Chapter 3 : Underworld Threat

Three days after the phone call with Mus, Roy found himself standing at the gates of Greenwood Cemetery. The morning was cool and misty, the gravestones rising like ghosts from the damp earth. He carried a single white lily, its petals already beginning to curl at the edges.

Plot 147 was easy to find. A simple marble headstone, engraved with Chinese characters and their English translation: *Mus Li. Beloved sister. Artist. 1990-2024.*

Roy knelt, placing the lily against the cold stone. I''m sorry, he whispered, though he wasn''t sure who he was apologizing to—the woman buried here, or the brother who had loved her, or himself for the two years he''d wasted in anger.

The truth about that night had settled in his bones, a heavy, complicated weight. He''d spent the last three days replaying every memory, every conversation, looking for signs he''d missed. The guilt was a living thing inside him, sharp-edged and relentless.

A sound behind him made him turn. Mus stood a few feet away, dressed in a black coat that made him look like part of the landscape of mourning. His face was unreadable in the gray light.

I didn''t expect to see you here, Roy said, rising to his feet.

I come every week. Mus''s voice was quiet, stripped of its usual authority. She liked lilies.

Roy looked down at the flower he''d brought. I didn''t know. It just... seemed right.

Mus moved closer, until they stood side by side looking at the grave. She was twenty-six when she died. The cancer was aggressive. By the time they found it... He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

I''m sorry, Roy said again, because there were no other words.

For two years, I wanted to hate you. Mus didn''t look at him, his gaze fixed on the headstone. For walking away without letting me explain. For assuming the worst of me.

Roy''s throat tightened. I know.

But hate requires energy, and all my energy went into grieving her. Into keeping the organization together when half the city smelled blood in the water. Mus finally turned to look at him. And then I saw you at the Lotus, and I realized I didn''t hate you at all. I just missed you.

The admission hung between them, fragile as the morning mist. Roy wanted to reach out, to bridge the two years of distance with a touch, but his hands stayed at his sides.

Yuwei, he said instead. The merger.

Mus''s expression hardened. A business arrangement. Nothing more.

It looked like more.

Appearances matter in our world. Mus turned away, his shoulders tense. The He family has resources I need. Stability. Legitimacy. Or what passes for it in our circles.

And what does she get? Roy asked, though he already knew the answer.

Power. Protection. Mus''s voice was flat. The Mus name still carries weight, even if it''s stained with blood.

They stood in silence for a long moment, the only sound the distant hum of city traffic beyond the cemetery walls. Roy was about to speak when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, frowning at the unknown number.

Roy Wen? a male voice asked when he answered.

Yes?

Your presence is requested at the Golden Phoenix restaurant. Eight o''clock tonight. Come alone.

The line went dead. Roy stared at the phone, a cold dread settling in his stomach.

Who was that? Mus asked, his voice sharp.

I don''t know. They want me at the Golden Phoenix tonight. Alone.

Mus''s expression turned grim. That''s Black Dragon territory.

Black Dragon?

A rival organization. They''ve been making moves on my operations for months. Mus''s eyes narrowed. How do they know about you?

I have no idea. But even as he said it, Roy remembered the scene at the Lotus Hotel. He Lian Yuwei''s assessing gaze. The way she''d looked between him and Mus, calculating. Unless someone told them.

Mus''s phone buzzed. He answered, listened for a moment, then his face went still. I see. Keep everyone on alert. I''ll be there shortly.

He ended the call, his gaze meeting Roy''s. Three of my warehouses were hit last night. Black Dragon''s calling card was left at each one.

What does that have to do with me?

Maybe nothing. Mus''s voice was tight. Or maybe they''ve decided you''re a vulnerability. A way to get to me.

The thought was chilling. Roy had spent two years trying to escape Mus''s world, only to find himself dragged back into it by forces he didn''t understand. What do I do?

You don''t go to the Golden Phoenix. Mus''s tone brooked no argument. You go home, you lock your doors, and you don''t answer any more unknown numbers.

And if they come to me?

Mus''s hand came up, his fingers brushing Roy''s cheek in a gesture that was both tender and possessive. Then they''ll wish they hadn''t.

* * *

Roy didn''t go home. Instead, he went to the public library, losing himself in research that had nothing to do with his novel and everything to do with the man who had just walked back into his life.

Black Dragon. The name appeared in police reports, court documents, news articles about organized crime. Led by a man known only as The Dragon, the organization had been expanding rapidly, absorbing smaller gangs, moving into territories traditionally controlled by the Mus family.

The more Roy read, the colder he felt. This wasn''t just business rivalry. This was a war, and the body count was rising.

His phone buzzed again. A text message this time, from the same unknown number.

*We know you''re at the library. 8 PM. Golden Phoenix. Don''t make us come find you.*

Roy''s blood ran cold. He looked around the quiet reading room, but no one seemed to be watching him. The feeling of being observed was a physical weight between his shoulder blades.

He packed his things quickly, his heart hammering against his ribs. As he stepped out of the library into the late afternoon sunlight, a black sedan pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing a man with a dragon tattoo curling up his neck.

Mr. Wen. We''ll give you a ride.

Roy backed away. I''m not going anywhere with you.

The car door opened. Two men got out, both large, both moving with the casual confidence of people who were used to getting what they wanted.

Mr. Dragon would like a word, the first man said. His smile didn''t reach his eyes. It would be in your best interest to cooperate.

Roy''s mind raced. He could run, but to where? He could scream, but would anyone help? This wasn''t a neighborhood where people got involved in other people''s problems, especially when those problems involved men with dragon tattoos.

Get in the car, Mr. Wen. The second man moved closer, his hand resting on something bulky under his jacket.

Roy''s survival instincts screamed at him to comply. He got into the back seat, the door closing with a solid, final sound. The two men slid in on either side of him, trapping him between them.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging into traffic. Roy watched the familiar streets slide by, each turn taking him deeper into parts of the city he usually avoided. The adrenaline was a sharp, metallic taste in his mouth, his body humming with a fight-or-flight response that had nowhere to go.

Where are you taking me? he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

Somewhere we can talk privately. The man with the dragon tattoo glanced at him. You''re not in any danger, Mr. Wen. Not unless you make things difficult.

Roy didn''t believe him. The air in the car was thick with unspoken threat, with the promise of violence held in check by the thinnest of margins.

They drove for twenty minutes, finally pulling into the underground garage of a nondescript office building. The elevator ride up was silent, tense. When the doors opened on the top floor, Roy found himself facing a suite of offices that looked like any other corporate headquarters—except for the armed men stationed at regular intervals.

Through here. The man with the tattoo gestured toward double doors at the end of the hall.

The office beyond was all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread out below like a conquered kingdom. A man stood at the window, his back to them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit.

Mr. Wen. The man turned, and Roy found himself looking into a face that was handsome in a sharp, dangerous way. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, a mouth that curved in a smile that held no warmth. I''m glad you could join us.

Did I have a choice? Roy asked, keeping his voice level.

Everyone has choices. The man—The Dragon, Roy assumed—gestured to a chair. Please, sit. Can I offer you a drink?

No, thank you. Roy remained standing. What do you want?

Direct. I like that. The Dragon moved to his desk, leaning against it. I want what everyone wants, Mr. Wen. Power. Control. The city.

And what does that have to do with me?

You''re connected to Mus Shao. The Dragon''s gaze was assessing. Or you were, once. And from what I hear, you might be again.

Roy''s pulse quickened. I''m a writer. I don''t know anything about... whatever this is.

Don''t you? The Dragon''s smile widened. You know Mus Shao. You know his weaknesses. His vulnerabilities. The things he cares about.

A cold understanding settled over Roy. You think you can use me to get to him.

I think you''re a lever, The Dragon said calmly. And every man has a price. What''s yours, Mr. Wen? Money? Protection? Revenge for the two years he let you believe a lie?

The words hit their mark. Roy felt the old anger stir, the betrayal that had fueled him for so long. But it was different now, tempered by the truth he''d learned at the cemetery. By the look on Mus''s face when he''d spoken about his sister.

I don''t want anything from you, Roy said.

Everyone wants something. The Dragon pushed away from the desk, moving closer. Think about it, Mr. Wen. Mus Shao is a dying breed. Old power, old ways. I represent the future. Align with me, and you''ll have everything you could ever want.

And if I refuse?

The Dragon''s smile didn''t waver, but his eyes turned cold. Then you become a liability. And liabilities have to be... managed.

The threat hung in the air, unspoken but clear. Roy''s mind raced, searching for a way out, a way through. He was in over his head, caught between two forces he didn''t understand, playing a game where the rules were written in blood.

The door to the office burst open. Mus stood there, flanked by four of his own men. His expression was thunderous, his gaze locking on Roy before shifting to The Dragon.

Black Dragon. Mus''s voice was low, dangerous. You''ve overstepped.

Mus Shao. The Dragon didn''t look surprised. I was just having a conversation with your... friend.

He''s not part of this. Mus moved into the room, his men spreading out behind him. The tension in the air thickened, crackling with the promise of violence.

Isn''t he? The Dragon''s smile was mocking. He''s part of your past. Maybe part of your future. That makes him part of this whether you like it or not.

Mus''s gaze met Roy''s. In that moment, Roy saw something he hadn''t seen in two years—not anger, not betrayal, but fear. Fear for him.

Let him go, Mus said, his attention returning to The Dragon. This is between you and me.

Everything is between you and me now. The Dragon''s voice lost its mocking edge, turning serious. The city isn''t big enough for both of us, Mus. You know how this ends.

I know how it ends for you, Mus said softly. In a gutter, bleeding out. Like all the others who thought they could take what''s mine.

The two men faced each other across the office, the space between them charged with a hatred that felt ancient and personal. Roy stood frozen, caught in the crossfire of a war he hadn''t asked to be part of.

Take him, Mus said to his men, never taking his eyes off The Dragon.

Two of Mus''s men moved toward Roy. The Dragon''s men shifted, hands going to weapons. For a heartbeat, the room balanced on the edge of violence.

Then The Dragon laughed, the sound harsh in the tense silence. Take him. For now. But know this, Mus Shao—I''m coming for everything you have. Your territory. Your power. His gaze shifted to Roy. Your weaknesses.

Mus''s hand closed around Roy''s arm, pulling him toward the door. Roy went, his legs moving automatically, his mind still trying to process what had just happened.

They didn''t speak until they were in the elevator, descending to the garage. Only then did Mus release his grip, turning to face Roy.

Are you hurt? Mus''s voice was rough with emotion.

No. Roy''s own voice sounded strange to his ears. I''m fine.

You''re not fine. Mus''s hand came up, cupping Roy''s cheek. You''re in the middle of a war you didn''t start. And it''s my fault.

The touch was gentle, at odds with the violence that had just been threatened. Roy leaned into it, the adrenaline crash leaving him shaky and vulnerable.

What happens now? he asked.

Now, Mus said, his thumb stroking Roy''s cheekbone, I keep you safe. No matter what it costs.

The elevator doors opened. Mus''s men were waiting, the black sedan idling nearby. As they walked toward it, Roy glanced back at the building they''d just left, at the top floor where The Dragon was probably watching them go.

Two years ago, he''d run from Mus''s world because he was afraid of the danger. Now, he was being pulled back into it, and the danger had a name, a face, a dragon tattoo curling up a neck.

And the most terrifying part? As Mus''s hand settled at the small of his back, guiding him into the car, Roy realized he wasn''t afraid of the danger.

He was afraid of what it meant that he wanted to stay anyway.

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