his gaze cold and calculating. "Xinyi Lin had nothing to do with the attacks on our operations. That lead was bullshit."

A heavy silence filled the space between us. I had been so sure, so convinced that following that trail would bring us to the heart of our troubles. Yet, it had led to nothing but a dead end and more complications.

"Because of your little escapade," he continued, his voice low and steady like the death knell of my certainty, "we now have an enemy we didn't need. Xinyi is not someone to take lightly."

"Then we'll handle it," I said, a reckless part of me ready to dive back into the fray, to fix what I'd broken.

"Handle it?" Ba raised an eyebrow. "You think it's that simple? You've made a mess, Nathan, and you're going to clean it up."

"Tell me what to do," I demanded, ready for orders, for action—anything to make it right again.

Ba's eyes narrowed, and the air seemed to grow denser around us. "If Xinyi needs to be taken out, it will be by your hand. You created this enemy; you will eliminate her."

The weight of his words settled like lead in my stomach. To pull the trigger on the old lady who held her family's honor like a shield…it reminded me of my own mother, far too much.

"Your focus needs to be sharper, Fangs," Ba said. "Now, I have work to do. I'll call you when I need you again."

I stood up and allowed him to dismiss me, playing his loyal hound even though my gut churned with anger. I wasn't a dog on a leash—I was Kenny Zhou's top operative, and Alex had put me in this mess.

As I tried to leave, a hand clamped down on my shoulder, grounding me back to reality. I turned to find Knuckles' eyes, usually hard as flint, softened with an unusual empathy. He pulled me aside, away from the ears of the others.

"Kenny's being too hard on you," Knuckles murmured, glancing around to ensure we weren't overheard. "I know it's tough to keep your cool when the heat's cranked up this high."

I let out a bitter chuckle, feeling the weight of the family name pressing down on me. "I'm doing what I can, but it's never enough for him. Not when every move I make seems to turn against us."

"Hey, you're holding up the sky while the rest of us are just trying not to get crushed by it," Knuckles reassured me. But even his words felt like small comfort amidst the chaos I'd inadvertently wrought.

"Maybe so," I said, rubbing the back of my neck where tension knotted my muscles. "But now Alex is circling like he's ready to snatch the crown. He's eager, acting like he's the one to take over the family business."

Knuckles gave me a sharp look, his gaze cutting through the dimness of the underground corridor. "You think you're up for a challenge from your own brother?"

"Alex...he's got ambition, sure, but he doesn't understand the cost," I replied, thinking of the price paid in blood and silence. "He doesn't see past the power and the control."

"Sounds like you're worried he might be more like your father than you thought," Knuckles said, his tone probing.

"Maybe," I admitted, the thought leaving a sour taste in my mouth. "But no matter what, I have to be the one who steers this ship through the storm. Even if it means standing alone at the helm."

"Remember, Nathan," Knuckles said, a conspiratorial edge to his voice as he leaned in closer, "in this game, it's not about who wants it the most. It's about who's willing to do what needs to be done."

I nodded, taking in his words.

Knuckles' eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. "Do you even want this life? The throne of the Serpent?"

I hesitated, a moment of doubt creeping in like a shadow at dusk. "Yes," I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

But there it was again, that nagging uncertainty festering in the pit of my stomach.

"Alright then." Knuckles clapped me on the shoulder before slipping away into the shadows from which he'd emerged, leaving me to ponder alone.

Shaking off the heavy thoughts, I found my way back to the surface, like crawling out of hell. The night air hit me with a chill that contrasted sharply with the stale underground. I walked briskly along the pavement, eager to get back to my car, but a familiar scent stopped me dead.

My feet veered toward the source without conscious thought, leading me to one of my favorite haunts—a modest gardening store nestled between towering gray buildings. Its warm glow beckoned me inside, and I obliged.

The bell over the door chimed softly as I entered, and I inhaled deeply, letting the fragrant air fill my lungs, wash away the stench of gunpowder and blood that seemed permanently etched in my senses.

Rows of greenery stretched before me, a stark contrast to the concrete jungle outside. My gaze landed on a flowering plant, its petals vibrant against the verdant leaves—alive with color in this monochrome world. Without a second thought, I reached for it.

"How much for this one?" I asked the clerk, an old man who recognized me but never questioned why someone like me frequented his shop.

"Twenty dollars," he replied, his voice soft, accustomed to the quietude his little oasis offered.

"Wrap it up," I said, handing him a crisp bill from my wallet.

"Special occasion?" he ventured, wrapping the plant with practiced care.

"Something like that," I muttered.

Plant in hand, I stepped back onto the street before heading to my car. I wondered what Abby was doing right now—still shackled to the couch. I didn't know what I was going to do about the girl in my safehouse, but I knew one thing.

Even if I wouldn't admit it to her out loud…Abby deserved an apology. This was as much as I could do.