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"Stacey! Angelo mio! Good to see you!"
Lorenzo stood on the sidewalk, ushering a man with a long bandage on his calf into a taxi before closing in on the entrance of the alley where Stacey was standing.
"Don't give me that, Lorenzo." She pushed herself off the brick, taking a firmer stance as she crossed her arms. "You're the informant, aren't you? For my father?"
The smile completely dropped from Lorenzo's face. His once friendly and welcoming demeanor vanished, replaced with a cold, begrudging respect. Stacey had seen this look in the men who interacted with her father; it was chilling to see it reflected in someone she trusted.
Lorenzo nodded. "Perhaps we should talk in private?" He glanced to the dark alleyway.
"This is private enough." Stacey countered.
Lorenzo rolled his eyes. "Don't try to trick me, Tacey. You think I haven't seen your little pipistrello friend before?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
They stood in a tense silence, both too stubborn to back down. Maybe it was their Italian blood, or maybe it was something else.
Then, Lorenzo let out a loud, booming laugh.
"You are your father's daughter, all right. C'mon, let's go inside. And you can invite your friend too. I did help him inside your house, you know, and I'm not afraid of a little pipistrello who thinks he owns Gotham."
Lorenzo made his way towards the door, leaving it open behind him for her to follow.
Behind her, Batman melted out of the shadows of the alley, laying a thickly gloved hand on her arm in a surprisingly tender gesture. "Do you want me to follow?"
Stacey tilted her head. "Do I need a witness?"
"No. But if you feel unsafe..."
"I trust him. He's been helpful to me so far."
Bruce nodded, his eyes raw beneath his mask. "I'll watch from the opposite roof. And, Tace-" He grabbed her arm as she started to walk away, whispering into her hair: "I'll come gather you after he leaves. I don't want you sleeping here tonight."
She tilted her head.
"You just announced yourself to the whole underworld, Tace. And your father had many enemies."
She tore her arm from his gentle grip. "I am not my father."
He held back a response, merely nodding. Stubborn Italians.
"I'll be there when he leaves."
She nodded, her back turned to him as she headed towards the door.
Something about it hollowed out the hole in his chest, and he had to restrain himself from chasing after her even after the door closed.
The click of the door sounded out behind her, and the full weight of the night weighed down on Stacey like she was Atlas balancing the world on his shoulders.
Sliding her shoes off, she made her way upstairs to the balcony, where she knew Lorenzo would be waiting.
The only sound was her shuffling as she climbed the stairs; the tip! of the screen door closing behind her alerting Lorenzo to her presence.
He turned, tapping the chair beside him with a fat, tanned hand and beckoning her to join him.
"I come outside so that your little friend can see I mean no harm." His accent was thicker than before. His finger pointed to the rooftop ahead of them to a haze silhouette against the rising red sun. "Can he hear us?"
Stacey shrugged. "We can talk in Italian if you're worried."
He nodded. "Tuo padre si è fidato di me con queste informazioni. Ha detto che dovevo dirlo a te e solo a te, e solo quando hai deciso di intraprendere l'attività di famiglia. Non tradirò la sua fiducia." Your father trusted me with this information. He said I must tell you and only you, and only when you decided to take up the family business. I will not betray his trust.
"È perché ti sta ancora pagando con quel fondo?" Is it because he's still paying you out of that fund?
Yes. He had a plan in case he was ever incarcerated, money is still flowing in and out of that fund.
In?
Lorenzo raised his eyebrows. Yes, in. The Don was the king around here, and he prepared for his successor well. He knew they were after him, so he funnelled all of his information into a highly secret account that had multitudes of passwords and encryptions and account spanning off of that. He still pays the private bank very well for doing such a task.
He handed her an heavy, unmarked envelope. Your father's consigliere gave this to me before he, too, was locked up. It's been collecting dust in my basement's lockbox for ten years. But I knew you'd come back.
There was a pause in the conversation as they watched the sun crest over the opposite rooftop, bathing them in a red haze.
Stacey's next words were said through tears. "How much of my life right now is still controlled by my father?"
Lorenzo turned his whole body to look at her, taking one of her hands in his. "You make your own life, angel. You just had some help along the way."
Stacey looked at him silently, demanding an answer.
Lorenzo leaned back. From the fund, payment for half of this apartment. He didn't want you to be suspicious when you came back, you see, so he said that I should make you comfortable, but not poor. Also, I schedule payments to the people of interest who come in to receive treatment so they will not come back, and basic protection of your apartment from any unwanted visitors. He paused for a moment. But, the fund is waning. It needs a Donna to take over, to bring more money into it. I am very thankful that you came at the time you did.
They sat in the heavy silence, Stacey absorbing his words. She thought she had created her life from the ground up, she thought she had made her own choices and planned her own destiny-
Something caught her attention.
"My tuition? My debt?"
Lorenzo shook his head. "No debt. He instructed me to keep it a secret as long as possible. That you would not need to worry about your education. I made the final payment last night."
She should've been angry. She should have refused, should have demanded to pay her own way.
But all she could feel was relief.
She slumped down into her chair, stress floating off her like water running off cobblestone. Closing her eyes, she let out a few deep breaths in and out... Feeling the freedom.
But at Lorenzo's next words, the illusion came crashing down on her.
Donna Maroni, I pledge my allegence to you. He was now kneeling before her, holding her hand in his, kissing the knuckle.
She glanced down at him, alarmed. "What..."
In life and in death, I am here for whatever you need. My home is your's, and I am bound to do as you wish. Donna Maroni.
Stacey was shaking. Most of it was terror, but there was something else. Something in her blood simmered at the pledge, something deep within her exhilarated at the prospect of leading such a dangerous and rewarding business. She had nothing left to tie her down, no debts to pay, no rent payments left to worry about. In her hand the thick envelope crinkled, a physical reminder that she was now in control. Her father had no more hold over her, she could make her own path. She could rewrite the Maroni history.
Oh, God, Bruce.
She looked at the rooftop and spotted the top of his mask still at the edge; watching, listening.
He watched her transform, her shoulders pulling back and lips curling into a regal yet commanding smile. He blinked, breath stolen from his lungs.
"Thank you, Lorenzo. Pass on to my office that I will be arriving tonight."
That right there, he thought. That's a Maroni.
Cool gray eyes met his then slid to the door, beckoning his exit. He scrambled to the door.
"Oh, and Lorenzo!" She called out. He stilled against the doorframe, turning back with his full respect and attention. "Do let the hospital know that they'll need to be hiring a new doctor. I intend to give this my full attention."
He nodded gruffly, and left her apartment.
Stacey sat back down in her chair and waited.
Bruce didn't let her wait for long, slipping from her roof onto the balcony as Lorenzo was driving away.
They sat for a moment, breathing in the morning air.
"We need to go soon. I can't be seen in the light."
Stacey nodded, standing on shaky legs. "Let's go."
They were silent as he led her back to his bike, giving her the helmet once again and whipping through the night.
Stacey's visage flickered between strong and fearful, not quite comprehending what she had done. But one thing she knew for sure: she would keep the Angel business going. With the funds, she could hire staff and create, essentially, a private hospital herself. All they would need to do was to swear loyalty to her, and she would do it without payment.
Now you're thinking like a Donna, her father whispered in her ear, and she shook the thought away. It just made sense. A service for a service. It would establish a sense of community, give them a purpose.
She gripped Bruce's chest tighter as the wind whipped by them, and he threw a glance back at her.
Once again the subway turned into la caverna, from there revealing monitors and loose tech.
To her surprise, Alfred was sitting at the monitor, sipping tea and scribbling notes onto a piece of paper.
"Master Bruce, I decoded the first part of this message-"
He froze in his tracks.
It was a sight to behold. Batman, in full regalia, carrying a bright purple backpack on one arm, helping Stacey jump off the motorcycle with the other. It would be comical if Alfred wasn't so relieved to see them on speaking terms.
"Tacey!" He cried out, enveloping her in his arms. She stood there for a second, shocked, but then returned the hug.
"You know?"
"Of course I know, Master Bruce can't keep a secret from me." He winked and touched the side of his nose. "Besides, perhaps, the fact that the two of you are friends again."
Bruce sped into a cordoned off area to change, setting Stacey's backpack onto the table in front of her before doing so. She smiled after him, and Alfred's eyes widened. He must have missed a lot since he had seen her last, a month or two ago.
"What are you decoding?" She glanced down at his work, and Alfred glanced to the wall between them and Bruce.
"I don't know if I should say."
"Go ahead." Bruce's quiet timbre echoed throughout the room, and Alfred nodded.
"We're trying to decode this message from the person who's killed the Senator. He left us a cypher after killing Pete Savage, a corrupt member of the GPD."
She looked at it curiously, but it was only half solved.
"I'm getting close. I have "you are", but nothing else."
She nodded. "Do you know who the killer is going to strike next?"
"No," Bruce sounded behind her, making her yelp in surprise. "But we know that he's targeting corruption within the justice system."
"He wants you to find something." Staceys words were thoughtful, heavy. "He seems smart. He wouldn't be doing this without an end goal in mind."
"Maybe we should work with her more often, Master Bruce."
Stacey laughed. "If you can tear me away from the angel business that is..." she trailed off. She debated rewording her statement to tell the truth, but she decided against it. Law of omerta, she remembered. She doubted that she could even vent to Bruce about it, especially as it was his duty to reel the criminal underworld. She wasn't a criminal. But the law still remained.
"Did you want me to come up with you?" Alfred's crisp voice sounded behind them as Bruce, now in a loose, black shirt and pants, pulled Stacey behind him towards the elevators.
Bruce shrugged non commitally.
"Alright, I'll continue on this. You get some rest, now. Both of you."
They stepped into the gothic, expensive-looking elevator the door closed.
Bruce stared at the ground instead of meeting her eyes.
"Did you want me in my old bedroom?"
He nodded, bringing his eyes up to watch the floor numbers increase. "Yes. It's how you left it."
"Exactly how I left it?"
He nodded. The tiredness seemed to be creeping into his shoulders, across his features; his eyelids drawing down until they were half-lidded.
"Alright."
They sat in silence until it reached the penthouse floor.
He followed behind her, curious to see whether she remembered the way.
Stacey arrived at the door of her room, but hesitated. "Did you... Are you going to sleep okay? After everything?"
"I don't sleep much anymore," he answered truthfully. "Not after you left."
Stacey opened the door and walked in without glancing behind her. But she left the door open. An invitation.
Bruce shied away from it, standing on the wall outside and setting his head on the wood, thinking.
With a sigh, he gripped the handle.
And pulled it closed.
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