"Will you open the door again," he found himself asking, unsure if he really wanted to do this. If he wanted to plunge off this particular cliff. "After I've...sorted this out?" 

He couldn't let something like this go unanswered. Not when Yuri was so bold as to leave Gabriel on Remi's own damn doorstep.

Charlie stared at him for a long moment, looking like she wasn't sure if she wanted to take that step with him. Maybe she didn't know what waited at the bottom any more than he did.

But...she did it anyway.

"Yes."

The quiet word shivered over him. She was leaning against the table, the dark shadows under her eyes evidence that he wasn't the only one who'd been kept from a decent night's sleep.

Charlie stripped off the rubber gloves and wiped her hands on a nearby cloth. Then she ran a hand over her still-sweaty hair. Her face was pale, unreadable. He couldn't tell what she was feeling.

This was a terrible idea. A really bad, fucking idea.

Remi took a step closer, hesitating when her eyes shot to his. But she didn't flinch or balk or try to get away from him. So he took another step, then another until he was only a few inches away.

All she did was tilt her head back a little to look at him. The sound of running water came from deeper in the house. A small breath shuddered out of Charlie as her fingers went up to the small cut Gabriel had left on the side of her throat.

A flicker of rage rushed through his blood, his hands curling into fists that made his knuckles ache and sting as the skin was stretched tight.

But he couldn't fault Gabriel for being the kind of creature he was.

"I need to clean this," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

When she made to slide past him, he grabbed her arm, stopping her. She tensed slightly but didn't jerk away, blue eyes flickering back up to his. Remi's hands slid down to her hips, and a small, choked sound of shock left her when he lifted her up.

He set her on the table, then went hunting through the shelves and drawers until he found what he was looking for. Charlie only raised an eyebrow as he came back to where she was sitting. The cut was small, shallow.

Little more than a scratch.

Remi touched her chin, tilting her head back before he cleaned the cut, then taped a small square of gauze into place over it. Charlie frowned at him through the whole quiet process.

He let his thumb graze down the column of her neck, watching as goosebumps prickled over her arms. Charlie let out a slow breath.

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to kiss her. To crush his mouth to hers and feel how her body would tense against his before it softened and molded to him. 

She would run her fingers through his hair before digging her fingernails into the back of his neck or his shoulder. She might bite his lip hard enough to make him wonder if she wanted to draw blood.

She never wanted him to be gentle. Never asked him to be something he wasn't.

"We still need to talk," she whispered as he swayed forward. With her lips a bare inch away from his, she said, "We need to talk before we do anything else."

Remi clenched his jaw, knowing she was right. He let out a soft sigh, then stilled in surprise as she kissed the side of his mouth. 

Pulling back slightly, she pursed her lips in what might have been disapproval. 

From the other room, he heard a door open, then slam shut and Moira's voice echoed toward them, calling his name. Charlie swallowed hard, her face still impossible to read.

"Go," she said. Her voice was quiet, but brooked no argument. The sheer command laced in her tone made him narrow his eyes.

Moira called his name again. Gabriel now stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets, eyes trained politely on the floor.

She nodded toward the assassin. "Go deal with this."

There was something amusing here. Something he couldn't put his finger on. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, and he nodded. There were a few splotches of drying blood on his white shirt, but it would keep until he could talk to Gabriel.

"Remember to open the door," he whispered in her ear, brushing a kiss against the curve of her cheek.

Charlie nodded, lightly pushing him toward the door. Her eyebrows were pulled together, fingers touching the bandage he'd put on her neck. She wasn't exactly angry, but he didn't think she was all that thrilled by anything that had happened today.

Neither was he for that matter.

With a sigh, he went to the door, motioning for Gabriel to follow him out of the kitchen. He very nearly smacked right into Moira. Her gaze danced between him and Gabriel, then went to the doorway he'd just come through. She arched a curious brow.

He gave her a warning glare. Now wasn't the time.

Moira shrugged a shoulder, stepping aside to let him pass. They didn't speak until they were standing on the curb, Remi jingling his keys in his palm. "Gabriel, ride with Moira. Whatever you tell her you'll have to repeat to me."

"I don't like saying things twice," Gabriel replied smoothly, walking toward where Moira's truck was parked on the opposite side of the street.

Remi didn't look back at the house. He had other things that needed attending to before he could deal with whatever was going to be waiting for him when he got back here.

The drive back home passed in a too-quick blur, his thoughts spinning eighty miles an hour through his head as he considered whether Yuri had acted alone. If this was going to get worse before it got better. If he could afford an extended war. Allies. Enemies. Whoever wanted to ride in the middle.

Maybe he should have just killed the little bastard that night.

When they got to the house on Prytania, Remi led Moira and Gabriel to the bedroom he had converted to an office where Leon was already waiting. He strode to the leather chair behind the monstrous oak desk. Hunter green peeked out from any wall-space not swallowed up by oak bookshelves.

Stained glass lamps—one on the desk and one standing in a corner—cast golden pools of light on the maple floors. Remi gestured Gabriel to another chair on the opposite side of the desk, the assassin looking warily at the chocolate hide and glinting brass tacks.

Moira leaned against one of the bookshelves while Leon stood at the corner of the desk, clearing away a few papers.

"Tell me," Remi ordered quietly, sitting in the chair behind the desk, resting his cheek on his palm.

Gabriel grimaced as he sat, running a hand through his short, golden-brown hair. His fingers went down to his face, prodding gently at his eyebrow, his freshly-set nose, his battered lips. He would have offered the man a scotch, if he didn't know that Gabriel didn't drink.

More bruises were on his jaw and cheekbones, the left side of his face worse off than the right.

Yuri was right-handed if he recalled correctly. 

"I let him see me a few times." Gabriel's light brown eyes flicked to his. He tilted his head to the side. "Like you told me."

Remi just raised an eyebrow, a finger tapping at his thigh where Gabriel couldn't see it below the edge of the desk.

"Sloppiest work I've done in fifteen years," the assassin said with a scoff. "Downright ugly. Yuri was at one of his father's clubs—"

"Which one?" Leon interrupted, arms crossed, face severe. The light grey suit he was wearing made his already dark skin appear darker.

Gabriel's eyes flicked to Remi, who nodded.

"Inferno." Gabriel frowned in distaste, Remi copying him. The place had entirely too much...orange, for his taste. 

He raised an eyebrow. "A little early in the day, isn't it?" He turned the chair slightly, glancing at the windows behind him. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon.

Gabriel's mouth tightened. "This was last night."

The very air seemed to still as Remi tilted his head, scrubbing his hand down his jaw. 

"They worked on me off and on today," the assassin continued, sounding remarkably calm considering the subject. 

"Did they have anything to say?" Moira asked, a growl in her voice.

Gabriel shrugged. "Nothing I could understand." His eyes darted back to Remi. "I heard your name once or twice. I would imagine they weren't exactly singing your praises. But since they were sayin' it, I would guess that they knew you sent me. That my being around was no accident."

After sharing a look with Moira, then Leon, Remi sighed. He rubbed at his temple, eyes glued to the shined surface of his desk. Finally, he looked up at the assassin. "I'll pay you another five for your troubles."

Gabriel raised a careless eyebrow, not looking particularly pleased.

"If you have something else to say?" Remi waved a careless hand, eyes narrowed in warning. Moira shifted slightly and Gabriel cocked his head, obviously aware of her movement despite the fact that she was behind him.

"I'm not sayin' no to more cash," he began softly, body tensing. His eyes flashed up to Remi's. "But what I want is an invitation when you decide to open the ball." His cool exterior cracked just a little, allowing Remi a glimpse of the killer beneath. "I want first blood when you go in after Yuri and his goons. I'll leave the boy to you, but I have a beef with a few of his people."

"I can imagine you do," Remi drawled, letting his attention go once more to the bruises and cuts on the assassin's face. His torn, bloody shirt. He took another moment to look at the assassin, weighing and measuring his words. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. 

Leon cleared his throat quietly—not intrusive, just enough to remind Remi not to make any promises.

"If we decide to go in after the Russians, you'll be the first to know," he finally said. When Gabriel's mouth moved toward a minuscule frown, he held up a placating hand. "There's more at play than a blood feud, Gabriel. You know that."

Gabriel nodded stiffly after a moment.

Leaning back in his chair, Remi laced his hands together in his lap, staring the assassin down. "I'll add another thousand for your discretion. That leaves you flush at eleven. Lay low until I send word."

"And if you don't?"

Leon said, "Then I would advise you continue to lay low, Gabriel."

The assassin glanced at Leon, then at Remi, who didn't bother saying any more. He couldn't promise anything beyond that. Gabriel seemed to read that on his face. He let out a small sigh before standing with a groan.

"Moira will see you home," Remi said. "I'll get you the money in a few days."

Gabriel nodded once in stiff acknowledgement before he turned to the door. Moira opened it and walked down the hall. The assassin shut the door softly behind him, his steps near silent on the wood floors.

They waited in silence for another three minutes. Then Leon swore, once and viciously.

"I know," Remi said wearily, already well aware that this was a problem he had caused. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture. Right now, he just wanted solutions.

Leon sent a withering glare his way, but didn't launch into the lecture Remi knew he was itching to give. Instead, he sank into the chair Gabriel had just vacated, forehead wrinkled in thought. Remi let him stew, knowing it was best to just let Leon think.

"I don't suppose we could deal with Yuri without Dimitri getting involved?" Leon asked, not sounding hopeful.

A grimace was the only answer Remi gave. 

"All out war with the Russians is less than desirable." Leon unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat back in the chair, crossing one ankle over a knee.

"Is it viable?" Remi asked. He wasn't in love with the idea, but it was preferable to letting this slide.

It would have been one thing if Gabriel had just caught a beating. A known man in the New Orleans underworld, everyone knew Gabriel preferred working for Remi. Granted, not many knew his face, but the name was enough.

An angel of death, with more than a few wild stories attached to his name.

But Yuri had made it a point to drop a bloody, unconscious assassin at Remi's front door. That was a move that spoke of a sort of arrogance Remi was just itching to take down a peg or two. 

And he could only believe that letting such a challenge remain unanswered would ultimately cause more problems in the long run.

"We could afford it," Leon said slowly. "Up to a point. And the Russians aren't the only ones who would take an interest in whatever you're thinking about doing."

Remi let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. "Where do you think they'll fall?"

Leon shrugged. "The Japanese likely won't take sides. The Chinese might and there is a potential that they'll find some common ground with the Russians, though their stake here is more reliant on their deals with you. Ultimately, I'd say that will win out."

That's more or less what Remi had thought. Leon continued, "The Irish will likely side with you. And..." He gave Remi a dry look. "A day ago I would have said the Mexicans would have been in your corner too. But after what Moira told me about today, I wouldn't bet on it."

"You don't gamble anyway," Remi muttered, standing up. He undid his tie, moving toward the window. New Orleans at sunset was a rather spectacular sight, with the clouds painted red above and the streets falling into blue shadows. 

"The Italians just invested so much in you, I would imagine they'd offer their support, or at least stay out of it."

"Does it change the game if I make it known that this is a private affair?" Remi mused. "I won't come asking for anything just as long as they keep the hell out of it?"

Leon raised his eyebrows, lips pursing slightly. He bobbed his head to the side. "Maybe. I can send out some feelers."

"Do that," Remi said, fingers going to the buttons of his bloody shirt. "Carefully though. I doubt Yuri will keep this quiet. He's too boastful to keep it to himself. We'll wait a few days to see if Dimitri catches wind of it, and if he's going to do anything about it."

"Is that all you want to do right now?" Leon ventured carefully.

"Is there more I should be doing?" he replied, untucking his shirt and moving toward the door. There really wasn't much else that could be done until he knew a lot more. 

He'd learned a long time ago not to make a decision like this lightly. 

Leon drummed his fingers three times against his leg, chin propped on a fist. "What if you sent Gabriel after Yuri's babysitters?" At Remi's surprised look, he continued, "Gabriel's good. You and I both know that. And he's never needed to leave a calling card. Assuming he does his job right, that's a handful of dead Russians, a warning to not just Dimitri and his brat but to the entire city—one that can't actually be traced directly to you—and an assassin who will continue to enjoy his employment under you."

There was certainly an appeal to this method. So many potential payouts with very little risk.

A shadow war instead of blood in the streets.

"Less likely to garner as much public attention either," Leon said, like he was reading Remi's mind.

Remi's fingers brushed against each other in their little dance. He nodded once. "I'll think about it." He started down the hall. "In the meantime, I need you to go dig up Marcus. He's been too quiet for too long. If we're really going to do this, we need to make sure the street gangs don't back the wrong horse."

"And you?" Leon called. "What are you doing?"

Remi ground his teeth for a moment, picturing Charlie's grave face. The side of his mouth warmed, remembering the touch of her lips.

"Wrangling temptation," he said under his breath. More loudly, he said, "I'm clearing the air."

Leon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "About damn time," before he let out a sigh. "I'll have something for you by noon tomorrow."

Remi didn't bother responding as he walked down the hall toward his bedroom. 

Maybe this wasn't the time to get tangled up with Charlie again. But leaving this thing between them so unsettled would be just as distracting as the woman herself.

He cursed under his breath, creative and filthy before he trashed the bloody, white shirt and changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

She'd said she would open the door.

He couldn't back down from that.