Page 110 of Serpent King's Prisoner

And then…then I would sort everything out with him. With Nathan. With my pretend boyfriend.

“Post-it notes,” I said when we stepped into the dimly lit corridor of his sprawling apartment. “I need them for...brainstorming.”

Nathan led me to his office—a stark room with shelves of books that spoke more of a philosopher than a feared Mafia heir. He rummaged through drawers, eventually pulling out a stack of post-it notes, their edges curled from age or disuse.

“Here.” He handed them to me, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Plan your battle, strategist.”

We moved to the dining table, a large expanse of polished wood that now became our war room. I peeled off the first note and pressed it flat before me. “Let’s start with Xinyi Lin.”

“Xinyi?” Nathan scoffed lightly, though his brow furrowed. “Ba said it was a dead-end, even though she has every reason to hate us. We killed her husband, and I beat the hell out of her son.”

“What about Albert Wu? The Cranes have had beef with your family for decades.”

“Albert’s an old buzzard, too caught up in his own rackets to bother with us anymore.” Nathan dismissed with a wave of his hand, but he was frowning now, the easy humor fading into something darker.

“Non-Triad organizations, then?” I pushed on, watching him closely. “Could someone outside the usual circles want to take a shot at the top dog?”

“Possible,” he conceded, leaning back in his chair. “But they’d have to be either very brave or very stupid.”

“Jack Kensington?” I ventured, testing waters that might be too deep even for me. “You said something about San Diego ops not laundering your money.”

“Jack Kensington isn’t a problem,” he replied. “It was a logistics issue, and it’s worked out now. His dad worked with mine since we were kids and their family is more loyal than half my father’s blood relatives.”

“Alright.” I nodded, scribbling more names onto the sticky notes until they formed a colorful mosaic of suspicion and doubt. Each one held a possibility, a chance to unravel the mystery—or tighten the noose around my neck if I wasn’t careful.

Nathan watched me work, his gaze intense but unreadable. I could feel the weight of his scrutiny, like a challenge to prove myself.

And I would.

The chime of Nathan’s phone sliced through the tension. He glanced at the screen and his eyes narrowed. Without a word, he stood up, striding out of the room with a curt nod in my direction.

“Keep at it,” he said, leaving me alone with the sticky notes that now felt like confessions on a wall.

Alone, I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the information I’d gathered pressing against my chest. It was a treasure trove for the FBI—names, connections, hints at internal strife within Zhou family. What to do with it though? How to get it to my handlers without blowing my cover?

I let my gaze drift over the colorful array of notes, each one a piece of the puzzle. And then, like a whisper of insight, I knew. They were looking at this all wrong back at the bureau. It wasn’t about the power plays or the money; it was personal. Someone had a vendetta. The idea sent a shiver of excitement through me—I was onto something big.

And then Nathan was back, his presence filling the room even before I saw him. His face was serious, the playful edge completely gone.

“Family meeting tonight,” he said, voice low but laced with authority. “I want you there.”

A family meeting? That meant the inner circle, the heart of the Serpents’ operation. My mind raced. This could be my chance to get closer than ever before—to gather intel that could take them down from the inside.

“Of course,” I responded, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline that started coursing through my veins. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Nathan nodded, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as if he sensed my anticipation. But he didn’t know that it wasn’t my affection for him drawing me in. No.

It was the thrill of the hunt.

And tonight, I’d be hunting the biggest game of all.

His father.

Chapter Fifty: Nathan

My hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white as the Palo Alto city limits sign blurred past us. The California sunset cast shadows across the dashboard, doing nothing to ease the knot of apprehension that had taken up permanent residence in my stomach.

I stole a glance at Abby. She was staring out the window, her green eyes scanning the passing landscape—likely cataloging escape routes and potential threats.

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