Chapter 5: The Maestro

I had expected to meet the bar with at least a customer or two, but it seemed I was the only one still strolling through the city's streets this early in the morning. Well, if you include the bartender, that will make us two. The twin doors at the entrance of the bar had opened with a little ding like the way a bakery or grocery store would do. I tried my best to hide the cringe that threatened to take over as I bought a bottle of alcohol and scanned the entire bar, looking for a good spot to settle in. Spotting one at an extreme corner that was dimly lit and secluded, I took large strides towards it.

I settled in as I hoped to be away for an hour or two before I would have to return back to the base and resume my duties. Being the head of the mafia meant politics and maybe less action and violence as you can always have a lackey or someone else do it for you. But that wasn't the case for me. I had grown to enjoy the feel of having my katana against the neck of another, to have my dagger go through a person's guts whilst watching the blood in their body spew out through their mouth. And that was exactly the reason I decided to take on almost all the assassination missions myself. That and I was also a perfectionist it seemed.

I rubbed at my forehead as I reached down to my left thigh and unsheathed the bronze dagger I had in my holster. I slid it in between my calloused fingers and watched my reflection come into view on its blade. I wondered if I'd see another of its type, maybe in silver. Having a silver hilt dagger would be lovely. I glanced at myself again on the blade. My hair was down, with strands of it trying every moment to get in between my vision. I let out a puff, the air that came with it pushing the strands of hair away from my face.

Letting out a sigh, I wrapped my right hand around the bottle and took one huge gulp. It went down my throat with a sizzling burn and I felt a cough rise up. I grimaced at the shitty taste but went in again for another one. I remember having a drink exactly the taste of this one after killing Drogo. After hearing of his attempt at women trafficking; I decided whatever ties we had, I needed no more. Elias had given me an ear full on how taking him out might destroy our stronghold on the fifth precinct, but I didn't give a shit about that.

I was about to take another swig when the door made that irritating ding sound again. It was too early for most places to be open, and I wasn't expecting my business associate until much later. I glanced up, careful to keep myself hidden in the shadows of my corner.

A woman walked in, her movements tense like a coiled spring. Even in the dim light, I couldn't miss her hair, a deep red that caught what little light there was in the bar. Something about that color triggered a memory, but I couldn't quite place it.

She slid onto a barstool, and the bartender's face lit up with recognition.

"Jude, darling, it's been far too long," the bartender said, her British accent carrying across the empty space.

The woman pushed her hand through her red hair, looking exhausted. "Well, yeah... I was getting my ass kicked I guess."

I took another sip of my drink, watching their interaction with growing interest. There was something familiar about this woman. That red hair... I've seen it before but for some reasons, my memory decided to show off at that moment.

The bartender poured her a drink, and they talked quietly. From my corner, I could only catch fragments of their conversation, something about nightmares, about needing rest. The woman seemed troubled, her eyes scanning the bar nervously every few minutes as if she sensed someone watching.

Smart girl.

I sank deeper into the shadows of my corner, grateful for the poor lighting. I studied her as she talked with the bartender. There was something almost fragile about her. Dark circles under her eyes, a pallor to her skin that spoke of sleepless nights. Yet there was a strength there too—in the set of her jaw, the intensity of her gaze. I wonder what kind of demons she was running from. I knew a thing or two about demons. Mine had sharp teeth and blood-stained hands. What were hers like?

I listened to their conversation, my ears picking up bits and pieces. Bad dreams. Feeling watched. Paranoia. She wasn't wrong about being watched. Not tonight, at least.

And then it hit me. The officer. The one who had tracked me down after I killed Drogo. I hadn't seen her face clearly, the NHPD officers wore those ridiculous masks on duty, supposedly for their protection. But her hair... that distinctive red hair had been one of the highlights of that night.

"Could it be her?", I whispered under my breath ,leaning forward slightly, trying to get a better look at her face without revealing my position. The police department was crawling with The Black Rose's people. If this woman was investigating us, I needed to know who she was.

When she finally stood to leave, something compelled me to follow. I waited until she was out the door before slipping out of my shadowy corner. The bartender glanced my way, a flicker of surprise crossing her face at realizing there had been another customer all along. I gave her a small nod and dropped some money on the counter before heading out.

I felt a cool breeze the moment I stepped out of the bar. It wasn't six or five yet but the city had slowly begun to come to life,compared to how it was the time I came in. I searched around for her and saw she was already climbing into an old Mazda parked across the street. I hung back, watching as she sat there for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel so tight I could see the tension in her shoulders even from a distance.

When she finally pulled away from the curb, I hesitated. Following her on foot would be impossible, and I didn't have a car nearby. I was intrigued and I wanted to know about this red haired woman. I should go do something else. I had a meeting with a business associate some hours later, maybe I should go and get ready for that. But like a tether, she had piqued my curiosity and if she was a threat against the Black Rose,I needed to find out and end her.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number. "I need a car. Now," I said when Elias answered, his voice groggy with sleep.

"Boss? It's not even 6 AM."

"And?"

A sigh crackled through the phone. "Where are you?"

I gave him the address of the bar and ended the call. Ten minutes later, a black car pulled up beside me, one of my men nodding respectfully as he handed me the keys.

Her car was long gone, but I had a hunch where she might be headed. This early in the morning, after drinking alone in a bar? Home was the most likely destination.

I drove slowly through the quiet streets, scanning for the grey madza I saw earlier. The city was just beginning to wake up, the first rays of sunlight painting the buildings in soft gold.

After fifteen minutes of searching, I almost gave up. But then I spotted it - her car, parked outside a modest apartment building in one of the older neighborhoods.

I parked a few buildings down and watched as she climbed out of her car, looking even more tired in the morning light. My brows furrowed at the fact I had met her outside the building. I thought I'd probably have to take a guess at where she lived and move on with my life. "I guess I was supposed to do this", I muttered, gripping the steering wheel tight.

I waited a few minutes, then got out of the car. Walking casually towards her building, I scanned the area for security cameras or nosy neighbors. The street was quiet, most people still asleep.

Standing at the bottom of her steps, I looked up at the windows, wondering which one was hers. I wasn't entirely sure why I'd followed her.

I could hear the sound of someone inside their apartment, the soft thud of shoes being kicked off, water running.

I reached into my jacket and pulled out what I'd been carrying, a single black rose, its petals dark as midnight, stem carefully stripped of thorns. I placed it carefully at her doorstep, right where she'd see it. Let her know she's being hunted now too.

As I turned to leave, I heard a sound from inside her apartment—a small, choked sob. Just one, quickly stifled. Then silence.

For a brief moment, something that might have been doubt flickered through me. Maybe that's not her, maybe it is. I wasn't quite sure. I shrugged at my uncertainty, raking my fingers through my hair as I stared at the rose again.

I left it where it was and melted back into the shadows, taking the stairs down two at a time.

"Sweet dreams, Detective," I murmured to the empty street. "I'll be seeing you soon."