Best Served Cold
By: RosexKnight
Non-Curse!AU. When Moe French offends Mr. Gold by trying to back out of a deal, Moe loses it all. Gold, of course, cannot let this stand, and decides to get revenge on Moe by going through his daughter. He meant to ruin her. He never meant to fall for her.
Chapter One
Moe French was good with flowers. He could make an orchid grow and rebloom effortlessly. It didn't matter if the flower was out of season, Game of Thorns no doubt had it, and could arrange it to fit any occasion. He was a genius, really, and adored what he did.
However, Mr. Gold did not care for flowers. He cared for deals, his hold on half the town, good alcohol, pretty things, and the occasional card game. Moe French was bad at all of these things.
He also had a bad poker face.
"Please Gold! Just give me another week."
Gold raised a brow at him, his cane loose in his grip. He might have been shorter than Moe, but he was still looking down on the man.
"You're the one who bet it all, French." Gold said. "The deal was all you owed me, your debts completely cleared, or nothing. It was all fairly specific."
Moe glanced back at the table where they had been playing their game, chips and cards flung haphazardly from his side. Regret was coiling in the florist's belly, and Gold smirked. Moe should have known better than to try to get out of his debts in such a crude way. No one broke a debt or deal with Mr. Gold.
"Please. Give me another week." Moe begged. "I'll have your money in a week."
"Which is what you said last week." Gold sighed, turning easily away. "Expect the eviction notice tomorrow. You'll have thirty days."
"You can't do this, Gold! My daughter...you are the lowest!"
Mr. Gold didn't bother turning back to Moe. Normally, he wouldn't turn his back to anyone without having a second set of eyes to look out for him, But Moe wouldn't touch him. He knew better. To anyone with a trained eye, Gold's hand might have hesitated on the doorknob, and perhaps that is what caused it all.
"Wait."
The voice was feminine, and Gold sighed. He didn't dislike Belle, but he always appreciated something pretty. Of course, calling Belle "pretty" was a crime, but Gold had learned his lesson about women long ago.
Belle was coming down the stairs, an envelope in her hand. She breezed by her father, not even looking at him as she approached Gold. He couldn't read her expression, but he didn't imagine she was too happy about this latest development. Everyone knew Moe gambled, but no one dared ask or speak of it around Belle.
"Here." She offered him the envelope. Its contents made it thick, and it was obvious the thing had been used and re-used over and over again. "Will that be enough to cover my father's debts?"
"They're his debts, dearie." Gold said, taking the envelope from her to count out the bills inside.
"It's my house too."
"Belle, no!" Moe begged, "That's your-"
Belle shot him a look over her shoulder that shut him up, then turned back to Gold. The money wasn't enough, and Gold glanced up at her as he put the money back in the envelope. He weighed the options. He could put Moe and Belle out. Quite easily. He didn't care what happened to his tenants that couldn't pay. But if he did they would have to leave the small town of Storybrooke, and he wouldn't be able to look at the florist's daughter anymore.
"Miraculously, it's all here." Curse his weakness for pretty things. "I apologize about your savings, Miss French."
Belle only shrugged, but the disappointment in her eyes lingered as Gold tucked the envelope in his pocket. "Will that be all, Mr. Gold?"
"Yes I believe so. Have a good evening, Miss French."
"Gold…!" Moe was cut short by the look the pawnbroker shot him.
"I'll leave you two to finish your night. Your daughter just saved you again, French. Perhaps you should settle your debts with her before making more."
He exchanged one more look with Belle, who gave him a polite smile before he opened the door, disappearing into the night. The fact was, he could not let this stand. He would not let this stand. Moe French had the gaul not only to try and worm his way out of a deal, he'd begged. Insulted him. If it wasn't for that daughter of his, he would have been on the streets ages ago. No one crossed Mr. Gold, and something about the way Moe had acted that night simply rubbed him the wrong way.
Somehow, he had to show the florist that his behavior was unacceptable. It was obvious threatening his business and home wasn't enough. He'd have to hit him where it hurt.
Gold had dialed the number the moment his idea caught fire, the cadillac not even fully in his driveway.
"Dove." He said before the man on the other line had a chance to even say hello. "Get me all you can on Belle French."