Nico stared down at the glass, intimidated. He and Mal exchanged glances before looking warily at Jericho, who gave them a single nod that was code fordrink it and shut up.
“It’s meant to be downed all in one go,” Thomas explained. “Almost like a shot.”
Each of them nodded. When the Dai Lo raised his glass, they all followed, though they didn’t hold theirs as high up as his.
“To truth and clarity. May tonight bring understanding and peace,” the man said, tipping his glass slightly.
Nico’s eyes watered at the strong herbal scent, flavors exploding on his tongue before he swallowed, following the burnall the way down. Nico couldn’t stop himself from coughing. Mal patted his back gently.
The Dai Lo chuckled. “It’s not to everyone’s taste.”
“It’s good,” Nico wheezed, then gave another delicate cough. “Spicy, even.”
The Dai Lo laughed again, looking at Mal. “And you, what do you think? How would you describe it?”
“It’s fascinating,” Mal answered. “The smell is sharp and heavy, almost like a warning. It’s layered, complex. There’s a bite to it, a bitterness like over-brewed tea, but then it gets…almost buttery, like roasted peanuts and toasted sesame seeds. And there’s a medicinal taste that lingers. I like it.”
The man grinned. “You have an extremely sophisticated palette for someone so young.”
Nico stared at Mal. How was he always so good in every situation? He claimed to be weird and awkward, which, to be fair, he sometimes was, but never when it counted, never when Nico needed him to be anything but. He always rose to the occasion.
Mal gave a slight nod. “Thank you.”
Another fifteen minutes passed before a disheveled-looking man entered the room, flanked by two men. Leo was a good looking guy just like his father, but there was something messy about him. He looked gaunt, sickly, like an addict. His hair stood on end, and his shirt was buttoned wrong, tucked half in and out of his pants. He was hostile from the jump, spitting words at his father in rapid-fire Cantonese.
They could do nothing but watch as the Dai Lo and his son argued in a language Nico didn’t understand. Leo was broadly gesturing towards the table as he spoke, his gaze stuttering and locking on Felix before he sneered and unleashed another tirade.
Nico’s mouth fell open when Felix cut the man off in Cantonese. He had no idea what Felix said, but whatever it was,it had Leo’s already sallow complexion growing waxy and the Dai Lo smirking at his son’s shock.
“You speak Cantonese?” the Dai Lo said to Felix.
“And Mandarin,” Felix said. “Our mother was Chinese. I find knowing both dialects comes in handy when I’m shopping for fabrics at the markets.”
“Impressive,” the Dai Lo said.
Felix inclined his head, then gave Leo a withering once-over, like he was beneath him. This only seemed to amuse the Dai Lo further. Leo now refused to acknowledge Felix.
“I apologize for my son’s behavior. I had hoped that sending him here would help him grow up, but it appears that, without my supervision, he’s only fallen even deeper into his own vices.”
“Why are you talking to them about me?” Leo snapped, sounding whiny and ungrateful to Nico’s ears.
“I’m merely apologizing for your lack of manners. It’s the least I can do. What is it you’ve been up to that has caused such chaos in so little time?” the Dai Lo asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Leo said sullenly.
“Did you send men to attack him?” the Dai Lo asked, pointing at Mal.
“I don’t even know who that is,” Leo snapped, his confusion telling Nico he meant it.
“How is it that your men are dispatching people to pull jobs within the organization without your knowledge or permission? Exactly who did I leave in charge?”
The man snorted. “Are you aware of everything your underlings do? I have bigger things to worry about.”
“Such as?” the Dai Lo asked.
“Do you really want to discuss that here?” Leo spit.
“No, actually. I want you to tell me about the missing seamstress who works in our shop.”
