The meeting room above the herbal apothecary was thick with cigarette smoke, the kind that clung to the walls and yellowed the light. The old wooden table in the center was already crowded with red envelopes, ledgers, and half-emptied tea cups—signs that this emergency gathering had pulled everyone from their nightly routines.
Uncle Bao, heavyset and red-faced, slammed his palm down hard enough to rattle the porcelain.
"Falcone sent a kill squad into our streets. Our streets."
A murmur rippled through the other lieutenants—anger, disbelief, a few quiet curses in Cantonese. A younger enforcer, Chen Yao, shook his head slowly.
"And they targeted the Jade Leopards," he added. "Bold. Suicidle, maybe madam jiang is a prickly one."
Another elder, Sister Wen, tapped ash neatly into a tray, her eyes sharp behind thin square glasses. "Bold, yes. But what concerns me more is how the Jade Leopards handled themselves. That was not a corner-shop street gang last night. Reports say they stood their ground and cut Falcone's men down like they were nothing."
Uncle Bao grunted. "Since when did those girls have that kind of bite? Old Jiang sure knows how to be a viper."
Chen Yao shrugged stiffly. "They must've rebuilt quietly. Hidden in the weeds. Waiting."
A beat of uneasy silence.
Finally, Elder Jian, the eldest man present, leaned forward. His face looked carved from sun-dried timber, stern but tired.
"We have bigger problems than the Leopards sharpening their claws. Falcone bringing a war party into Chinatown is an insult. A disrespect. He thinks our house is weak enough he can do as he pleases."
"He thinks we're distracted," Sister Wen corrected. "And he's not entirely wrong."
No one argued. The truth was ugly and they all felt it.
Since the chaos earlier in the year—when the big war between Falcone, Sionis, the Russians, and the Narrows escalated—something had broken loose under the Triads too. Smaller satellite crews, long kept in line through money or fear, began slipping away. A few declared independence. Others started carving their own rackets out of Triad-controlled streets.
The elders had spent weeks stitching together broken loyalties, buying back favors, threatening old debts. Everything had become more fragile than anyone wanted to admit.
Uncle Bao growled, "We don't need another crew thinking they can break free. If the Jade Leopards decide they like the taste of blood—"
Sister Wen cut him off. "If they decide that… it will not be Falcone they come for first. It will be us."
That landed heavy.
Chen Yao exhaled slowly. "And now the outside world thinks the Jade Leopards have allies. Word on the street says the Underpass appeared at the tail end of the fight."
Uncle Bao looked up sharply. "They helped them?"
"Barely," Chen said. "But help is help, in rumors. And rumors are louder than facts."
Sister Wen's eyes narrowed. "So now it looks like the Jade Leopards and the Underpass stand together. A new alliance forming under our noses."
"And the Underpass leader…" Elder Jian muttered, voice gravelly, "that man has been too clever for my liking. Hiding under the city like a ghost. Avoiding our reach. And now he inserts himself into a Triad–Falcone dispute? We see the game he plays."
Uncle Bao flicked ash angrily. "Falcone attacks a Triad sub-group, the Jade Leopards win, and the Underpass swoops in just long enough to get the credit. This is coordinated. Someone is positioning pieces on a board we didn't realize we were playing."
Sister Wen nodded slowly. "We do not need this. Not now. Not with our own children challenging us for scraps."
Elder Jian raised a hand, ending the rising argument before it could spiral.
"We will respond carefully. Quietly. Falcone has crossed a line, and he will be reminded of it. But the Jade Leopards… they are not the same group they were. They have sharper teeth now. And the Underpass? That leader plays a long game."
He leaned back, the old wood creaking under him.
"We cannot afford another enemy. Not another rebellion in our own house."
His eyes drifted to the window overlooking Chinatown—lantern lights glowing soft and deceptive in the distance.
"Watch the Jade Leopards. Watch the Underpass. And prepare for the possibility that forces in this city—street rats, homeless fighters, old women with knives—are growing bold while the giants are exhausted."
No one argued.
No one felt comforted.
***
The room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning overhead. Nolan sat on the edge of his chair, elbows on his knees, phone pressed to his ear. Sweat still clung to the men on the other end of the line—he could hear it in their breathing, in their clipped tone after a long run back from Chinatown.
"Say that again," Nolan said, voice low.
Terrell's voice came through, steady but edged with disbelief,
"Boss, they didn't need us. Not really. We took down a few stragglers, yeah, but the Jade Leopards… they were already handling Falcone's crew. Efficient and fucking scary boss. Like they'd been training for this day."
Another voice in the background—one of the Underpass boys—added, "Those women move like they're ex-military or something. Calm. Coordinated. Their lieutenant? Mei-Lin? Ice-cold that woman gives me the creeps."
Terrell continued, "We showed up. We did our part. But if we weren't there? They still would've won not sure how much that helps us boss."
Nolan leaned back slowly, the chair creaking. "Understood. Get some rest. Report again in the morning."
He hung up.
Silence settled in the penthouse—thick, thoughtful, dangerous.
Nolan rubbed his jaw, thinking aloud, pacing. "They're much stronger than we assumed. Stronger than they let anyone see. That… complicates things."
He walked toward the window, staring out over the broken lamp-lit grid of Gotham's eastern blocks.
"They would've made perfect allies," he muttered. "But now? Now that their hand's been revealed? If they shift deeper into Chinatown territory, that stretches us thin. Makes us look like the ones begging."
He exhaled sharply. "And after tonight, would they even want an alliance with us? They didn't need us. At all."
A second voice stirred inside him—smooth, controlled, the voice of Kieran the calculating veneer Nolan wore like a second skin.
Kieran, 'You're thinking about this all wrong, Nolan.'
Nolan stopped waiting for Kieran to continue.
'You're looking at power when you should be looking at perception. Our people showed up. That's what matters. Whether they needed us is irrelevant. Gotham doesn't care about the details—Gotham cares about optics.'
Nolan swallowed, the logic sinking in.
'From the outside? It looks like the Underpass and the Jade Leopards fought side by side. Falcone attacked, and two "allied" factions pushed him out. No one is going to question the nuance. The city already thinks we're working together.'
Nolan's lips twitched—half annoyance, half reluctant admiration.
"Which means," he murmured, "the Jade Leopards can't ignore us even if they want to."
'Exactly. And Mei-Lin knows how these things look. Trust me—she's going to reach out within a day. She'll say Madam Jiang wants a meeting. They'll need to control the story before the Triads twist it for them.'
Nolan's eyes sharpened, focus returning like a blade sliding back into its groove.
"A formal meeting," he said quietly. "If we play that right… we can lock in something real."
'Not just real. Binding. Mutually beneficial. You don't ask them for help—you offer strength. Stability. Neutral ground. And they offer territory respect and future favor. That's how alliances are built. Not on need… on narrative.'
Nolan inhaled slowly, exhaled even slower.
"Kieran," he said with a faint smirk, "sometimes you're a real bastard."
'Only sometimes?'
Nolan turned from the window, already moving toward his desk.
"Fine. Then we prepare. When Mei-Lin calls—and she will—we need to be ready to walk into that meeting like this was exactly what we planned."
Kieran's voice faded into a satisfied hum.
The gameboard had shifted.
And Nolan was already adjusting the pieces.