Author's Note: This is my first story, but unlike many other first stories I want to conduct this is a degree of professionalism. So I am not asking you to take it easy on me. The opposite actually. If I make a mistake, or you feel I need to improve something. Let me know. Criticism is appreciated.

An orange haired man sat in a high class bar. He kept the standards high here, and after some blonde freak came in a wrecked the place, he made sure that it was up and back into working condition very quickly. It was important for a number of reasons, the building, and the message behind it.

First, the club itself was a completely legitimate business, and a very successful one at that. Second, the operations that took place behind closed doors here was also very important to his other business. Lastly, and most importantly for him, it showed that you can hit Roman Torchwick, but he will be back. It showed he controlled what he wanted and little incidents don't keep him back.

But that was before he broke one rule. The most important rule, his father told him. Never trust a beautiful woman. Roman was no fool. He worked too hard to make his father's small time operations into one of the most influential and successful criminal enterprises in all of Remnant. He prided himself on that, and guarded his accomplishments jealously. He abstained from any relationships, emotional and physical. That had been his father's downfall.

Not that it bothered him. He wasn't really interested in that. He wanted something that was more exciting, and less fleeting. The very thought of it excited him, put him on edge.

Power.

He loved power. Money, fear, occasionally respect. All of these served his purpose for what he truly wanted. Power for power's sake.

And with this power came weaker organizations wanting a piece of it. Some tried to take it. They failed. The smart ones learned, and decided that being the big dog wasn't worth losing their heads. They worked with Torchwick now, becoming stronger and richer, but still nowhere near his league.

He didn't need a large, lumbering beast to run, that was where everyone went wrong. Everyone tried to make their operations the biggest, spread out as far as possible. Roman knew it paid more to be well equipped and strong than just large. In terms of man power, his personal group was small. But they were skilled. These skills were used to "encourage" other groups to work with Roman, for mutual benefits.

He had connections with some of the most powerful underground businesses and mobs in Remnant. That was where he gained his power. He set up deals for other organizations, provided security, funded operations, made long term business plans, and much more. He made other organizations so reliant on his for services that they didn't realize how much powerful he had become until it was too late. Instead of taking them over though, he used his connections for over purposes. He would have them pay him to do deals in his territory, have them give him men for his own operation, or any other number of tasks he required. They couldn't say no, if they did, they would lose their greatest business partner and they too would collapse. So they had to help and protect him.

This made him feel invincible. He couldn't be touched. No one could stop him. Even the police feared him. He had an active warrant for his arrest for years now, but he felt no fear in walking the streets during the day. Not that he was foolhardy enough to walk into a police station or something like that.

However, that became his downfall. When he first met her, he assumed she was sent by one of the other mafias. They normally sent intelligent and attractive women to negotiate deals. Made sense, men either were looking for the obvious or let their guards down because they naturally felt women weren't threatening. Torchwick was neither. He didn't let his guard down because he entertained illusions of sleeping with her, nor did assume women wouldn't kill you as quickly as a man could. His problem was he didn't feel she mattered. He was on top of the world, and no one person could stop him.

If only he knew…

His drink was empty. He hadn't realized how quickly he was putting them back. He already had two large White Russians, and was hesitant about ordering a third. He wanted to relax, not go into a coma.

He chuckled, realizing that he broke his father's second rule, don't drink and try to think about your problems. But he didn't see the difference in his situation, whether he drank or not. Roman Torchwick felt doomed. There was no way out for him, he was in too deep. Sooner or later, she was going to kill him. Whether he succeeded or not. Ain't that a kick in the head?

But something deep in him kept telling him to fight back. To never give up, to never say die. It became his way of life. At a young age he dominated organized crime. Before that, he rose through the ranks of his father's organization, forcing the pretenders who took over after his father's death to either submit or die. And before that, he was accepted into Beacon Academy, two years early at that, where he met one of the most influential people in his life. It was there where under strict tutelage he learned to fight, not just physically, but mentally.

He wasn't going to give up. Not to her. He didn't know what to do, but he remembered where he gained his fighting spirit. It was where he spent years learning the drive to achieve and to never let Fate pull you around. He didn't know how to get out of this situation, but at that moment, he decided he sure as hell wasn't going to just sit here and accept it.

He rose up suddenly. He had to get to a phone. There were some people he was going to call. However, as he began to walk down the steps to the door, he stumbled a little. He immediately corrected his stance and tried to brush it off, looking around to see if anyone had seen that. Luckily no one else paid much attention.

"I guess those drinks were stronger than I thought," Torchwick muttered. But his mental facilities were working, even if his body was sluggish. And right now, that is what's important. He half walked out of the club, huge Cheshire grin on his face. The cool night air greeted him, filling his lungs with refreshing humid air. It helped in vigor his body and clear his mind. Come hell or high water, Roman was going to end out on top. He had men, money, power, and determination.

And he knew a group of people who would be just as determined to fight Cinder as he. A group of useful idiots who had foiled his plans repeatedly. They wouldn't help him directly but he could leave some bread crumbs, have them follow it….

Already the gears were turning in his devious mind. So many options, so little time. He decided to scratch the last part of that. Thinking that his time was limited wasn't a pleasing idea. But that didn't matter.

They would do what heroes do best and meddle in Cinder's affairs. They just needed a reason to get involved. And Roman would be more than happy to provide that reason. He knew what buttons to press and in just the right ways. Father always said he had a knack for provoking people. Time to make the most of it.

As he walked down the cold empty streets of Vale, he began to sing to himself, finally feeling alive again. He had pulled himself out of the dark pit of despair and now could see the heavenly light. "Oh, I've got the world on a string, sitting on a rainbow…." he began. Things looked bright indeed.