"Her name," breathed Deja, "is Celine Larose."

    When she said the name aloud, the room went silent.

Wilford's face dropped, and Host leaned back in his seat, running a hand down his mouth. Dark was the only one who didn't recognize the name, and when he felt the tension in the air, his brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask, but he decided against it.

    Wilford did not look happy.

    "Celine..." said Wilford under his breath, nodding to himself. He clenched and unclenched a fist, exhaling heavily. "So she's been the one behind all this?"

    No one said a word; not for a long, long while. It was so quiet that Dark could hear the steady rhythm of Wilford's breathing; the whir of AC and the muffled noise of the city from afar.

    After a while, when the silence became overbearing, Dark spoke up.

    "Who's Celine?" said Dark, and all eyes slid onto him.

    "Celine Larose," said Wilford, "is one of the most dangerous hitwomen in the world. And..." Wilford sucked in a breath, and he huffed, shoulders slumping. "Someone who knew Actor quite well."

    Dark's brows furrowed, and he shook his head. "I've never heard of her," he said, and Wilford glanced at him, eyes swimming with an emotion he couldn't place. When Dark saw that look, unease coiled in his throat, and he had a feeling he didn't want to hear what Wilford had to say.

    "That's because she was his wife," said Wil.

———

Mark stood in front of the corkboard, running a hand over his chin. He had hoped to come up with something while Abe and Amy were on break, but still, his mind blanked.

    There was a reason he trained to be a bodyguard. This detective stuff wasn't working out for him.

    The conference room door creaked open, and Abe and Amy walked in, coffees in hand. Even as night wore on, they kept awake—they had something to be energetic about, for once.

    "Find anything?" chimed Abe, setting his coffee on the table. Amy walked past him and sat down on the chair nearest to Mark, gazing at the corkboard.

    "Nothing," said Mark. "I'm afraid I don't have your skills, Detective."

    "Nonsense," said Abe. "It's the person we're dealing with that makes this case so difficult."

    "Why don't you sit down a bit, Fischbach?" said Amy softly. "You should get some rest."

    Mark sighed, and he nodded, giving in. He sat in the chair next to her, and their eyes met the Detective's.

    "Well?" said Amy. "Let's discuss approach."

    "Right," said Abe with a nod, grabbing his coffee and sipping it. "I'm still on edge when it comes to doing this, but we don't have much time. We've got a vague sense of Wilma's patterns... now all we have to do is find the right time to interrogate her."

    Mark lifted a hand. "What if she really is working with her brother?" he muttered. "The moment we leave her alone..."

    "The precinct still doesn't trust me enough for backup," said Abe, "so we'll just have to follow her." He shook his head with distaste. "It's not my favorite way of approaching things, but if we find out where she lives, or who she goes to, we can get a lead. She might even bring us to Edwards himself."

    "Why won't they give you backup?" said Mark. "This could get dangerous fast, especially if we're following her home. If we have to deal with Warfstache's men..." He shuddered, plagued with memories. His shoulder and foot ached with a dull pain, reminding him of his encounter. "I mean, we'd be as good as dead."

    "It's a risk we're going to have to take," said Abe. "You want your boss back, don't you?"

    "Of course," said Mark, his brows furrowed.

    "Who's going to interrogate her?" said Amy. She motioned towards Abe. "You've got the best questions, but she might recognize you. Mark and I would be more approachable, but we might not get the answers we want."

    Abe crossed his arms, lapsing into thought. He gazed between them. "It's up to you two," he said.

    Amy glanced at Mark, and they shared a glance, searching each other's faces. After a moment, Amy shrugged.

    "I can do it," she said. "If I were in Wilma's shoes, I'd feel more comfortable with another woman."

    "Alright, then that's settled," said Abe. He turned back to the corkboard and waved a hand towards their newest section, all littered with photos and information on Wilma Warfstache. "Let's find out when and where we'll speak to her."

———

Wife? rang the word through Dark's head.

    He blinked, unable to grasp onto it, not yet.

    He'd never heard anything about a wife.

    His breath shallowed.

    A wife. A WIFE.

    Dark bowed his gaze, and Deja gazed at him, brows furrowed in concern. She turned to Wil. "I didn't know he had a wife, either," she said.

    "That's because no one is supposed to know," said Wilford, running a hand through his hair. "You don't see any pictures of her with Actor, you don't see any information, you never hear anything about her because she made it that way." He tipped his head back and sighed, aching for another cigarette. God, he should have known. How could he have forgotten? And especially after that message she left at Dark's house, especially all the signs?

    Dark ran his hands over his face, and Host was the first to notice. He rose a brow at the businessman.

    "Are you alright?" he asked, speaking up for the first time in a while.

    Deja glanced at him, and Wilford looked up from his spot, eyes landing on the man's figure. He caught a glimpse behind the man's mask again—the thing truly alive beneath him that glittered with sharp angles and enticing secrets.

    Wilford sat up, and he leaned forward, attention directed onto the businessman.

    "He never told you..." said the mafia boss, careful with his tone. "Did he?"

    Dark inhaled and sighed, closing his eyes. He shook his head. "I knew he was doing things behind my back, but this... this is a new low." He ran a hand over his face and shook his head, exhausted. "He even... I even..."

    His brows furrowed, and he shook his head, snapping himself out of it. There he was again, losing control of his emotions. He had to keep himself in check—had to push it all down, keep it away from his heart. It hurt too much. It made him feel weak. Unlike himself.

    "This... Celine woman is doing all this for a reason," said Dark, glancing at Wil. "What does she have against you?"

    Wilford laughed at that, and he shook his head. "Well, for one, I'm a man," he said.

    Deja narrowed her eyes at that, and the mafia boss rose his hands in defense.

    "It's true, isn't it?" said Wilford to Deja. "I know you've spent enough time with her to know that much."

    Deja sighed and gave in. "Yeah," she said. "You're right."

    "Other than that, I've always been one to..." said Wilford, "annoy her."

    Dark and Dumont rose a brow at that, and the mafia boss continued.

    "We've had a few run-ins before... exchanged a couple favors, even," said Wil as he waved a hand. "Most of what I do clashes with her agenda, so we've never been one to like each other." He leaned forward, mulled through his head, and nodded to himself.

    "I have a feeling," he said, "that she's not too happy with how I run the mafia, either." His eyes flicked up. "Celine has a number of reasons to go against me, but it all comes down to power and status. She wants to undermine me, and by the rate she's going, she might just succeed."

    "That won't happen," said Host under his breath.

    Wilford chuckled to himself. "We'll make sure of it, anyway," he said. "Now that we have her name, I'm going to go through with my promise." His eyes glinted. "She's not going free until I kill her with my bare hands."

    Chills went down Deja's spine at those words, but she quickly brushed it aside. She figured she'd have to get used to talk like that so long as she was around Wilford.

    "The night of the party..." said Deja. "I saw the man she calls Blank." She swallowed. "I didn't know who he was then, so I didn't think anything of it, but..."

    "Well, that's someone I've never heard of before," said Wilford. "He must be new."

    "Maybe he's the one who poisoned Mr. Edwards," said Deja, glancing at the businessman. "Did you ever meet anyone you didn't know who was close to your drink?"

    Dark shook his head, brows furrowed in thought, and Wilford waved a hand.

    "That's not important right now," said the mafia boss. "Celine's behind this all—it doesn't matter which pawn she used to do it."

    Deja shook her head. "How could she have set all this up, though?" she breathed, glancing at Dark, at Host, then at Wilford. "I genuinely believed you kidnapped Mr. Edwards."

    "She's powerful," said Wilford. "And she knows how to skew things perfectly."

    "It's less of a surprise now that Freddie Lounds was involved," muttered Host.

    Deja stilled at the name, the image of the journalist's dead body flashing in her head. She winced, trying to shake away the memory of the gunshot, the blood, her own screams. They echoed in her head, taunting her, plaguing the walls of her mind.

    In an effort to distract herself from her thoughts, she asked another question.

    "I know this sounds silly," she said, "but couldn't you go to the authorities for this?" Wilford rose a brow at her, and she quickly continued. "You didn't kidnap him," she said, pointing at Mr. Edwards. "You haven't hurt him, you haven't done... well, technically, anything wrong. And now that you know who's behind it—"

    "It's not that easy," said Wilford, shaking his head. "And besides, the detective in charge of my case, is..." He smirked to himself. "Well, we have a history together." He rose a brow. "I'm the last person he'd believe. Let alone listen to."

    "Well then what can you do?" said Deja.

    "I'm going to make her pay," said Wilford, voice dark. "She may think she has the upperhand, but now that I know who she is, she will regret everything she's done." He leaned back in his seat and exhaled. "As for the FBI and my reputation, however... that's something I'll just have to deal with."

    Host shifted in his seat, and he nodded over at Dark. "What about him?"

    Wilford pulled out a cigarette and lit it, gazing at Dark through half-lidded eyes. He let the question hang in the air for a long, tense moment as he sucked in a drag and filled his lungs.

    All the while, his gaze never broke from Dark's, and when he exhaled, smoke spiraled from his lips and into the air. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and tipped it towards the businessman.

    "'You will pay,'" quoted Wilford, voice low. "The message makes sense now." His eyes glinted, and he sucked in another drag and exhaled. "You had an affair with her husband, Mr. Edwards, and she's going to kill you for it. The question is..."

    Wilford leaned forward, and he held Dark's gaze, raising a brow at him. "Are you going to fight back, or let her stamp you out?"

...

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

Love, Vic xoxo