"Beware of him that is slow to anger; for when it is long coming, it is the stronger when it comes, and the longer kept. Abused patience turns to fury." ~ Francis Quarles

Evangeline Winter likes to think that, in comparison to not only the average Gothamite, but the average every day person, she possess an almost far too tolerant amount of patience for people who most would agree don't deserve it. Then again, most would also agree that any degree of patience and kindness is far too generous for any of Gotham City's deplorable criminals and corrupt transgressors. And yet, the Gotham community's shared perspective and social commentary on each of the city's most notorious criminals has yet to sway her own opinion on them, as well as her capacity of patience in regards to how long she can tolerate their arrogance, intimidation, coarse behaviour and overall threats of promising violence and potential death.

Even in everyday activities that the normal civilian would partake in, Eve has no small amount of patience. Rude people standing before her in the coffee store line, incessant ramblings when she desires nothing other than silence or sleep, clientele moving deadlines forward or being overall difficult customers, her landlord making crude and lewd remarks whenever she has the displeasure to run into him on her way to her apartment. Eve keeps a smile plastered. A patient smile. She has a saying about it, actually. 'Kill them with kindness and bury them with a smile'. After all, to antagonise or snap at someone has never been the kind of person she is.

However, tonight is proving to be more than challenging.

Perhaps it's all the fatigue and stress and reality of the averted mob war finally slamming into her like a bus. Perhaps it's the Dark Knight's continuous treatment of her like she's a child who needs constant protecting or chastising. Perhaps its Edward's ceaseless breaking into her apartment and meddling in her affairs. Perhaps it's the certainty of unwanted criminal attention being turned in her direction that's bundling her stress into a tightly knit ball in her chest. Perhaps it was her very likely near-death experience tonight at the hands of a clown who terrifies her more than anything else does in this world. Perhaps it's the reminder of seeing her elder brother and remembering the kind of mess he tends to leave in his less than legal wake. Or, perhaps, in all likelihood, it is all of the above.

But Evangeline Winter's patience has officially met an all time low.

Standing rigidly straight as Bec snickers besides her at the sight, the private investigator refrains from uttering a single word, knowing if she does so in the next ten seconds whilst she regains the remnants of her patience, she will likely regret it in the seconds following. Instead, she keeps her rosy lips thinned, allowing one of the other three people in the room to shatter the impending, fragile silence. Eventually, it is Rebecca Daniels who does it for her.

"Wait! J-Just keep him there for a sec Nate, this is fucking priceless," the blonde wheezes out between laughs, rummaging haphazardly through her purse for her phone to take a photo.

The infamous Prince of Puzzles is less than amused by the blonde's thorough entertainment. "If this bumbling buffoon doesn't put me down in the next five seconds, I won't hesitate to throw him in my next death trap."

As if they understood the Riddler's words, the three larger than your average sized black wolves began to menacingly growl from the depths of their throats, fur hitching up as their less than subtle show of bared teeth wink at the rogue in the silvers of moonlight pooling from the windows. The old saying 'Dogs look like their owners' is exemplified through the three canines and their respective owner, even before Nathaniel's incident.

At an intimidating height of 6'5 feet and weighing in at 230 pounds (104kg) of pure muscle, Nathaniel Winter is quite the daunting sight to behold. Hair as pitch black as Eve's is cropped short and dishevelled, paired with fair few days old dark stubble. What warm, mid-olive skin that is on display from the base of his neck upwards is mildly calloused with a couple little white scars, only telling just how much more must lie underneath. Unblinking, hard brown eyes are still immovably focused on the criminal he's presently holding in the air by his black reinforced tri-polymer gloves lined with a polymer Kevlar weave, curled aggressively around the green lapels of Nygma's blazer.

His whole black suit is made of the material, rendering him resistant to extreme temperatures and impervious to bullets, blades, chemicals, abrasions and more scars – for the most part. A long, dark trench coat with the collar always cocked up remains 30cm away from dusting the floor. Form fitting, but not too tight Kevlar pants. Torso armour – remarkably similar to Batman's, now that Eve thinks about it – that ends at his collar bone. Sturdy, cumbersome combat boots. And to polish the look, a rather out of place, plain, silver cross necklace, identical to Eve's, hangs comfortably around his neck.

For Edward Nygma, a man renowned for his vast intellect, to vex Eve's brother, a man of a very similar build to the vigilante who brutally pummels the criminal to a pulp on a regular basis, was not very smart.

Evangeline can hear the small clicks of Bec's phone taking several photos, her snickering not stopping any time soon. Exhaustedly sighing, the raven haired woman cranes her neck up to look at the ceiling, allowing her hazel eyes to flutter shut as she evenly addresses the men in the room. "Nate, meet Edward. Edward, meet my elder brother, Nathaniel Winter."

Edward, not for the first time in the presence of Evangeline Winter, finds himself stunned by the information revealed in the introduction. "Your brother is the Black Dog?"

The private investigator's eyes remain closed, still attempting to compose herself when she tightly answers "Yes. He is."

Eve and Nate have always gotten along swimmingly, despite their starkly different personalities. Eve is patient, gentle, sympathetic, and possesses a welcoming and warm bearing about her. Whereas Nate is rather silent, reserved, closed off, and wears an intimidating air about him that prompts unease from anyone within his presence, even if he isn't talking or staring at them. He never utters a word above room level, voice always soft, never yells. That gentle threatening baritone that paints the picture of a man with control over not only his emotions, but over the power in the room. However, the largest dissimilarity between them would have to be their choice in occupation.

Evangeline Winter became a private investigator to help people; to use her gift of intelligence and astute observation for the better. Nathaniel Winter became a mercenary with the aid of his three wolves because people, aside from his younger sister, had treated him ill his whole life, the incident where he was gifted his special abilities proof of that, and decided to take matters into his own hands. If Batman was more reserved, quiet, in control of his rage and anger, and was capable of murdering those who some of society would deem fitted for death, then he could very well be Nathaniel Eli Winter.

Nate lazily casts his intense stare to his younger sister, noting her discomfort and exhaustion. Her tense frame betrays her present inner turmoil and ire simmering beneath the surface. "Friend?" He asks. Laconic. Controlled. Soft. Low. How the large mercenary often speaks. He stares at Eve expectantly for an answer.

"Somewhat, yes," Eve answers after a beat, a small smile tugging at her lips when a wet tongue tickles her right hand's fingers. Glancing down, she spies the blind wolf of the trio, Luna, licking happily away at her finger tips. Tenderly petting the head of the female wolf, a sliver of relief and peace is momentarily restored within the raven haired woman, until she's required to turn her attention back upon the two men in the room. "Please put him down."

Reluctantly, the large gloved fingers of Nathaniel Winter release the Prince of Puzzles from where he dangles in the air, Edward briefly and inelegantly stumbling in his attempts to regain his footing. Glaring daggers at the much larger man, the Riddler straightens out his emerald blazer, fairly irritated. Returning his consideration back towards the private investigator, his lips form a sharp, tight line. "You had failed to mention your elder brother is a widely notorious thug with a pension for brutality."

"It had failed to come up," Eve replies, shirking her iconic white coat from her shoulders and hanging it on the coat rack. "Nor am I entitled to inform you everything about me, Edward. I enjoy your company, yes, for you offer intelligent companionship, but we haven't known one another that long. Perhaps once you feel comfortable sharing personal information of your own, then I shall do the same."

Edward's laughter is dry and biting. "That would require a certain level of trust my dear, trust that I don't give out carelessly to anyone in this city."

"Neither do I. But you have proven yourself thus far, so don't ruin that."

Nathaniel observes the exchange with a critical eye. The mercenary is more than aware of his sister's disagreement with the criminal lifestyle, having quite openly voiced her opinions on the matter to him on more than once occasion. She loves him nonetheless, for they are family, and have always been there for one another when their parents and friends were otherwise absent, but for her to strike a friendship with a highly precarious, infamous criminal that she holds no apparent connection to, is startling – and worrying – to say the least.

This is what Gotham City does to people. Nate has been here on more than one occasion, familiar with the deplorable crime and formidable vigilante within. This city is a taint; bad poison that lingers and festers within the open wounds of society's vulnerable individuals. He gets more than enough work here, but always feels more infected and contaminated when he leaves. He doesn't want that for his little sister; a woman so humane and with such a pure of soul. Nate isn't blind enough to ignore that new, raw strength and vigour in the depths of her gaze though. Her spirit is flourishing in this city, he can discern how revitalised she is here. For a city that takes life on a regular basis, it seems to have given his sister more than she has ever had.

"However, I'm certain you came for a reason, Edward, as you always do." Manicured fingers that belong to Eve release their grasp on her purse, resting it on the kitchen counter as she rummages around for some leftover dinner scraps for the three wolves; Lucifer, Luna and Black. "How may I be of assistance? So long as it's legal and not morally corrupt, of course."

"Actually, I'm not here on behalf of myself," the green glad villain admits, twirling his golden cane habitually as he advances towards the kitchen, closely shadowed by Nathaniel and his three wolves. "I come bearing an invitation from our mutual associate; Harvey Dent."

Rebecca, electing this moment to speak up, takes advantage of Eve's brief stunned silence to scowl at Nygma and position herself between her friend and the crook. "Nup. Nuh uh. Nope. No. No more criminal gatherings, no more grade A Gotham rogues, no more mob or notorious criminal dealings and cases. Angie did her part; Dent said he'd lay off. So tell him to lay off."

"Bec, it's fine," Eve attempts to console her best friend, more intrigued than ever at this 'invitation'. Scrutinising Edward, the detective first mulls over the possibilities of intent behind it. Harvey Dent is a busy man, he wouldn't coordinate a meeting with me personally just to congratulate me or inform me of his decision to leave me be for fulfilling my end of the bargain – if he does plan on leaving me be. Organising a meeting would suggest that he doesn't, however, so that scratches that off the list. Noting Edward's now eased posture, Eve tilts her head analytically. Edward is enjoying deciphering my enigmatic mind and thought process, so if he – a man with no small amount of astute intellect – believed me to be in danger from Harvey Dent in this meeting, then he most likely would have declined Two Face's request to pass on the invitation. Not only that, but Edward doesn't pride himself on being a messenger, meaning that this has to possess some kind of importance on a larger scale for him to even agree to informing me.

With the help of the GCPD and FBI, I just brought down the Maroni Empire, an empire than has been around in Gotham for at least four or five generations, and was the second strongest crime family in this city. Most criminals would feel threatened by this, including and especially the other crime families. If this is a unanimous plan devised by the other crime families, then it would make sense to use Dent's name as the coordinator of the meeting, considering how out of all of them, he is the only one I am familiar with. Familiarity, however. Why use familiarity? Familiarity is used as a means of comfort – even if they are large criminals – so they wish for me to be at least mildly at ease with this meeting. The only time a mafia man wants someone else to be at ease – someone they invite to a meeting, offering the choice of attending or not, instead of kidnapping or forcing – is when they wish to proposition them with a business deal. A business deal... with me? Makes sense I suppose. They probably desire their 'businesses' to be unbothered by me after the little stunt I just pulled.

"The crime families," Eve voices her speculations, feeding the wolves the leftover meatballs from last night's spaghetti. "They wish to offer me a deal to stay away from their businesses and are using Dent as the coordinator because I have met him before, yes?"

The Riddler chuckles lightly, a disbelieving yet impressed sound. "You did it again. How do you keep doing this? And proceed to get it correct every time?"

"Keep it up Ange, and he might just build you a shrine," Bec sarcastically comments, still positioned between the two, along with the three feeding wolves.

Edward's eyes sharply cut across to Rebecca, piercing in intensity. "Remind me why you keep the crude, brazen, ostentatious psychiatrist around. If you wanted a companion with the same level of intellect to keep you company, you could have just adopted a cat. At least they're quieter."

Bec snorts inelegantly, a wry smirk curling at her lips. "At least I was invited instead of consistently breaking in. That desperate for a friend, Nygma?"

"Will you two play nice for one minute?" Eve exasperates, exhaustion gnawing at her bones and patience wearing thinner than strand of hair.

Nathaniel, detecting his younger sister's evident displeasure and debilitation, feels his jaw tighten considerably. When he speaks, his tone is hushed, but with a foreboding firmness in power that manages to silence the bickering felon and psychiatrist. "Quiet."

Every light in the apartment dims in and out ominously when Nate utters his command, the wolves menacingly growling from the depths of their guts again along with it, prompting a disgruntled yet guilty expression from Bec and a firm brow furrow from Nygma. Eve merely sighs, running a haggard hand over her face. "Thank you, Nate," she acknowledges her brother tenderly before returning her focus to the pressing affair at hand. "When and where does Mr Dent wish to see me, Edward?"

The Prince of Puzzles pauses before responding, still casting his wary, unsure gaze around the apartment as a result of the faltering lights. "As luck would have it, tonight, midnight, at the Iceberg Lounge. They wish this entire affair to be taken care of as promptly as possible, unaware that you were attending the Mayor's Winter Gala, nor did they predict that you would experience an evening as taxing as yours has been as a result of the obviously planned gatecrashing of the Joker. They wouldn't be thrilled if you moved it to tomorrow evening, but would understand nonetheless—"

Checking her white and gold Michael Kors watch, Eve notes the time to be 10:48pm. "I would rather be done with everything tonight," she tiredly admits, intervening Edward and remaining mildly ticked at the entire situation. "May you please inform Mr Dent that I will be attending? I only need to change clothes, and then I will make a start to the Iceberg Lounge. I'd rather not keep them waiting, and prefer to arrive earlier if it means this matter will be done earlier. I would like some sleep tonight."

"You don't have to go to this Angie – it's obviously a fucking trap," Bec turns to warn her; at the same time that Nathaniel speaks himself.

"I'm accompanying you."

Eve shakes her head at the both of them, not wanting this to evolve into an argument, not tonight. "No, please, I must—"

"My little sister is about to enter the heaviest criminally populated business in Gotham, to make a deal with Gotham's top crime bosses." Everything that tumbles from Nate's mouth is said in a matter of fact tone, impassive expression unwavering in intensity. "I am accompanying you."

Eve is irrefutably acquainted with that voice and look. There is no room for discussion. There is only acquiescence. "Very well, but the wolves remain here," the private investigator caves, stating her one condition. "I am attending as a sign of peace. Three large predators do not convey a very peaceful message."

The responding nod is stiff but confirming. Sighing in deep exasperation, Eve ventures down the hall towards her room to change. She has half an hour to shower and change before she needs to head out the door.

"Stay here, leave, I don't care," is what she casts over her shoulder as she walks away, directed at the three people standing around her living room and kitchen. Grumbling, she begins to mutter to herself. "I am just about done with tonight."

***

Nathaniel Winter stays clear out of his sister's way. She may be attending as a sign of peace, but tonight, his little sister is vehemently on a war path, and Nate pities whoever will end up at the brunt end of it.

Walking behind her is like following a storm. A short, not very menacing and yet still threatening storm. Her white coat has been thrown back on atop a bright yellow blouse and black suit pants. The connotations of the bright colour – happiness, sunshine, positivity, joy – do not match the private investigator's present disposition.

Eyes snap to the pair the moment they enter the Iceberg Lounge. The whole establishment may not be paying attention, but with the abrupt, softer lull in chatter and sound the second they enter their feet set foot in the room, it certainly feels like it.

Eve doesn't bat an eye. She allows the men that walk up to her to guide her silently through the club, staring straight ahead with a calm face. That is worse, Nate decides. The calm kind of anger. The calm kind of impatience. He would know, he employs it often himself.

Upon arriving at the end of a long, dimly lit hall with two men stationed outside the door, cries of objection begin to tumble from the hired help's mouths.

"Na ah, boss said nuthin' 'bout bringin' anyone else wit'cha," one man says, heated glare wavering in uncertainty when he meets the stare of Eve's elder brother. "Beat it, man."

"I am about to enter a room with some of this City's most dangerous members of the criminal underworld entirely defenceless," Eve gently informs him, railing in her sharp tongue. "I would ask you to please allow me the satisfaction to not do so alone."

Whilst not pleased, the two large men grumble in acquiescence, the man on the right opening the door stiffly and permitting the siblings entry. Eve's watch chimes once in celebration of the hour. 12:00.

It's hard to miss, evidently done on purpose. Only one main light is illuminated, ominously strung above the large table which four men sit at, almost reminding Eve of a noose. The rest of the room is otherwise too dark for Eve to see, but her brother can see everything.

A back bar room under renovation; tarps are haphazardly splayed over lounges and counters and pool tables. More men stand in the darkness, as if waiting to be called forth. Those men are Nate's main focus, whilst Eve's main focus is currently sat half the room away in the light.

Step by step, Eve takes her time approaching the table.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Her high heeled ankle boots meeting the floor with each step is the only sound to be heard, thrumming in her ears in anticipation and a pinch of dread. She had a generous amount to drink before coming here, something she is now whole heartedly grateful for Bec for pushing her into doing. A little liquid courage can go a long away, sometimes. Hopefully, however, not too long.

Nathaniel is utterly silent in his own steps, hardly even disturbing the dust gathered on the floor. By the time Eve finally reaches the table, all four men are staring fixedly up at her.

Dmitri Markovic. Colin O'Reilly. Carmine Falcone. Two Face.

No Black Mask.

"Miss Winter," the Don of all Dons, the Capo di tutti capi, Don Carmine Falcone himself greets the private investigator. A pleasant, well-mannered smile sits contently at his lips, the kind that isn't too forced nor too wide, but subtle and gentle enough to offer some sense of comfort towards who it is directed at. It is a business smile that has been perfected over many long years to appear as a friendly smile.

He will undoubtedly be the leading man tonight, Eve mulls over silently. Gently smiling in return, a smile that Eve – unlike Falcone – has not had to practice to perfect over the years, but was fortunate enough to be born with, Eve nods her head in greeting to the older mafia boss. Even when she's exhausted and irate, Eve can force out a smile. "An absolute pleasure, Don Falcone."

His grin broadens, a small chuckle dancing past his lips. "Please, my dear, my friends call me Carmine."

Curiosity twinkles amidst her veiled disbelief. "And I am to be your friend?"

"I enjoy having friends who hold honour, loyalty, honesty and conviction in what they do. Such intelligence and grace is merely a beneficial side trait," he charms, in the manner an old, friendly business man would.

The private investigator's head tilts a fraction to the right in mellow contemplation. Your current company would suggest otherwise. "Honourable attributes, perhaps too honourable to term me with just yet – we did just meet. Flattered either way, however."

"I have a good eye kid," the old boss informs, chin titled up as he surveys the woman.

"As do I." She meets his gaze, resolute and unwavering.

After a pause, in which neither party backs down, a tinge of warmth seems to flitter behind his all-knowing brown eyes. "I don't believe you have had the pleasure of meeting my other associates." His hand airily gestures towards the man on his right; a stern, fierce looking gentleman with an impeccable navy suit, dark rusty brown hair cropped short, a bit of clean cut scruff adorning his jaw and hollowing pale grey-blue eyes. "Don Dmitri Markovic, of the Bratva. Russian crime family."

Don Makovic nods his head stiffly, scanning the private investigator up and down once like a hawk, nothing given away in his expression. "Miss Winter."

"Rad vstretit' tebya," Eve replies, nodding her head in return. (Nice to meet you)

One red-brown eyebrow arches in disbelief on the Russian's face. "You speak Russian?"

"That's the extent of it, I'm afraid," she answers bashfully, tender enough in tone in some attempt to put the Russian at ease. "I spent a month in Russia for a case. Nothing as exciting as what I've been doing in Gotham, but the country certainly made the experience."

Although his face remains stoic, a certain amusement and fondness for his country simmers behind his face. "Yes, it has habit of doing that."

"And here, we have Don Colin O'Reilly, of the Irish crime family," Carmine mildly gestures at Don O'Reilly on his left, yet his tone has already taken on a sliver of exasperation, the kind one would hear from a parent introducing their troublemaking child.

Colin certainly lives up to his street name; Pretty Boy. Despite being forty one years of age, and in no way a boy, the handsome tousled raven hair, attractive matching scruff across his jaw and upper lip, teasing blue eyes and charmingly playful smirk paint the picture of a very pretty man, especially when he seems to have a habit of foregoing a tie to match his suit and instead opting to unbutton the top of his dress shirt, exhibiting a peek of his impressive but not too hairy chest.

"You're even more beautiful in person than you are in the news and papers love," the slightly faded Irish brogue rolls off his tongue, standing to greet Eve with a friendly handshake unlike the others had done.

"They're not very skilled in catching my good side," Eve attempts at humour – a strain in her current state – presenting differing components of her personality that best suit the corresponding mob bosses before her. Falcone values business skills and honesty, Markovic values forthrightness and straight-to-the-point answers, and so far, from what Eve can discern, O'Reilly values more free spirited and playful personalities and qualities, seriousness and severity only taking hold should the situation direly necessitate it.

Her smile and repressed discontent falters, startled, when his lips and scruff teasingly brush against the skin of her smooth, dainty knuckles. O'Reilly doesn't break eye contact with her the entire time he bewitchingly kisses her hand, evidently a playful gentlemen at heart.

"Love, all sides of you are good."

A coarse snort that could potentially be mistaken for a scowl shatters their eye contact. "Keep it in your pants, Pretty Boy."

Eve's hazel gaze snaps to the gravelly, displeased tone that inserted itself into their conversation, drinking in the one man at the table she has acquainted herself with before. Two Face.

Colin merely laughs good-naturedly, a melodic sound to the human ear, as he retracts himself from Evangeline and returns to his seat, Carmine once again taking on the look of a parent wanting to scold their child. "Alright Harv, no need to get territorial. Just being friendly mate."

Harv scowls a proper scowl this time, unscarred lip curling in distaste. "If your eyes got any fucking friendlier, they'd be stripping her of her fucking clothes."

A few words are passed between Carmine Falcone and Colin O'Reilly, and yet Evangeline Winter hears none of them, finding herself too preoccupied by her abrupt staring match with the two-faced, hardened criminal. It's the first time they had met one another's stare that night, and Eve only wishes she could find some semblance of Harvey Dent behind his gaze.

Grunting, he nods his head at the investigator, a small smirk playing darkly at his lips. "Princess."

Eve's eyebrow cocks completely on its own accord, honest amusement dancing behind her hazel eyes. It's enough to momentarily ease her growing irritation at the monumentally tragic night. "What happened to Dollface?"

"I like Princess better," he replies, easing back into his chair whilst clasping his hands over his lap, staring at her like a predator toying with its meal. "Though I'm also rather partial to... what was Gordon calling you these days? Angel?"

The North Carolinian's eyes roll in exasperation before she can even attempt to refrain from doing so, a fleeting crack in her professional persona. "The man has good intentions but the creativity of a Gotham journalist."

The remark earns an entertained laugh from a few of the men at the table, and the investigator can even hear a small exhale of breath that could be classified as a chuckle from her impassive elder brother behind her. The favourable response eases the intense, fearful thrumming of her heart within her chest only in the slightest, her nerves presently at odds with her reigned in aggravation. Hopefully, the high class mobsters sense neither.

"Please, sit," Carmine requests after a beat, resulting in Evangeline lowering herself tentatively into the chair at the round table positioned across from the elder criminal, Markovic on her right and Two Face on her left. These men are undoubtedly bloodhounds when it comes to smelling fear and weakness to prey on, and the private investigator merely wishes to be sly enough as a fox to go undetected by them. "I thank you for meeting us on such short notice, especially with the tiring events you have already gone through tonight."

Eve's smile is marginally tighter than usual at the reminder. "It's quite alright, so long as I don't see any more purple for the rest of the night, I should manage just fine."

"I see you hired muscle for protection pretty quickly there love," Colin wryly notes, staring past raven haired woman and at the imposing, hulking figure behind her warily. "Muscle like the Black Dog doesn't come cheap either."

"Mm, quite true," she can't help the subtle, complacent undertone that is woven into her words and tempting the corners of her lips into what could almost be considered a smirk. She's still rather fickle tonight after the Joker fiasco, and being called to this last second is not how she wanted to spend the remainder of her night. A sure reason why she's not as placid as she usually is. "Though, I personally find that family discounts seem to play a rather beneficial part in the hiring of mercenaries, especially between siblings."

Bec would be so proud of my 'wisecracking'.

A couple disbelieving eyebrows at the table raise at the newfound information, but the mafia men otherwise appear unmoved by the reveal. Living in Gotham, with the drama that ensues daily, very little fazes the big time criminals.

Carmine Falcone's parted smile tightens for only a blink. "An interesting family you have Miss Winter, and a pleasure seeing you again, Nathaniel."

"Falcone," Nate nods, looming behind his sister and casting his gaze constantly to the various corners of the room by habit, eyes never veering from the potential threats to his little sister and himself.

They were being too polite. Too nice. Nate didn't like it. It was like watching a Venus fly trap at work; luring in his sister with the sweet scent of niceties and formalities, putting on the impression – the illusion – that she was some kind of near-equal. Whilst aware of her astute intelligence and intuition, Nathaniel is also keenly conscious of how much his little sister yearns to find redeeming qualities in those who would otherwise be regarded irredeemable. The hope she holds is strong, but twelve years of hoping that the criminals of this city would change has done nothing for the Batman. Hope for redemption and good in this city has long since been written off as nothing but a fanciful notion; a dream. He hopes his sister doesn't learn that the hard way.

Moderate conversation is exchanged for a short while, Falcone addressing the general, unanimous concerns of the remaining crime families. Eve sits back as patiently as she can be, a peaceful smile slipped onto her lips and nodding in acknowledgement to these concerns every once in a while. Sal Maroni was the King of the Maroni Empire, an empire that has lasted many generations, and was formed around the same time this city was. And yet, he had fallen. What's to say that they weren't next?

Evangeline is acutely aware of this, but she has no plans to further antagonise or upset the remaining crime families. She may value the law over their corrupt, immoral misconducts and transgressions, but she's no fool. If she called for the blood of the remaining crime families, they would be cutthroat, ruthless and entirely apathetic in dragging out her bloody, excruciating demise. Even now, it is evident to see they would prefer her gone altogether, but are attempting at some semblance of diplomacy, a tactic that Falcone is presumably responsible for.

"You're a smart woman lass," Colin butters up the North Carolinian, his iconic charming smile playing at the corners of his lips. "All we ask is that you leave our little operations alone, and in return, you'll have no quarrels with us. The only reason we're not acting on you removing Maroni is because he's a right bloody ponce who was far too compromised to run an operation at the size his was. He murdered my own son and Dmitri's daughter, so I was more than ready to take care of him by any means necessary, you just went about it a bit nicer than we would have. It's a good offer love; you won't get one any better."

I'm aware of that, Eve's jaw tightens for a tick, employing every last ounce of her willpower to guise the burning fire of ire that she has been trying to suppress the entirety of their meeting thus far. It's not as if they knew in advance that the Joker would make it such a strenuous night, I shouldn't be so sour with them. Despite telling herself that, when one is in a foul mood, one can't help but outwardly convey that, voluntary or not. "It's a generous one at that, I admit," she adds on in agreement, careful with her words lest she displease one of the men at the table. The tightness in her chest has not lessened whatsoever, her fear at an almost even level with her vexation. "And I do have no interest in actively pursuing any of you, or any notoriously large criminals in this city. I only went after Mr Maroni because it was a sure way to end the mob war in the most efficient way whilst leaving the rest of you as undisturbed as possible. I'll be more than happy to agree to your terms, I only ask for one small guarantee in return."

Four sets of eyes narrow at the woman upon the last sentence, either in curiosity, displeasure or suspicion. It is Don Markovic who is the first to cautiously inquire her wishes. "And what is this... guarantee?"

"To please refrain from starting any more mob wars," Eve imploringly answers, the response seeming to mildly comfort the men around the table due to it being a simple enough request. "I'll likely keep helping Jim Gordon with a few cases here and there, but if any of them have any mafia connections, I'll keep my distance, so long as your... disagreements don't escalate into any large scale mafia feuds. My interest is in the safety of the Gotham civilians, and more died than I realised caught in the middle of your recent dissensions."

Thoughtful glances are exchanged around the table, the three main mafia heads more adept at concealing their opinions and thoughts than the rogue with the dual moniker. Two Face's grin is more than amused at the ideal that they could avoid gunning down a few Gothamites as an expense of running their operations, but hell; he was prepared to entertain the woman if it meant she'd stay out of his way.

Do you even want her to stay out of our way? Harvey inquires knowingly from his harsher half.

Harv internally growls. The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Admit it; you think her stunt with Maroni was impressive. You want to know what other kind of tricks she can pull. After all, if she likes us more, that's one hell of a potential ally to have in any future 'disagreements'. I mean, I personally find her ethical outlook to be refreshing—

Of course you fucking do.

– and I'm beginning to rather enjoy her company, but knowing you, you just want her as an asset.

I don't want anything to do with the broad! The only reason I voted to make peace with her instead of tearing her a new one was because we agreed that we'd leave her the fuck alone if she took down Maroni. How the hell was I supposed to know she'd actually pull that shit off?

Say what you want Harv, but I think you like how gutsy she is. She's not exactly hard on the eyes either...

Harv pauses in consideration, staring at the private investigator out of the corner of his eye. She's entirely unaware of his internal debate – as well as his staring – finding herself too determined and focused on closing her deal with Falcone and the other bosses. Harv can see how tense she is tonight, however. He can see the way her rosy, cupid's bow shaped lips are tighter than they were when they last met; jaw more strained and ticking every so often; barely concealed dark circles sitting wearily under her tired hazel eyes. The Joker must have really shaken her tonight, because he had the impression that she was generally a lot more composed than this. She is a pretty little thing though, not that he'd ever admit that to Harvey.

Shaking himself free of such traitorous thoughts, he sneers at his other half. She's a nuisance, that's what she is—

Right right, and you want nothing to do with her. I suppose that would work out best, considering how O'Reilly seems to be pretty interested in her anyway... wouldn't want to step on his toes—

Harv's growl is downright menacing, tone just as biting. I fucking met her first. If anyone is going to pull off any deals with her, it's going to be me. She's my pain in the ass asset, not fucking Pretty Boy's.

My my Harv, I'd be careful, one might begin to think you're getting territorial over her.

Shut the fuck up Harvey.

Harvey only chuckles, content in his work, before Harv temporarily blocks him out altogether. Meanwhile, Evangeline Winter is just about to close her long, exasperating, trying night altogether.

Rising to a stand a few moments after Falcone, Markovic and O'Reilly, she politely shakes each of their hands, pleasant enough in drawing their deal to a close. When her hand slips into Two Face's – the last hand she has to shake – his rough, firm grip doesn't allow her to go just yet, holding her much daintier, softer hand for longer than one would deem appropriate. Eve momentarily forgets how to breathe at the sheer intensity of his stare, her chest sinking in on itself from the weight of such a gaze.

Something about Harvey Dent – and Two Face – churned a sense of the unknown in Evangeline. Dangerous, uncharted territory. He is the only person in this city who could fraternise with both the rogues and the crime families, a feat not small or insignificant by any means. He had once walked a higher road; this city's once shining 'White Knight'. And now? Now he has dirt and blood soaked and stained into his hands, under his finger nails, tarnishing the ends of his sleeves. But he doesn't forsake what the law had taught him in his time as DA – no, he uses every loop hole and every drop of knowledge from his time as a lawyer in Gotham's legal system, forging a very potent criminal, a worthy enemy of Batman.

Sure, Two Face is crude. Two Face acts every bit the ruthless, even barbaric criminal if need be, but he's smart. He and Harvey repeatedly bicker and argue to the point of infamously taking out their frustrations on their enemies – and even their own men. That's what they want you to think, though. They desire nothing more than the rest of the people in this city to see them as a single mad man with a dissociative identity that he can't even cooperate with.

And yet, Eve can't believe that. If they truly couldn't get along, Harvey wouldn't lend his lawyer and business skills in illegal dealings and meetings such as these, and Two Face wouldn't allow Harvey to have any say in anything that they do. Their mind is a complete enigma, for you never know if they truly aren't agreeing, or if they're actually plotting against you collectively as a united front.

She finds him – them – so fascinating. If Eve had the chance, she would talk to them on a regular basis; provided that she wasn't somewhat terrified of them – or at least Two Face – and the fact that she'd be pushing her luck with them. They're a busy man with an empire to run and a Batman to outrun, they would barely cast someone like her a second glance if it weren't for the fact that they think she could potentially try and go after them next.

Snapping back to the real world, Eve's eyes are still locked with Two Face's which are burning hotter than two sizzling coals, completely disregarding the other three members at the table. O'Reilly and Markovic are indifferent to it all, already having nodded and uttered their farewells to the private investigator to attend to their numerous other duties, Falcone, however, narrows his eyes at the interaction, always and forever keenly observant. He hopes that Harv will go easy on the woman; she seems kind enough, as well as reasonable. They had offered her money tonight in exchange for leaving them be, and yet she politely turned them down. She isn't one to be bought off with materialistic goods, but rather with simple, reasonable enough deeds. If this was old Gotham, Gotham before the plethora of colourful rogues and personalities and tasteless pseudonyms, as well as paranoid vigilantes dressed as flying rodents, then Carmine thinks she could've amounted to a well respected peace keeper between the crime families and legal figures. The old fashioned crime families – the ones who were esteemed gentlemen and businessmen with some semblance of a moral compass – are no more though; Carmine Falcone is the last of a dying breed.

But Evangeline Winter...

Carmine smiles, a smile that almost all who knew him, knew to be nothing short of wary of.

She may be a good start in the reviving of such a dying breed.

***

"Let's have a little chat."

After such an arduous, wearisome, eventful night – a night which has now officially rolled into the next day – those are the last words Eve wants to grace her ears. After all, she's exhausted, annoyed, shaken and terrified all in one; perilous ingredients that are sure to result in an equally treacherous concoction if any of these mob men continue to stir.

And Two Face just couldn't help but stir.

Finally releasing her hand, the formidable felon takes a step back from the private investigator, eyes rising to stare pointedly over her shoulder. Still glaring past her, he gestures aside to a door not too far off and nods his head towards it, continuing "Elsewhere. Alone."

Eve can sense her brother stiffen. The thought of letting her wander off with a highly dangerous, highly wanted criminal such as Two Face would be one of the last things Nathaniel would ever let her do, but dammit, Eve's curiosity seemed to even outweigh her annoyance and fatigue at this point.

Glancing at her brother pleadingly, the raven haired woman imploringly asks "Please, Nate. You find us a cab; I assure you I'll be there shortly."

For a fair few moments, both siblings do nothing but hold a fierce stare off with one another, neither appearing as if they would budge any time soon. It was almost entertaining to Two Face; Nathaniel Winter, Black Dog, a very sizeable mercenary that could physically rival the Batman, facing off a small, petite, otherwise harmless looking woman who looks admittedly amusing when she's angry, and neither looking as if they'd give way to the other.

What's even funnier? It's eventually Nathaniel who backs down from Evangeline.

Huh, Harv scoffs, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Broad is ballsy.

You would have laughed in her face if she tried that with you.

Damn right I would've. Would've liked to see her try though, could go for a good laugh.

Nodding stiffly once, Nathaniel leisurely leaves the two to their own devices, not breaking eye contact with his younger sister until he himself if out of the room. Smirk only broadening, Two Face saunters over and opens the door for Eve to walk through, saying "After you Princess."

She doesn't bristle at the nickname, she hasn't at all so far, but dutifully strides through the doorway and allows Two Face to lead her out of the building, until they exit out into a desolate, dilapidated alleyway that looked nothing short of menacing. All alleyways look nothing short of menacing in Gotham, Eve amends, trying not to smile at the dark truth.

Nothing is spoken between them for a while, Two Face taking his sweet time digging around his pockets for a cigarette and lighter, before lighting the addictive stick of tobacco just as slowly. The night air is cold and unforgiving, biting and slapping away at every inch of skin Eve doesn't have covered by her coat or pants, and yet it does nothing to cool her temper. Crossing her arms tensely, she doesn't bite Two Face's bait, well aware that her criminal companion is merely trying to prompt a rise out of her. She may be curious as to why he requested to talk to her in private, but that doesn't mean Eve is going to be ever patient whilst he leisurely enjoys his cigarette. He knows I'm beginning to lose my patience; this is just a little game to him. The North Carolinian's lips thin sharply. Two Face doesn't think I have it in me to say one impolite thing or openly speak of my displeasure. Just because I prefer not to instigate hostility, doesn't mean that I am above doing so if need be.

"I sincerely apologise, Two Face," Eve shatters the silence with mock veracity, not overly rude but enough so that the apology is obviously feigned. "Am I taking up your cherished time? I understand tonight has been very trying for you, so I wouldn't wish to take up any more of it."

Okay, maybe she does bite the bait.

That aggravating smirk tilts at the corners of his lips, and as a response to Evangeline's little outburst, he slips the tobacco back between his teeth and takes one long drag. The smoke dances and plays around in the icy night air, the sparks of orange and red from the progressively shortening cigarette a stark contrast to the black and white suit ensemble of the man holding it and the dreary alleyway they stand in.

Eve remembers the last time she spoke... out of terms to the man before her. It had taken him a moment to register the fact she did, and Jonathan Crane announcing his departure deprived Dent the chance to respond, but something about stunning the ex District Attorney was so... exhilarating.

"Despite it not being personal Miss Winter, you'll have to understand my concern for this matter, and more importantly, who hired you. Which reminds me..." One, long, daunting step is taken, casting a suffocating shadow over Eve, stifling her breathing at the criminal glint that has officially entered his eyes. "Who did hire you?"

Eve seems incapable of breathing, as if she has entirely forgotten the instinctual act. She knows this is him being nice, which is a given considering the company she is currently with, but she is still unable to deny the fright the man bestows upon her.

The private investigator is aware that she mustn't show weakness in the face of a predator however, and so she stores away her anxiety and possible nervous breakdown for her next moment alone at home, as well as answers the crime lord's question with the propriety of sophisticated woman and an innocent look to match. "I apologize Mr Dent, but someone with your vast arrange of knowledge in law must be aware of client confidentiality, having been this city's shining District Attorney before your career change. I'm sure you are informed about me personally as well; having read my file and assigned that footman of yours to spy upon my apartment, so finding out shouldn't take you too long. Now once again, I mean no true offence Mr Dent, but during your attempts on monitoring me you have come off, quite frankly, like a man with the subtly of a brick and the depth of a shot glass... but I'm sure a man of your stature is aware of that."

It was mocking, but oh so politely spoken. Eve isn't talking to that man right now though; she's currently in the presence of Two Face, not Harvey Dent, and she has yet to see how he reacts to acts of contempt.

Meanwhile, in Two Face's own tempestuous thoughts, he's presently deciding on whether to slam the snippy woman into the alleyway wall or just take another drag of his cigarette to calm himself down.

Did she just... sarcastically scold me?

Harvey hums in amusement. It appears so.

And yet you still think it's beneficial that she stays alive?

Come now, we dragged her out here for a reason—

Don't pull me into this shit; this was your grand idea. Like I want to fucking warn her of the shit she's willingly thrown herself into. I only want her to like me more than the rest of those bastards so she trusts us more and will therefore feel more liable to us. She's a potential asset, that's it. Harv pauses, eyes shamelessly raking up and down Eve's body. And maybe a good fuck.

So much class Harv... but you do admit that you'd want her as a potential asset?

Harv rolls his eyes impatiently at his other half. Yeah yeah, don't get smug with me Harvey. I had time to think your words over and... it would be a... waste to put a bullet in her and be done with her...

My, you do have a heart.

Fuck off. I don't like her. I'm using her.

Hm, of course, of course...

The coarser half grinds his teeth together in a vice grip. Don't push me Dent.

For a moment, Eve feels a pinch of her irritation wash away, watching on in fascination as the man before her internally feuds with himself. The manner in which his head will marginally turn side to side, depending on which half is talking, and how his expression contorts from aggressive and arrogant to firm and level, is intriguing to say the least. Bec is going to have a field day analysing all the more notorious members of Arkham if they're half as interesting as Harvey Dent-Two Face.

When he briefly pauses in his internal debate and snaps his eyes over to her, Eve begins to wonder what Harvey may have spoken to him, only to experience a slight warmth travel to her cheeks when those cerulean eyes brazenly check her out from head to toe. She feels her blush purely deepen when he seems pleased with what he sees. Since when did I turn into some prepubescent school girl who gets all flustered when a man stares at her in such a way? Something about men in suits has always struck a chord in her, but at the end of the day, that's all it was. One sliver of physical attraction for the impeccably dressed man with an alluring air of danger and power, scars be damned. And that's where it ended.

Upon returning to his unspoken conversation with himself, Evangeline sharply clears her throat, prompting him from his contemplation. The mobster expectantly arches an eyebrow at her, as if inquiring why she would want to break the peaceful silence that had befallen the alleyway.

Of course, this only irks Eve that much more.

"Don't give me that look," she admonishes, arms still crossed, shoulders poised back, and a dispassionate expression of composed anger resting upon her face. "You are the one who wished to speak to me in private, and now you won't so much as say a word. You were also uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entirety of the meeting, and kept conversing with Mr Dent continuously during it, don't think I didn't notice—"

Harv's broadening smirk is ridiculously smug and complacent, finally understanding what has put the little private investigator in such a tiff. "Ah," his gravelly baritone breathes, a deep, low chuckle dancing in the air as he shakes his head. "I get it now. You're not just pissy because of how that idiotic fucking clown got to you tonight, or because of how you had to meet up with Gotham's biggest mafia heads afterwards – you're especially pissy because you can't read me right now."

Eve loathes the holier-than-thou grin on his face right now. She also loathes just how spot on he is in his observations.

Inhaling and exhaling, Eve takes a determined step towards the convicted felon, jutting her chin up to stare up at him evenly. "You are precisely correct, Two Face. Tonight at the Winter Gala, I was absolutely horrified to be in the same room as the Joker, the one person I have ever come into contact with who I couldn't read. He was entirely unpredictable, and as he held my face in one hand and a knife to my throat in the other, I couldn't tell if he was going to murder me or simply play on my terror." Breathing out shakily does nothing to lessen Evangeline's anger or fear. "I get a lecture from Jim and Batman, and then I come home to my brother dangling the Riddler in the air by his blazer –"

Two Face chuckles at that.

"—Not only do I have to diffuse that, but I soon learn that I have to meet up with four of the most powerful criminal masterminds in this city in the next hour to determine whether they wish to kill me in my sleep or not. At least I'll be able to evaluate the situation and interpret the kind of them that are leading Gotham's largest crime families, yes? And yet, when I get there, I immediately pick up on the kind of men Carmine Falcone, Colin O'Reilly and Dmitri Markovic are, but the one man there that I have in fact acquainted myself with before is completely closed off. The second person that night that has been unreadable. I can read parts of you now, though. Maybe not your intentions, but you think I'm incapable of uttering something that isn't polite or kind. You don't think I can bluntly speak of my anger and frustration with this entire predicament. You are wrong."

Taking another step forward, Eve moves right into his personal space, hazel immovably staring down blue challengingly, and nose scrunching in displeasure. "I am in no gaming mood tonight Two Face. Just because I am a naturally forgiving person who doesn't enjoy being this angry or taking it out on others, doesn't mean that if pushed, I won't. I'm human for Christ's sake, not this perfect story book character who will forever be nice and pleasant and level headed at every given moment of the day. So, I ask with the last few sane and patient fibres of my being, why am I here?"

The mobster doesn't move for a short while, simply staring impassively down at the woman who doesn't even meet his nose in height. She's standing so close that her own chest ghosts along his every so often, a faint sweet scent of orchids, vanilla and amber infiltrating his nostrils. It's not overly potent, but subtle enough to be enticing.

Thumbing the iconic coin sitting in his pants pocket, Two Face doesn't even glimpse away from her as he fishes it out and flips it in the air lazily. Only after he's caught it and removes the hand covering the coin, does he break away to see the result.

Scarred-half up.

Eve wheezes out a cough at the abrupt feeling of her back being not so delicately slammed into the coarse brick wall of the alleyway, the jagged surface harsh and cold on her back. One blink, and then Two Face has joined her, his hands roughly pinning hers to either side of her head, invading her proximity even more than she invaded his before. Annoyance and frustration still sits amongst the other emotions in her expression, but if her wide eyes are any indication to the certifiably insane criminal, her fear has multiplied several times over.

All Eve sees, hears, smells and feels is Two Face. His imposing, towering form takes up her entire vision. Low, guttural scowling rumbling in her ears. Enticing, expensive cologne tickling her nose. Sturdy, unyielding torso pressing her into the wall threateningly as firm hands hold hers in an iron grip. Evangeline is practically breathing the man in he's overwhelming her senses so much.

"Listen here Princess," he growls menacingly, his voice echoing in her eardrums a lot louder now that he's so much closer. "I've been pretty fucking tolerant of you not only because of Harvey's incessant yapping, but because you took care of my Maroni problem. If any of my men said half the shit you've said to me in this alleyway so far, I would've ripped their vocal chords out of their fucking throats so goddamn fast they wouldn't have even finished their sentences. I pulled you out into this alleyway to warn you of shit like this, as payment for dealing with Maroni."

Upon Eve's mildly perplexed look, Harv aggressively elaborates further. "Just because Falcone, O'Reilly, Markovic and I are taking a step back and leaving you alone, that doesn't mean any of their men or Sionis or any of the rogues are, and that also doesn't mean that any of us are your fucking friends. Do you want to know what the four of us spent the last couple days doing? We were deciding whether we should be diplomatic or simply kill you when you arrived here tonight, and it was a very fucking close call to killing you and being done with it. Sionis didn't even agree to us being diplomatic in the end, which is why he wasn't here. You can't continue to be this ballsy and stubborn even if you are doing it in a nice way, because whether you're a nice human being or a shitty one doesn't matter to the criminals of this city. Have a little self-preservation Princess, you need it here."

Evaluating her next words and new advice carefully, Eve's curiosity once again trumps all other common sense when she cautiously inquires her next question. "When you were all determining whether I would die or not... what did you think?"

Harv doesn't even try to hold back his eye roll. That's what she picks up from my warning? Fuck's sake woman... "You're useful, Princess. And you upheld your end of our deal. What do you think?"

The private investigator manages to suppress her sigh of relief. That's as close as he'll get to openly admitting it. I should take my victories where I can.

Sighing, and trying to block out Harvey's relentless blathering to be nicer about all this, Harv loosens his grip on the woman. "Look, the moment you saw the Markovic and O'Reilly brats die in that alley and told yourself you would do something about it, was the exact moment you doomed yourself to the fucked up, merciless black hole that is the Gotham Underworld and it's equally fucked up inhabitants. You're not just messing with thieves, murderers, arsonists, mob men and perverted, corrupt political figures; you're fucking with the most psychotic, ruthless, heartless sons of bitches in the country. That stunt tonight with the Joker was nothing but a courtesy, a playful introduction to the party that is the criminal underworld you invited yourself to. You're playing with the baddest bastards in town now Princess... but I'm sure a woman of your stature is aware of that."

The private investigator's face, whilst usually well guarded, has been stripped mercilessly of its defences, putting on for show exactly how petrified and chilled to the bone she is, and Two Face revels in every single second of it.

His smirk is downright wicked. "You better be ready to give up those precious morals of yours, because with them, you won't last a fucking week. Welcome to the real Gotham City, Winter. Enjoy your stay."

Eve could only stare after the retreating back of the duplicitous Two Face, reality curling its vile talons into her as the poisonous realisation slips its way through her veins and towards her heart the moment he released her and stepped away. She had changed things around here. She was no longer a player or a pawn that could be written off or overlooked. She didn't have the luxury of being underestimated anymore.

Evangeline Winter had birthed the dawn of a new era. However, that shift of the old era into the new didn't just demand change from the police, the vigilantes and the criminals – no, change wasn't just limited to them.

The new era of Gotham City demanded change from all of its players, and Evangeline Winter was about to find out that she was no exemption to that rule.

END OF PART ONE

A/N: My God it's been months since I've been on here! I would obviously like to apologise for taking so long, between finishing school, going on holidays and starting my new job my life has been pretty hectic. Not to mention that since my best friend left for the army, I've kind of closed myself off from the outside world besides working (which I know I shouldn't have) but I'm getting better, and I'm going to try and get back in contact with my friends now, so dw.

Anywho, that's the end of Part One!

And y'all aren't even ready for what I have planned for Part Two.

More crime, more crime solving, more Nate, more Arkham, more vigilantes, loads more criminals, bundles of actions and a proper start to the romance story lines.

I'm so pumped!

Though, I'm curious, who do all of you ship Eve with the most right now? I've read some comments that some of you even ship her with Edward, but lemme know in the comments who you like her with right now.

I'll try and start writing the first chapter of Part Two as soon as I can, though I do need to update my other books as well.

Picture of Nate at the start of the chapter above, pictures of the crime bosses down below.

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L