The biting winds of December punctured my skin even through the heavy, black coat that fell from my shoulders. My cheeks was frostbitten to the core, my lips cracked, my otherwise red hair caked with white. Huddling deeper into the fleece, I sheltered my face not only from the cold air but from the icy eyes of the people around me. They couldn't see me. I would never be able to afford that.

I silently slipped into the final alleyway before the block ended and the street began. As I expected, a small door presented itself to me. My cold knuckle met with it thrice before a small section of the door was slid sideways.

"Password?" came a silent whisper.

I mumbled what I was told to say. The piece returned to its place before I was granted entrance. I stepped inside and heard the door slam behind me.

It wasn't much warmer inside, yet a certain glow captured my eyes, and my numbness seemed to melt away. The corridor before me was dimmed, the only exception being the faint light at its end.

"He's ready to see you," the doorkeeper said in a rich Italian accent. I nodded my thanks and made my way into the darkness. He followed close behind.

Suddenly, the weak glow from the ceiling lamp met my eyes, and they burned intensely. I squinted and fought back the yelp, but I couldn't help a hand coming up to block the light. When they adjusted, I let it fall to my side, and as if by magic, he appeared in the large chair behind the desk before me.

His scalp that I assumed once was the bed for a healthy head of hair seemed as if it had been sliced open several years ago, the scar dark against his aging skin. Thick, white brows served as umbrellas for his sinister eyes. He was leaned back in his seat, broad fingertips pushed together. When he smiled, the wrinkles around his lips curled. "Signorina Hawthorne," he mused in a gruff, Italian tone.

Secretly unsure of what to do, I bowed my head slightly. "Mister Cadaverini," I purred.

He let out a husky laugh, leaning deeper into his chair. "Please, Signorina. Tell me what you need." As he spoke, he waved his hand to a much smaller seat in front of him.

I nodded and sat down daintily, tugging my coat closer. "I have one simple request. There is a certain man who has hurt me severely in the past. The urge to avenge myself is growing stronger by the second, but as you can see, I'm not exactly able to do what I want done."

Mister Cadaverini hummed, drumming the fingers of his hands on the armrests on either side of him. "Who is this man?"

"His name is... Phoenix. Phoenix Wright."

A sparkle flickered in his eyes. "Anything for a pretty signorina like you," he snickered.

I smirked. "Thank you, Mister Cadaverini. How much will this cost me?"

"Not a penny."

I gasped, and even the doorkeeper let out a surprised breath. "What-"

"It is very simple, Signorina Hawthorne," he chuckled. "I have a granddaughter... Viola. She's a beautiful girl, and I love her dearly. I would like you to look after her for me."

"Of course, Mister Cadaverini. Consider it done."

"She works at Pan's Bakery from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon. From then on, you can find her at her apartment." He gave me an index card with the addresses for both locations written in blocky print.

I folded it and placed it in my coat pocket. "Thank you so much, Mister Cadaverini. You don't know how appreciative I am."

"As am I, Signorina."

I stood and turned to the doorkeeper. Right as I stepped foot into the darkened chamber, I heard a hoarse "Wait."

I turned. "Yes?"

"Don't let her know I sent you."

I began to cock an eyebrow but stopped myself. I knew I wasn't to question the great Bruto Cadaverini or his motives.

"I won't," I said simply. When he nodded, I knew I was permitted to leave.