Page 91 of False Heir

“My father is here, right?”

“Yeah, he will be,” Tristan said. “Don’t worry. No one wants this to go poorly.”

“Great,” I said, my voice shaky.

“Keep close,” Tristan murmured, his voice steady but his grip on my hand betraying the coiled tension within him.

The air was thick with the quiet hum of dangerous men and women who ruled the country’s shadows. My eyes swept over the gathered figures, their expressions ranging from curiosity to veiled hostility. It wasn’t just the baby drawing stares—it was the audacity of hope in a place that often knew none.

We found Kieran leaning against a stone pillar, his appearance as sharp as the edge of a knife. His dark eyes flickered over me, taking in every detail before settling on Tristan with an unreadable intensity. An invisible thread pulled tight between them. Tristan hadn’t said much, but I knew they were fighting; things seemed as tense between the two brothers as they were between Tristan and I.

“Did you have this catered?” Tristan’s voice cut through the heaviness, his attempt at humor floating like a life raft amidst the undercurrents of unspoken conflict.

Kieran’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. “No, but I brought drinks, just in case.” He gestured to a small table set back against the wall, where bottles gleamed dully in the muted light.

“Always thinking ahead,” I quipped, trying to ease the stiffness that seemed to hang between the two men like a heavy tapestry.

Tristan’s hand squeezed mine again, offering a silent thank you for my effort. We settled into the chairs around the table, the scrape of wood on stone echoing around us.

Tristan had to get up to say hello to everyone, and Kieran pointed out a good-looking middle aged Chinese man, there with a man that looked about twice his size.

“That’s Zhou,” Kieran said into my ear. “From San Francisco.”

My gaze lingered for a moment on Kenny Zhou, the leader of the Golden Serpents, as he moved through the crowd with a predatory grace. His dark eyes flickered over the assembly, missing nothing.

“Watch out for that one,” Kieran murmured, slipping into the space Tristan had vacated. “He’s charming, but he’s got fangs.”

“Charming?” I echoed, my lips twitching into a smirk. “In this nest? That’s hardly the word I’d use.”

“Like a cobra,” he agreed with a chuckle. “I take it you’re not drinking?”

“Doctor’s orders.” I shrugged. “You know how it is.”

“Here.” He handed me a diet coke with a small smile. “To blend in.”

“Thanks.” I accepted the soda.

“That’s James Kensington,” Kieran said, and I followed his gaze to a gorgeous, tall man in a suit. “He was part of the British invasion of California. His son was supposed to be here with him, but some sort of deal fell through in California and he had to stay there for that.”

James Kensington, the striking British leader of the San Diego Sinners. I’d heard of him, of course. He stood like a king among his court, his tailored suit doing little to hide the power coiled beneath. Even from a distance, his aura dominated the room.

“Him and Zhou are old friends,” Kieran continued. “But Kensington has always been…real English about stuff. His crimes are more...palatable, if that’s the word for it.”

“Less terrifying doesn’t mean less dangerous,” I pointed out, watching as James exchanged words with my father, who looked a little horrified when he first saw me but then schooled his expression and gave me a wave. “Do I need to go greet my father?”

“No, stay seated,” Kieran said. “The queen doesn’t move unless someone comes to her.”

“This is weird. You guys are all fucking weird.”

Kieran laughed. “Yeah, no comment,” he said.

“So what’s the skinny on the Kensington fella?”

Kieran took a sip of his drink. “Well, they say his vices lean more toward the market than the macabre.”

“Small mercies.” I took another sip, the carbonation sharp against my tongue before glancing back at Kieran. “You think he plays the stock market with the same ruthlessness?”

“Without a doubt.” Kieran’s eyes sparkled with amusement, a rare sight. “He’s got the Midas touch, or so they say. You know how our dads are rich? Yeah, we don’t have any money compared to the Kensingtons.”

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