"We have a lead," said Wilford, storming into the study room.

    Host looked up from his laptop, pulling out of his trance. Dark and Wilford stood at the doorway, harried.

    "What?" said Host.

    "A lead," said Wilford, rushing forward. He slapped the slip of paper on the desk, and Dark joined his side, the red suit over his arm and the DVD case in his hand.

    "Someone left a message in my house," said Dark carefully, holding Host's gaze. He tipped his head towards the paper. "Read it."

    Host narrowed his eye a moment, running a hand over his hair, before turning towards the paper. He plucked the thin strip off the desk and turned it towards himself, reading the three single words.

    "'You will pay,'" he quoted quietly. His brows rose, and he turned in his seat, facing the other two. Wilford waved his hands about as if trying to coax the realization out of his right hand man.

    "This is the person who poisoned you," said Host as he looked at Dark, pointing at the paper. He turned his gaze to Wil. "The person who framed you."

    "Yes, exactly," said Wilford. "And we can already start narrowing the list down."

    "It's still a lot," said Dark, "but whoever did this knew me. Closely enough that they knew of my relationships."

    "It's better than nothing," said Host, nodding. He waved a hand towards the seats in front of his desk and opened a new tab on his laptop. "Mr. Edwards, tell me everything you know."

———

PRESENT

As night wore on, so did their patience.

    Detective Abe, Agent Nelson, and Mark had spent the entire day cooped up in a cop car, spying on Wilma Warfstache in the city. They had hoped to gain some semblance of evidence on her—if she were still in contact with her brother, or if she were even caught up in the criminal world at all—but they'd come up with nothing.

    Nothing would have been a good sign—because if Wilma had no ties to her brother, then Abe could interrogate her without his attempts reaching Wilford's ears. But because she was a Warfstache, they had to tread with utmost caution. She could have gone about the city as a distraction, or she could have known they were spying on her the whole time.

    Just like every instance regarding Warfstache, Abe was stuck in a rut. If the FBI approached Wilma now, then they risked Mr. Edwards' life. If they didn't, they still risked his life.

    They were running out of time.

    Abe sighed, and he pressed his hands against the conference table, bowing his head. The others in the conference room sent him understanding glances.

    "We should call it quits for tonight," said Abe with a huff. "We won't get anything done like this."

    Amy nodded, and she pulled away from the photos and documents laid across the table, rubbing her eyes. "I could go for a drink," she said. She glanced at Mark. "Want to come with?"

    Mark waved a hand as he shook his head. "No, it's okay," he said. "I can't drink." He shifted in his seat, glancing down at the evidence scattered on the table. "Hey, do you... think I could stay here tonight?" He glanced up at Amy, then at Abe, meeting their eyes. "I just... I know that if I go home, I won't be able to sleep either way, so..."

    Abe stood up straight, and he nodded, running a hand over his face. "Yeah," he said. "You want us to get you anything?"

    "There's still water in the fridge, right?" asked Mark.

"Yeah," said Abe. "I can get you some now."

Mark smiled. "Sure, actually," he said. "That'd be good."

Abe nodded, and he walked out of the room, leaving Mark and Amy alone. A silence fell over them, punctuated by the slide of Amy's chair and the click of her heels as she walked around the table. She pulled out the chair next to Mark and sat next to him, gazing at him curiously.

"You're really determined to get him back," she said, searching Mark's features. "Aren't you?"

Mark pulled a photo of Dark towards him, gazing at it. His heart twisted.

"He's my boss," he said.

Amy hummed, and she followed Mark's gaze, taking in the details of Dark's photos. She gave a gentle smile. "He's more than that, clearly."

Mark fell quiet, and Amy leaned an elbow against the table, tilting her head so she could better see Mark's face. The bodyguard glanced away, pretending to busy himself with a different photo.

"You like him, don't you?" said Amy.

Mark's face flushed with heat, and he glanced back at Amy, meeting her fond expression. He quietly scoffed and looked away.

"It's..." He shrugged. "...more of a one-sided thing..." he said. His spirits began to fall, and he shook his head, trying not to get lost in his thoughts. "It doesn't matter, anyway. He's not the type to... you know. Date."

"Really?" said Amy, recalling the night of the party. A clear image of Dark and Wil on the dancefloor flashed in her head, with their bodies close, eyes intent on one another's. As much as she wanted to point that fact out, she figured it'd be inappropriate to bring up.

"Well, if that's true," said Amy instead, "then you don't have to worry about Warfstache swooning him."

Mark chuckled, and Amy smiled, glad to see the bodyguard lighten up. Ever since she'd met him, he'd been all down and dejected; she wondered what Mark was like when he wasn't focused on the case.

Amy gently nudged Mark's shoulder. "You sure you'll be alright tonight?" she said.

Mark hummed, and when he nodded, Abe came back into the room with a couple bottles of water. "Yeah," he said. "Make sure you two rest."

"You too," said Amy, standing.

Abe set the bottles on the table, and Mark gave him a small 'thanks.'

"If you need anything to eat," said Abe, "just get anything from the fridge labeled 'Nelson.'"

Abe grinned, and Amy rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

"Wowww, I see how it is," she said. "You should get the one's labeled 'Lincoln' instead, Fischbach. Trust me, they taste better."

Mark chuckled under his breath, and he waved the other two off. "Have fun," he said. "If you need me, just call me."

Abe and Amy nodded, and they bid their goodbyes, heading out of the precinct and towards the nearest bar.

———

Wilford sat at the edge of the bed, legs spread and head tilted back. He held a cigarette at his lips, closing his eyes whenever he'd suck in another drag and let the hot smoke fill his lungs.

    Clothes hangers rustled from the closet behind him, and Wilford glanced over his shoulder, gazing at the closed door. After a minute, Dark opened the door and walked into the bedroom, dressed in all black—a loose button up tucked into slacks. The businessman didn't want to be seen sporting such informal attire, but he sufficed, nonetheless. Wilford didn't stop undressing him with his eyes, either way.

    "Well?" said Dark, slipping off his watch. He headed towards the vanity and set the jewelry on its shelf. "Have you come up with anything else?"

Wilford hummed, and he took another drag of his cigarette, holding his breath to keep the heat in his chest. He stood and exhaled, smoke billowing from his lips as he walked across the room and towards one of the couches. They'd put the red suit and DVD case on top of it.

"No," he said, gazing down at the suit. He took another drag and exhaled. "I've tried racking all through my brain, but still, nothing."

Dark gave himself a once-over in the mirror before turning towards Wil, eyes locking onto his figure. Even though he stood on the other side of the room, they still felt close; like the walls confining the two of them were closing in, pulling them closer to one another.

Dark sucked in a breath and turned towards the bed, distracting himself by pulling back the covers.

"I don't have anything, either," he said, sitting down on the bed. "None of my associates attended the gala, so they couldn't have known what I wore that day."

Wilford hummed, and he ran a hand along the soft fabric of the red suit. He wondered how Dark looked in it the day he wore it.

"We're going to have to look deeper," said Wilford, tapping his cigarette out of habit. Ashes fell to the floor, but he could care less; he'd stolen the mansion anyway. "Just how much do you remember about Actor?"

Wilford turned around, facing Dark, and when they met eyes, something twisted in the room.

"Everything," said Dark. "Or at least, the time we shared together, anyway."

Wilford rose a brow, and he walked towards Dark, sitting on the bed a few feet away from him. "What do you mean by that?" he said.

Dark held Wilford's gaze a moment, the smell of tobacco wafting around him. "Well, he was an actor," said Dark. "I didn't see him that often." He shrugged, glancing away. "We'd only see each other here and there; whenever he had the time."

Wilford squinted with suspicion, and he hummed, sucking another drag from his cigarette. "Right..." he said, smoke blowing past his lips. "And, what did he do when you two weren't seeing each other?"

Dark scoffed at the question, and he met Wilford's eyes. "I'm not dull, Warfstache," he said. "I knew he was doing something behind my back." He shook his head. "If he were cheating on me, that wouldn't even be the worst of it."

Wilford carefully scooted closer, and he took another drag, interested. "Well, don't just leave me hanging," he said, tilting his head. "He didn't kill anybody, did he?"

Dark scoffed with amusement. "I forgot who I'm talking to," he said, cracking a smile. Wilford's insides fluttered at the rare sight, and he grinned. Dark shook his head and continued. "No, it's just... when Markus and I were together, he..."

Dark's face fell, and he stopped himself, mulling over what he was about to say. He realized that he'd never told anyone this before; that he was really just spilling one of his most personal stories to someone who was still a stranger to him.

Dark lapsed into himself, and then he snapped himself out of it, sitting up straight. He grew aware of Wilford's stare burning into him again, and insecurity ate him from the inside out.

"It's..." Dark shook his head. "It was nothing." He cleared his throat. "As for the people Markus saw behind my back, well... I'd have no idea who any of them are." He met Wilford's eyes. "For a man who loved the spotlight, he knew how to stay out of it when he wanted."

"Well, that's a bummer," said Wilford. He took a drag of his cigarette, offered a hit to Dark, and the businessman shook his head, waving it away.

"I don't smoke," said Dark, eyeing the cig. "That ruins your lungs."

Wilford smirked, and he wrapped his lips around the cig, holding Dark's gaze as he sucked in. Embers glowed at the tip, and when he pulled it away, he tipped his head back and blew a huge cloud into the air. Dark let his eyes run over the expanse of the mafia boss' neck.

"No one does it because it's healthy," said Wilford. He took another drag and waved towards Dark. "The woman who invited you to that gala, what was her name again?"

"Deja Dumont."

Wilford hummed, and he rested his cigarette between his teeth, letting it bob at his lips when he spoke. "You should call her," he said. "She might know something."

Dark brows furrowed. "Wouldn't that be dangerous?" he said. "Everyone thinks you kidnapped me. She'd get suspicious."

"Well I didn't, did I," said Wilford, frowning around his cigarette. "Look, she spoke to Host once about Fifth Street. From what he told me, she thinks highly of you."

"She spoke to him?"

"Well, moreso he spoke to her," he said. "When we found out you bought property from my territory, Host started getting more information on you. Deja's the main reason we found out you'd be at the party that night."

Dark's lashes fluttered, and he went still, disbelief rising in his throat. "She... what?"

Dark ran a hand over his mouth, and Wilford's brows furrowed, eyes narrowing at him. "Well, it was public information, anyway," he said, puzzled with Dark's reaction. "I would've confronted you one way or another."

"She... warned me about you," said Dark, rising from his seat. "And Mark, he—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "Mark was right." He cursed, trying to recall something, anything from the night of the party, but he couldn't recall anything around the blackout.

His thoughts started to jumble, and he turned his back on Wilford to hide his face. He worried about Deja—about what Mark said about her, and his suspicions with her intentions. And then he worried about Mark himself—the man who'd stayed loyal by his side. The man who'd dealt with him, even during his worst days. The man who actually found something to like about him.

And he... he was fond of him, too.

Dark ran his hands over his face and sighed, his spirits falling.

Was Mark... looking for him? he thought. Was he worried about him?

Wilford leaned back on his hands and tilted his head, examining Dark through curious eyes. The businessman never ceased to fascinate him. Especially when he handled his emotions, it was a sight to behold. Wilford could practically see the weight on Dark's shoulders, and it was starting to crumble.

Wilford tipped his head up and flicked his cigarette.

"You're talking about that bodyguard of yours," he mumbled.

Dark took in a deep breath, and he calmed himself again, chiding himself for being so childish. He turned around and faced Wilford, eyes flicking up onto his.

"Yes," he said. "How did you know that?"

Wilford hummed and sucked in another drag, his cheeks hollowing. The cigarette was nearly a stub now—just a glow of smoke at the mafia boss' lips.

"I had a... run-in with him," he said nonchalantly, waving his cig. Smoke curled in the air with his movements. "It's nothing to worry about, though. He's fine."

Dark stilled, and he carefully walked forward, stopping in front of Wilford. He narrowed his eyes at him. "And," he said, "when exactly was this run-in?"

Wilford scoffed with a smile and leaned back on a hand, tipping his chin up to better meet Dark's face. His features had hardened, darker now that he towered over him. It made his mind wander down the gutter.

"Like I said, Dark, it's nothing." His eyes went half-lidded as he smirked. "We just had a little conversation and went our separate ways." He rose a brow at the other, challenging. "That's all."

Dark narrowed his eyes, holding the man's gaze a moment longer. Distrust simmered under his skin, but he figured it wouldn't do them any good to argue about it; as long as he knew Mark was alright, he was fine.

Still, in an effort to curb his anger, he grabbed Wilford's cigarette, threw it on the floor, and stamped it out with his shoe. It hissed under the pressure, and Wilford gawked, offended.

"Hey!" he yelped.

Dark sat next to Wilford and planted a hand in the space between them, leaning forward. Wilford blinked at his sudden boldness, running his eyes up his figure.

"You said Madam Dumont spoke with Host," said Dark, voice firm. "Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"

Wilford's brows furrowed, and he shook his head. "No, why would it?"

Dark sighed, and he leaned back, sitting up straight. He shook his head. "Before I bought the property on Fifth Street, she warned me about you. She made it clear that she didn't want me interacting with you."

Wilford smirked at that. "Oh, so that's how you heard about me," he sang, tilting his head. "Were you intimidated?"

Dark glared at the mob boss and frowned. He shifted in his seat, faced Wilford fully, and leaned forward.

"What I'm saying, Warfstache," said Dark, his voice firm, "is that I think Deja's the one who poisoned me."

...

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day!

Love, Vic xoxo