I need to make sure his body is completely destroyed, she thought to herself and reached into her trunk for the fuel. She tossed it onto the burning car, stepping back as the flames engulfed the car and the bodies. Her lips touched the ring with great tenderness, and she turned back toward her car to leave.

  She had very little time to lose.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Afterward, I had to steal the will for safekeeping. The last few months, I’ve been ensuring the safety of all the allies he made. I thought you were safe for the time being, but I’ve underestimated the speed at which your stepmother moves.”

  Aiden stared at the floor. His heavy breaths echoed in his ears. “She’s fooling the other families, too.”

  “She’s good at it. We all thought she was just in for the luxurious lifestyle.”

  How could they have guessed? Aiden observed his stepmother at the funeral. Her pained eyes, the deep lines against her skin, and a body strained from stress all pointed to anxiety toward her family’s future. Her stress was real.

  “Of course, I looked into your mother’s murder,” Celia continued. “I was curious to see if the woman had had her sights on your family, while your mother still lived. Rest assured—she actually didn’t have a hand in the raid.”

  Celia’s voice faded. Aiden’s heart quickened, and his ears screeched in pain. The raining of bullets pounded against his entire body and the walls of the house. Walls? He looked around.

  The house was shrinking.

  The windows loomed, and any moment, he could see a car pulling up with a band of men holding guns. Blood would splatter everywhere. A body would slam into his. A pain would bloom from his leg. A body slouched over him and pressed him into the ground. He gasped for air and the limbs of the corpse caged him inside. A dead hand froze around his wrist. Blood would seep into the floor and stain for eternity.

  The thick scent of iron curled around his nose and possessed every inch of his body.

  “Celia, you need to stop.”

  Brendan’s voice cut through the fogginess of his sweat. Aiden had fallen to his knees and hopelessly looked up to see Brendan pulling on Celia’s arm. “You’re making him panic.”

  Celia took one glance at Aiden, while he desperately tried to blink the sweat from his eyes. Or was it tears? Aiden couldn’t tell, but his body froze like glaciers and burned like wildfire at the same time.

  Her eyes widened. “Ah. That’s why he never spoke about what happened,” she tutted. “You take care of him then. I’ve made plans.”

  Her shoes clicked against the floor.

  Brendan reached down. “I got you.” His arms looped around Aiden’s body and helped him to a stool. Aiden’s breaths still came up short, and flashes of his mother’s tightly gripped hand around his own blinked in and out. Water ran. A chilling towel wrapped around his burning neck. Brendan grabbed Aiden’s hands, and as Brendan’s living one came to his view, his mother’s dead hand faded.

  Brendan spoke to him, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. The cold towel against his neck chilled the heat of his memories. The recognition that he wasn’t alone in a gigantic house with a woman that slit his brother’s throat finally calmed him to breathe quieter, steadier, and slower.

  “I’m so sorry,” he croaked. His head sunk into his hand. “I’m so sorry for doing this to you.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  Aiden shook his head and squeezed his eyes tight. Warm tears streamed down his face. “It’s my fault this time—it’s actually my fault. You wouldn’t be in danger if it weren’t for me.”

  “I’m in danger because I took a photo of you and put it everywhere.”

  “You shouldn’t have to be in danger because of that.” Aiden heaved. The sob broke clean of his body, and he collapsed against the countertop, crying. In the back of his mind, the throbbing physical pain of his interrogation demanded his attention, but the despair of guilt gripped his soul and sunk him into a heavy darkness that left him breathless.

  Brendan was in danger because of him and nothing else.

  “Aiden.” Brendan’s hand brushed his cheek. He turned and raised his eyes without protest. Brendan’s thumb accepted each tear that fell from his eyes. Brendan smiled—the honest, unhidden smile that Aiden fell in love with first. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  Aiden shook his head. “I caused this.”

  “No, I caused this. You saved me.”

  The kiss of Brendan’s touch fluttered like butterfly wings, his fingers patiently wiping tears from the corners of Aiden's eyes. His concern shone in his blue eyes, and Aiden knew Brendan only saw him, only cared about him, and only thought of him even with all the madness in their lives.

  He never thought it possible—to feel safe, despite the knowing danger. However, in the well-lit kitchen of a mysterious woman’s house, Aiden felt time fold around them. The lights filled the kitchen with a gentle, peaceful glow. His heart slowed comfortably. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the hum of a refrigerator.

  Exhaustion washed over him. The buzzing physical pain nipped at his skin, and he looked up just as Brendan asked, “May I patch you up?”

  He nodded.

  Brendan grabbed the first aid kit Celia left on the counter, dabbed antibacterial ointment on a cotton ball, and reached out his hand.

  Aiden handed over his left hand first. Dry blood caked his skin. He flinched when Brendan spread the medicine on top of his cut gently and slowly. “What happened there?”

  “Don’t press your skin too hard into metal.”

  “Noted.” Brendan’s fingers worked deftly with the bandage he wrapped around Aiden’s left wrist before working on his right. The same pain applied, and the same comfort returned when Brendan wrapped the bandage around it. “Here, drink some water.” Brendan pushed his cup of water over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “I’ll probably have bruises all over my body, but I don’t think that can be helped,” Aiden said, drinking.

  “Well, let me get the cuts on your face and that one nasty slash on your forehead.” Brendan leaned close to touch them with a feather’s lightness before placing band-aids over his face. “Has your family always been involved with the mafia?”

  “I don’t know if they’ve always been, but they’ve been present for some time. My mother, too, came from another family. The group was formed a long time ago. Back when the first wave of Chinese immigrants came over to the US.”

  Brendan’s eyes widened. “They weren’t mafia members when they arrived here?”

  Aiden shook his head. “No, the organization originated here. Life in the US was…hard. The country wanted cheap labor, but they also didn’t want the Chinese people. The government actually prevented Chinese women from immigrating over, so Chinese immigrants banded together. They ferried women over so that the people who immigrated here could still form their own families or reunite with their family they left behind in China, but you can guess how it goes with any societal organization. Power hierarchy formed and corruption became rampant.”

  “Well, nothing in life is completely right or wrong. I mean—the government was obviously wrong. The mafia forming, I mean, is complicated.” Brendan closed the first aid kit. His fingers lingered at a bruise against Aiden’s cheek, and his eyes did not hide the sorrow. “My life is so luxurious. I’m starting to understand why she keeps calling me a prince.”

  Aiden chuckled, and with each bit of laughter, his body grew lighter. “I think Celia is teasing me rather than making a statement. You are…” he trailed off. Warmth grew tendrils around his limbs and wrapped around him. He lowered his head to hide the heat inching through his battered face. “You’re my prince for saving my brother’s photograph and returning it to me.”

  The peace in his heart vanished, and the sound of drums pounded steadily against his ears. What a stupid, corny thing to say. He chose the words carefully, yet the second he said them, he wanted to turn back time. Aiden squeezed his eyes shut. Can Celia grant any wish? Can she do the impossible and turn back time?

  Brendan’s fingers brushed underneath Aiden’s chin. His lips pressed against Aiden’s with the gentlest of touches and pulled away. Shocked, Aiden snapped his eyes open.

  Brendan looked away with ears glowing red. “You surprised me.” The boy stole a glance, but held his hand close to his face.

  It hid nothing. The red burned through Brendan’s hand, and pure joy rolled off his body and into the air.

  Aiden had never felt such boundless freedom of happiness. A grin stretched across his face. He leaned forward into Brendan’s arms and kissed the boy on the lips. His hands grasped tightly to his prince’s shoulders. His body sought to partake in every bit of warmth contained in Brendan’s soul, and he pulled back, satisfied at the surprise on Brendan’s face before kissing him again.

  The boy’s shocked tenseness dispersed when Aiden leaned against Brendan further. His hand traveled through Aiden’s hair, gathering the strands together and rubbing them. His strong shoulders squared themselves, and one arm locked itself around Aiden’s waist to pull him even closer.

  Aiden had no idea how much time had passed when Brendan pulled away from the kiss. Brendan continued to play lightly with his hair. but insisted on separating with a firm declaration, “You need to rest. You have bags under your eyes.”

  His fingers interlocked with Aiden’s, and Aiden allowed Brendan to pull him from the stool and to wander into one of the many unoccupied, perfectly decorated bedrooms.

  The clean sheets of the bed beckoned him with a tantalizing smell of oranges. He dropped onto the mattress. Drowsiness swept over his eyes, and he barely managed to pull his legs up once his head landed on the pillow.

  “Good night,” he heard Brendan whisper to him, and with the last fading vision of Brendan’s beautiful blue eyes, Aiden succumbed to the peace of sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What?!” Yin Mei screeched. Holding the cellphone close to her chest, she took a quick glance upstairs. Zhu Zhu’s music blasted through the door, and He Bao’s show snuck out underneath his closed door with laughter. She lowered her voice. “What do you mean he escaped? How could he have escaped?”

  “He had help.”

  “There is more than one traitor, then. There is no way anyone else could know about his location unless they’re close to our families.”

  “We are working on it as we speak. It was a woman who went by the name of Mindy. She’s definitely a professional. She not only took the car, but she killed the assassin we sent after the lawyer’s son.”

  “We need to find all of them. Our livelihoods and our legacies are in danger. This will be the first point we will discuss at the next meeting.” Yin Mei slammed her cellphone down on the table.

  Everything had been going so well.

  “A woman. A woman with blonde hair and gray eyes. Her name was Mindy.” Her mind raced, but could not recall any familiar faces. Hui Ye had many women. There was Andrea, Avery, Olivia, Meghana, Sally, and June. There were, without a doubt, more. He was rich, charming, and handsome. If he set his mind out to find a woman to warm his bed, he would always find one.

  However, she could not think of anyone else close to Hui Ye who could’ve helped Hui Lang escape. She had either threatened his closest allies into submission or killed them on the same day she murdered him. The only other allies who remained outside of her grasp were people she could not touch—people who worked for the law.

  She fled to the office room and dug through another book to retrieve the photographs. She examined every woman hanging against his arm. “They’re different. They’re all different girls.” Their faces were caked in makeup. Bright colors, dark colors, subtle colors, or some combination of styles painted their eyes, their lips, and their cheeks. They had different eye colors, different jawlines, different hairstyles, different body postures, and from a few recordings, different voices. “Which one’s the professional?” she wondered.

  She never planned to murder Hui Ye.

  Her family were mere workers in a web of power. They owed money to the families for their small bakery, and they welcomed the group’s leaders with graciousness and admiration. For as long as she could remember, her parents always bowed their heads low in the families’ presence, and they made her and her siblings bow their heads low as well. The families protected the bakery from crime and vandalism, and they lived in peace.

  She was thankful for their help. They immigrated to the United States with little knowledge of the language, and they would’ve certainly grown up in poverty if the mafia group hadn’t taken her measly, unassuming family under its wing. Because of the families, Yin Mei never grew up hungry. She had toys for her birthdays and could spend a little extra on better clothes.

  However, more than the gratitude, Yin Mei always admired the power they held and the respect they commanded. With money, they held power over people. It was different from the white man’s money. The white man’s money was displayed to the people of the poor, and, because they were white and men, the poor people lauded them for their supposed success and hard work and formed a culture around the idea of the white man’s journey. The Chinese families did not have the luxury to build undying envy and love from the civilians on proudly stolen wealth, so they lived with their money in secret. They manipulated events and stayed safe behind the curtains, and it was that protected power that she had wanted since she was a child.

  She got what she desired. She caught the attention of a young man her age who was set to inherit the family business. He wasn’t one of the top families that made the final decisions, but he was one of the dragons—lots of might and lots of influence. That was good enough, she thought to herself then. There were no other eligible men in the other families.

  She married him, her parents cried, and she had two children. He was good to her, and he worked hard at his job. He took great pride in his identity within Infinite.

  Then the Chen and Hui family dispute happened, and he was shot dead under bullets sent by the Hui family in retribution for a deceased wife. Not only did she lose her husband, but she also lost her influence. The Hui family desired a thorough sweep, and they killed her husband’s entire family except for her and her children. Lao Hui took pity on her. Perhaps she reminded him of his own dead wife and young children.

  It was sad that she lost the man who helped her grasp the power she desired, but she knew she had no time to regret or mourn. She would not go back to being a worker at a bakery who was dependent on other people to decide whether they lived good lives or not.

  She would choose her own good life.

  She openly forgave the Hui family. She wept with him over their lost spouses. She asked about his children, and he blabbered to the point her ears fell off, but she always smiled and pretended to listen. He asked about her children, and she bragged about their good features while angling their flaws to appeal to him. Lao Hui’s oldest son was smart, and he had little to teach him. “I never got to be a father to him because he caught on so quickly,” he once said.

  She told him that her son was dumb and desperately needed a teacher. He would want that, she thought when talking to him. He had no daughter and wished his second child was one. “Admittedly, Lang Lang was unexpected, but it’s always good to have a full set, you know? A son and a daughter.”

  “I have a daughter,” she told him. “I have a wonderful daughter.” She described her daughter like the graceful women that Chinese people, stuck in the legacy of tradition, loved. Quiet but inquisitive. Dainty but strong-minded. Artistic but with a penchant for math. She lured him with her useful children, and despite losing the man who first provided the ladder, she found herself climbing higher.

  He was lonely and needed her, and, thanks to the younger son’s trauma, he had nowhere to go to process his grief except into her arms. She liked Hui Lang for that reason. She kept her children separate from the sons—she did not want them forming bonds—but she had a fondness for the younger who was always obedient, kind, and predictable.

  She was wary of Hui Ye. Older than Hui Lang by ten years, Hui Ye never treated her with antagonism or coldness, but he was careful wherever he went and whomever he spoke to—including his own father. He, so similar to her, also wanted something, and she was wary against people like herself.

  The older man died, and Hui Ye became head of the family. “It’s fine,” she told herself. She contributed in other areas. The Zhou and Yang family found Hui Ye too young, so she stepped in to ease their suspicions. When Hui Ye introduced the Chen family back to Infinite, she was the first to extend her hand and show support for Hui Ye’s decision. It was fine if their relationship remained professional. As long as the Hui family stood on top, she retained power.

  Until she began noticing unusual behaviors. He recorded everything to great detail, he spoke to people she didn’t recognize, and after his move to Hong Kong, things changed. Their businesses floundered without him, and smaller families within Infinite were picked off. Stores got busted for their trafficking, and gambling dens were overturned in supermarkets. The most powerful families remained detached from these setbacks, dismissing her concerns. She, however, knew better.

  She investigated on her own. Hui Ye interacted with people outside of the mafia world. There were politicians with idealistic dreams and families with money that never associated with Infinite. Piece by piece, she placed the truth together.

  Hui Ye had betrayed Infinite.

  She would not let that happen. She had her own games to play, and her own dreams to keep. She threatened his chauffeur by taking photographs of his family, and with consistent reminders, the chauffeur took matters into his own hands.