Page 14 of No Greater Oblivion

I look over, and Li is shaking up a cocktail, surprisingly uninterested in our conversation. Then again, even if he was, he wouldn’t be able to hear us anyway. Muffled music from downstairs, chatting in the hall, and crackling from the fireplace make it too difficult. Every time a flame bursts, a jolt of fear runs through me and I angle my body away from the heat, reminded of a different fire entirely. Gino dismisses himself and I thank him for his help as I walk him out. When he’s gone, I shut the door, trapping both Li and me inside.

Li pours the cocktail into a martini glass and garnishes it with an orange twist. He extends the drink to me so I cross the room and take it from his outstretched hand. He pours the rest into a second glass which he lifts and clanks against mine.

“Blood and sand.”

I take a sip and a strange mix of scotch and orange juice coats my tongue. Both flavors fight for dominance against the sweet vermouth but there’s a fourth, more abstract taste I don’t recognize. Li answers as if having read my thoughts.

“Cherry herring,” he explains.

I finish half of it to be polite and abandon the glass on the bar cart. Li takes a few casual sips but I’ve never seen him finish a whole drink before. He likes to nurse whatever’s handed to him and part of me wonders if it’s because he fears being poisoned by someone. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him eat a full meal either

“Special Agent Morales asked for you,” he remarks.

I lift a brow, keeping my expression neutral. “Did he?”

Li remains unreadable. His black hair is covered in a light dusting of glitter, likely from one of the confetti canons on the dance floor. Dressed in couture from head to toe, delicate gold embroidery is sewn along the hem of his garnet red longline blazer. Without a shirt under it, the outfit is more sensual than formal and he’s wearing an obi-style belt around his waist, whose intricate design mimics the work done on his blazer. What Li doesn’t say with words, he manages to convey through his fashion choices. Opulent and lovely enough to conceal the threat of danger underneath. Because even though his pants are long and loose, I know the pockets are big and baggy enough to conceal a gun at all times.

“He says the two of you have a lot to catch up on.”

He wants to know whether or not I’m going to sell him out to the FBI because how I respond will determine my fate. Or at least that’s what he thinks. Li has a number of pieces in the game but I’m not one of them.

“Well, I should probably go see him then. But, before I do…”

I walk over to the table where I left my clutch. There’s nothing inside it save a Hermes scarf wrapped around a small, vintage pistol with a single bullet missing.

“Consider it a token of our friendship.”

I drop the clutch in his hand and his brows draw together. It takes him seconds to register the weight and size of the object in his grasp and not even Li can keep the look of surprise off his face when he realizes.

“We got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to make amends,” I say. “Rian’s important to both of us. Best we get along. Don’t you think?”

His eyes narrow with a hint of suspicion but more than anything, I know my gesture caught him off guard. Li’s grip tightens around the clutch and he lowers his arm, bringing the weapon close to his chest, almost in fear of it being taken away. Without speaking he gives a subtle nod, and I know he’s accepted my olive branch.

Now to let the Trojan horse do its work.

Ifind Special Agent Morales at our usual spot by the bar. I slide onto the stool next to him and the bartender arrives to take my order. Morales doesn’t speak until there’s a boulevardier on the counter in front of me.

“How was it?”

“I’d have a harder time tempting a thief to steal.” I grab the Maraschino cherry in my drink by the stem before popping it into my mouth. “He didn’t check to see if it was the right gun.”

“He wouldn’t have, not in front of you. And when he does, he’ll find a perfect replica.”

I try turning to face him but he grabs the back of my seat and leans in as if to whisper something but really, he’s holding me in place. “If you move, you’ll be in plain view of the cameras. Don’t.”

One of the reasons Morales and I meet at The Empress, aside from the added benefit of putting Li on edge, is the ability to hide in plain sight. It’s why we sit at this specific corner of the bar, away from cameras or security guards. No one can hear or see a word we’re saying. Morales keeps his back to the crowd in case there are any lip readers around.

Meeting like this means there’s no paper trail. But it also means that the only two people who know the truth are sitting at this bar and if something goes wrong, we’re both exponentially fucked.

When Morales and I first crossed paths last year it wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a fling. Our short-lived affair ended when one night during pillow talk, he let a little too much slip and I figured out he was more than a thorn in Li Huang’s side. He was on a mission for revenge and I might’ve let him embark on his journey alone except I couldn’t. Not after learning that if Li Huang goes down, he could take all of Narvaez Enterprises with him.

About a year and a half ago, Morales’s partner Amy Walsh was undercover. During her pursuit of one criminal entity, she’d unintentionally gotten mixed up in Li’s drug business. When he found out, the confrontation turned deadly and he killed her with a single bullet through the forehead. What ensued afterward was chaos. Li was arrested but later released and his entire operation was put under the microscope. Suspects by association, Damiano and Rian came under scrutiny but the inquisition was short-lived. Despite having launched an in-depth investigation, the FBI couldn’t find the murder weapon and without it, their case against Li was nonexistent. Circumstantial evidence was all they had; if it could even be called that. What they needed was the smoking gun. Literally.

Morales checks the time on his phone and swears. He kills his drink in a single swig and yanks his coat on. “I have to go.”

“Without settling your tab?” I tease. He has a bad habit of always rushing out of places. Whether it’s his wallet, his gloves, or to pay a bill, he’s always forgetting something.

“Tell your boyfriend to cover it.” His tone drips with sarcasm. “He owes me one.”