A.N: Ah…where would I be without long journeys by train? I present you my latest product of imagination. I simply adored the idea and it would have killed me not to put it into words. Depending on my artistic mood, my time and probably the reaction to this story I will continue to update it.

This is an AU and it will partially represent the characters in the film. The story takes place in the 1930's in the world of the night, where crime, thievery and the mafia were all the bad cards one could play. It is the kind of story that you can't have without guns, bets, smoke, jazz, car chase, guilds, clubs, old good gangsters, blood and black marked boxing.

Also, as a warning, I am not good with accents; therefore you should excuse the lack of them.

In hopes that I have covered everything that had to be said, I do not own any of the main characters, they all belong to Marvel.

Prologue

Pour mes cheres lecteurs, (to my dear readers,)

Whoever said money can't buy happiness must have been terribly delusional. That and the people dancing and laughing at their own leisure in that enormous hall would have laughed in his face. With their sophisticated clothes and glittering jewels, with their fine engraved canes and feathered shawls, those happy fools were drinking from their champagne and breathing through the cigarette's smoke without any wish for happiness except from what they were tasting now: fame, luxury, richness.

And Remy LeBeau had no intention to prove them wrong. Actually he had every reason to applaud them for the rich show they were serving.

Yes, money guaranteed your happiness and there was nothing that could prove moi wrong. Money had given me the chance to taste the pleasures of life. Without money, that night I wouldn't have been descending the marble stairs of an expensive casino, I would have never had the chance to arrange the collar of the silk shirt. And certainly I wouldn't have had the chance to meet that one beautiful curved blonde begging me to stay in the hotel room with her. – dear reader, please do not accuse your confessant of lacking manners – now y' see…it is not like Remy to let a woman beg for him – I am more than grateful to abide to women desires but thieves have rules – and one of them says 'never get caught in bed with one of your sponsor's woman' –or it was something about never get involved with your sponsor's woman but 'a thief passes for a gentleman when stealing has made him rich' – pretty ironic don't y' think? And I am right to presume that you have never thought of this thief to be full of wise proverbs, so please do not hide your smiles - they look beautiful on you.

And of course if it wasn't for money I wouldn't have been in France during that peculiar night. I will let you decide if it was fate or a simple coincidence, if that night had been a beautiful blessing or the beginning of an exploding disaster.

At that time, all I was aware of was that my job had been successful, that in the suitcase under my hotel bed laid a beautiful Finnish chalice that was eagerly waiting to get into my employer's hands and by tomorrow evening an appealing sum of money would have been added into one of LeBeaus' accounts. During that evening a sole thought had been in my mind: that night I was on top of the word.

And then, all that it took to sweep the throne from under me and the crown from my head had been a pair of long porcelain legs and the most radiant emeralds world will ever have to offer. That night, I thought I could make her mine and deliberately let her borrow the crown …just for one night. But there are certain moments in a man's life when he realizes that he has bargained for more than he could take. And this, my pleasant readers, was my case also.

I do not ask comprehension, nor do I ask for justice – that would be highly inappropriate for a thief. I am just seeking to share this story with you, my pleasant readers and if y' may find any good morals at the end of it please, be wise and keep them fo' yourselves. In the kind of world where my belle chere and I live, morals are for those y' find at the bottom of a river, with a block of concrete attached to their feet. In this world y' have to be cunning as a fox and ruthless as butcher. Luckily, ma chere is just like that. Sadly, she is also, just like that.

But enough with wise talk. Let us go back to that evening, in seductive Paris, in the winter of 1933 when the story you are about to read begun….