Chapter 1: Dangerous Woman

"The ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones that do," ~Steve Jobs

NOW – WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 18th, 2016 – GCPD, GOTHAM CITY

"For the last time, no."

Eve huffs her exasperation, but can't find it in her to menacingly glare at the city's stubborn police Commissioner. He's a good man with his morals in the right places, which is a rarity in itself to find in this century, let alone Gotham City.

She indelicately plops herself in the fraying leather chair on the other side of Jim Gordon, her perfectly manicured, French tip nails drumming incessantly on the worn arm rest. "Jim, you are fully aware that I wouldn't partake in such dangerous endeavours that quite obviously fall under the jurisdiction of the police force and even the Batman himself. But I was there Jim. I heard practically everything. I've been helping you with a handful of your cases covertly for the past four months, and you yourself admitted that my help has made an effective difference in how efficiently and quickly you've been closing cases—"

"Those have been low profile cases Miss Winter," Gordon tiredly persists, stirring the milk into the freshly brewed cups of coffee. "Affairs, petty thefts, arrogant kids trying to make a name for themselves... this is the mob we're talking about Eve, and not just out of line henchmen, we're talking the heads of the biggest crime families in Gotham about to break into all out war. Batman himself is going to have his hands full with trying to lessen the damage, on top of keeping the criminally insane in line. I mean no offence when I say this, because I do believe you are an extraordinarily smart woman, but what hopes do you have?"

Eve finds no offence in his query, fully knowing that it is merely an essential and plausible question. She is, after all, one woman. One woman who may be a private detective/investigator, but she's not a black clad vigilante with hundreds of nifty, high tech toys and cars with several different forms of martial arts under his heavy belt, nor is she an entire police force with legal jurisdiction to arrest and take action against some of the most influential and dangerous men in the city. But she is tactical, and she is smart. Can't aim a gun for the life of her, but intelligence has proven to prevail over brawn before. People like the Riddler and Scarecrow have shown her that.

"You said it yourself; he's got his hands full with the Rogue's gallery as it is. If I can take the mafia off his plate, then I will." Eve notices Gordon's mouth part to interject, but she doesn't allow him the chance. "I'm not going to lie Gordon, I'm terrified out of my wits. I could be sleeping with the fishes before I even dig up the truth about which side truly instigated the mob war. I'll be damned if I sit by and do nothing though Jim. I will not let innocent people die in the crossfire between a few pissy families who have clearly spent too much time on their high perches to realize that the world does not revolve or bow down to them. I can't nor won't do this without your permission, but please consider it before blatantly shooting the idea down."

Gordon's deep sea eyes latch onto Eve's entrancing hazel ones as he passes her the mug of coffee. He doesn't want to admit it, but a part of him doesn't want to allow Eve to partake in this case purely because he has grown attached to the woman over the four months they have been collaborating together. It is selfish of him, he realizes, but he has come to care for the thirty four year old North Carolinian. She is a breath of fresh air in the polluted city of Gotham, one of the unique diamonds in an almost infinite rough.

She isn't corrupt. Tarnished. Selfish. Heck, just the other week when she thought no one was looking Jim spotted her offering a convicted murderer and arsonist a warm cup of coffee. Near ninety percent of this precinct would rather spit in the criminal's face or even put a bullet in his head for what he's done, but there she was, sitting next to him and politely conversing with him after making him a cup of Joe with an near angelic smile upon her face. What surprised Jim the most though, was the fact that the man was being just as kind and amiable back, his crooked, stained teeth widening into a hospitable grin.

Jim had hardly seen anything like it.

For years now Batman has instilled fear into the hearts of criminals. He has become more than a man; he has become a force of nature. Though, even though Jim didn't dare admit it, Batman was one of the primary reasons why more and more crazies and crime kept popping up in the city. He was instilling so much fear that more people rose to try and battle it off. He isn't a sign of hope, but he's a hero that this city deserves.

Eve works differently.

She uses compassion. Kindness. Faith. Faith that some people in this city will at least improve their ways in the slightest. Faith that this city is still capable of being saved. She is humane to the inhumane, something that no one, not even Batman, is.

Jim would sometimes compare the two whenever he finds himself a spare moment. One works with fear and force, while the other with love and faith. Batman may get more done, but Eve's way is still honourable. Not something that this city will ever allow to deter it from its path of crime, but nonetheless honourable. Gordon guesses that Eve would rather be loved than feared, while Batman is completely indifferent towards how he gets things done, as long as he gets things done.

And in that moment, as Jim ponders over all of these thoughts while staring at the raven haired woman, he has a sudden epiphany. All those years ago, he allowed Batman the chance to clean up this city, and while the Dark Knight has saved the city more times than he can count, he hasn't actually saved this city as a whole. He let the Dark Knight have his chance and try to save the city, so why couldn't he let Eve?

Jim pulls away the now tepid caffeine from his mouth, the drink having dampened his slightly greying moustache. Rubbing his temples soothingly with his spare hand, he rests against his desk in front of Eve and says "Very well, but," he hastens to add on before Eve's face lights up too much "as soon as you start to get too deep into it, I'm pulling you out. And, should you close the case and miraculously find a way to stop this blood war between the crime families, you will not personally take action against them. If you have a plan, great. But remember that we're the police force, and you are only a private detective."

Jim's terms and conditions do nothing to dampen Eve's mood. Her wavy, raven, layered bob of hair bounces up and down as she stands from her chair excitedly, an almost childlike glee emanating from her body. "I cannot express my gratitude enough Jim, really. I won't let you down, that I can promise."

"Mm hmm," he hums, cracking a small grin when she bestows him a brief hug before downing the rest of her coffee and sliding on her iconic knee length white overcoat. She doesn't button it up, but allows it to comfortably hang open to reveal her emerald green blouse. "It's already been a week since the incident, which means the families have most likely started choosing sides. I'll start off with deciphering which families are collaborating with each other," she announces to him, gathering her long strap, black handbag and nimbly sliding over her shoulder. "Obviously O'Reilly and Markovic are teaming up against Maroni, but that still leaves Falcone and maybe Two Face and Sionis. From what I've read about them, they're not really classified into crime families, but are let in on deals and meetings from time to time."

"Sionis used to be, but since the Joker knocked him off his throne several years ago, he's come back and rebuilt his empire as an impulsive and even more conceited man. The other families find him crude and ruthless because he doesn't even try to be polite to them anymore, and he has a knack for stirring trouble against people like the Joker and Dent," Jim elaborates, feeding Eve all the information he can without over stepping his boundaries of revealing too much classified information to a civilian. "Dent however, is rude and sadistic, but he has enough common courtesy to be formal and at least semi-polite to the other families. He also generally doesn't purposefully provoke petty feuds amongst them or the criminally insane, mainly because he seems to fall under both categories."

"Do you have any idea which family he's closest to?" Eve inquires, prodding Jim's brain for as much information as she can.

The Commissioner has to withhold a sigh. He's already breaking all the rules by allowing her to aid in classified cases, and now he's bestowing her with knowledge about high class criminals that have eyes and ears in every corner of this city. He's practically signing off her death wish and his resignation papers at the same time. He made a decision though, and being a man of his word, Jim refuses to go back on it. "Markovic. Even though Dent is certifiably more insane than Dmitri Markovic, Markovic's common moniker is 'Mad Dog'. Dmitri's great grandfather Ruslan Markovic betrothed the mob boss Nicholas Giovanni's only daughter around eighty or so years ago, and then proceeded to assassinate all of his Italian brother-in-laws while Giovanni was on his death bed. By the time old man Giovanni kicked the can, Ruslan was the only heir to the Giovanni crime family, now known as the Markovic crime family."

Eve – who has been recording Gordon's every word with her phone from the get-go – doesn't stop there, sticking her nose into the business of the mafia history and alliances even further. "Similar circumstances for the O'Reilly crime family as well I presume? After all, all crime families globally ascended from the Sicilian crime syndicate from Sicily, Italy. So Irish and Russian mobs in America usually come to power under those kinds of circumstances."

Gordon nods, folding his arms over his chest intently. "Yes, but Colin O'Reilly's father didn't purposefully go around murdering all other heirs to the Castellano family. Roberto Castellano turned out to be infertile, so he couldn't have any genetic heirs to take over the family for him once he passed on. He only adopted kids who were either Italian or had Italian ancestry. In the end, all four of his adopted boys tried to off him and each other for the chance to be the head of the family. Roberto barely batted an eye when he killed them off, passing down the family business to his only trusted son in law, Colin's father, Kenneth O'Reilly."

"Okay, what about the Falcones and the Maronis? What can you tell me about their context?"

"They're the two most infamous and powerful mobs in the entire city," Gordon explains tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to will off his fatigue. "Their ancestral roots go all the way back to when Gotham was first erected. Carmine Falcone is the most influential and prosperous criminal in the city, although Two Face's fortune rivals his pretty well. The other families do anything in their power to not offend Falcone in any way, because there isn't another family – or rogue, for that matter – in this city who can rival him in numbers or political, media and legal ties. He was bitter rivals with Luigi Maroni – Sal Maroni's father – but unfortunately gets along with Sal quite well, even at his current age of sixty nine. Sal never got along with his old man, and even though it's not proven, sources say he killed Luigi before the cancer took to him. Sal Maroni is relatively a sane, competent man, which is why it's a shock that he would instigate such a blood bath between the families."

In that moment, Eve begins to reminiscent over the event from a week ago. Both sides seemed so sure what they were speaking was nothing but the truth. Perhaps whoever fed Alexandra and Sean the information about Maroni fabricated the intelligence because they had a personal vendetta against the Maronis? Eve is merely formulating theories here, so she shouldn't jump to conclusions just yet, especially considering how early in the investigation it is. "Lastly, may I ask about Sionis and Dent? You mentioned before their relationships with the other families, but what about the relationship with each other? Is it completely gone to hell or is it just shaky?" Eve figures that if they generally get along well, they would most likely team up with each other against Maroni, because judging by the evidence before her already; Dent will be collaborating with Markovic and O'Reilly.

"No two human beings hate each other more than they do," Jim bluntly says, his age lines crinkling prominently as his mouth thins into a fine line. "Well, besides Joker and Batman. As I said before, they're both ruthless, sadistic and crude. Not to mention obviously insane, even though only one of them is certifiably so. They'll most likely use this war to viciously strike against each other, only paying light attention to the families they're allied with out of courtesy. Although, Maroni was the one to disfigure Dent's face with the acid, and Dent did persecute a lot of Falcone and Maroni's men when he was DA, so those two have never really been buddy buddy with him either."

Drinking in all this information about the criminals like a sponge would water, Evangeline offers Jim a firm nod that communicates 'we're done here'. "Thanks Jim," Eve praises, flicking off her phone and gracefully pocketing it. "I think that's all I need for now. Do you mind sending me everything you have on who works for each family; their legal, political and media ties; each family member and anything within your records of them that's even remotely notable? I know I'm asking a lot, but I just want to figure this entire enigma out."

Gordon chuckles, the sound hearty yet soft. "Being curious winds up resulting in your body in a body bag within the morgue under a week in this city. Curiosity killed the cat Eve."

"Cats have nine lives, Catwoman has proven that," Eve dusts off, hand resting on the rusty, brass door knob. "And I've got seven left, so what's there to worry about?"

"You called."

Jim doesn't jolt as much as he used to, but that doesn't mean he's no longer surprised by the Dark Knight's abrupt materialisation. Every damn time, Jim huffs, stiffly pushing off against the jagged concrete wall on top of the GCPD. He ambles on up to the light blaring the 'bat signal', taking his time turning it off as he drowsily responds "Remember that woman I mentioned a few months back? The one who's been privately helping me with a few low-key cases?"

"Evangeline Winter?" The Dark Knight prompts in his gravelly, baritone voice. Gordon was reluctant in disclosing her identity when Batman asked who had been improving the efficiency in his less life-threatening cases, but even though Jim remained loyal to her, Batman figured out her identity nonetheless. But he only began to show more interest in her once the criminals started getting suspicious of how the GCPD is actually doing its job well.

She's nothing special, Batman concludes, by any normal standards anyway. Evangeline is one of the last people an infamous criminal would suspect to dismantle and pick apart their crime or plan. That's what makes her dangerous. Not special, but dangerous.

"Yeah, her." Gordon's tone no longer holds any surprise when he replies to something the Dark Knight says that he shouldn't otherwise know of. Unpredictability became predictable long ago. "She was there at Markovic's daughter and O'Reilly's son's shoot out against Maroni last week. It's her I managed to get the story from, but now she won't let it go. She's hell-bent on solving the entire damn thing. Stubborn like you are."

"What do you want me to do? Convince her not to take the case?" He barely moves a millimetre when he talks; even his cape is eerily still despite the light draft on the rooftop.

"No, there's no way of deterring her from it. I was hoping you would just keep an eye on her. I know you're busy with the rest of the city, but she's still new to Gotham, and trying to tackle this city's most powerful and dangerous families may prove to be a bit much, even for her," Gordon worries, eyes not veering from the towering, formidable shadow lurking in front of him.

"It's not wise allowing her to continue Jim," Batman warns, his voice impossibly dropping several more tones into a low, warning bass. "Gotham's mobs will chew her up and spit her out in a matter of a week. She's not Gotham material."

"Exactly, she's not Gotham material," Jim agrees, but oddly veers in a different direction that Batman was expecting. "Which is why I think she should give the case a shot. Everyone in this city thinks and operates on the same level, especially the criminals. But she's got an entirely different mindset from all of them, and us. She's the unexpected wrench in their works, our wild card. I think... I think she can do it."

Batman pauses, considering the situation before him. Jim has a good judgment, a good gut instinct. The Dark Knight knows that Jim can count the number of people he trusts on one hand, and it seems that Miss Winter has managed to work her way to being one of those fingers. Jim himself is one of the only people Batman truly trusts, so despite going against his own better judgment, the Dark Knight's shoulders straighten a couple centimetres in submission. "I'll check in on her soon, see how she's coming along."

Jim's lips twitch up in a relieved smile. He shakes his head and casts his gaze to the floor in gratitude, glancing back up and saying "Thanks." By the time he does so though, he finds himself to be alone on the rooftop, his only company being the soft howl of the wind and the imposing bat signal next to him.

Yep, Jim grumbles to himself, but not grumpily. Every damn time.

Eve exasperatedly blows a stray strand of her short raven hair from her face, red flannel sleeves rolled up past her elbows with petite, pale hands securely placed on her hips as she scrutinises the bulletin board with evidence and her own scrawled notes pinned on it. "Not even forty eight hours in on the official investigation and I'm already going mad from how many henchmen and family members are in each mob. Bec, I'm calling it. You're gonna have to come over and give me a full frontal psyche check."

A disfigured scoff can be heard from Eve's phone positioned on the polished oak table to the left, the loudspeaker speaking "I don't need to drive to Gotham to tell you you're crazy. Just go ahead and admit yourself into Arkham while you're still ahead."

"They've got enough crazy there as it is," Eve waves her friend off, delicately altering a string connecting one of Maroni's top lieutenants, Andy, to the unknown informant that briefed Alexandra and Sean about Maroni's supposed conspiring against Markovic and O'Reilly. "Perhaps I'll just drive back to Greenville and you can admit me to a mental hospital there."

"So long as you don't bring Joker or Zsasz in the boot with you, then feel free," Eve's high school friend Rebecca Daniels facetiously consents.

Rebecca is Eve's only close friend. After graduating high school, Eve drifted from all her teenage companions, and sadly enough, they let her. The only person who quite literally gripped her tight and 'politely' informed her that Eve was never losing her, was Rebecca Daniels.

With her golden halo of hair and honey brown eyes, Rebecca Daniels gave away the deceiving impression that she is nothing but an angel. Her sun-kissed skin and short stature made her a typical American girl that you would quite easily find in plenty of movies, books and TV shows. However, atop her hooked nose sat a pair of thick rimmed reading glasses, which gave off an intelligent albeit shy impression, and that slightly put off most people's expectations.

Rebecca, however, is none of that.

She's a spitfire with a mouth that would make a sailor blush. She's intelligent – incredibly so, if you counted the four degrees in psychology and PhD in chemistry – and a tad too brutally honest for most people's liking. Eve sees past all that, and actually quite enjoys someone with such a candour personality. It's refreshing.

"Honey, if anything I would be in the boot – dead – and they would be the ones driving down to say hello," Eve muses, deciding to step away from the board, collect her phone and grant herself a well-deserved lunch break.

She waltzes out of her study and into the little living room, the open floor plan combining the room with the kitchen. While the apartment is small and compact, it's in reasonably good shape, not overly pricey and has a modern flare in the architecture. The furniture in the living room is scarce, bar the black timber coffee table, the average sized plasma screen perfectly mounted on the soft white wall, the outstanding timber bookshelf holding all of Eve's favourite novels and the white leather loveseat with its matching lounge resting beside it.

"I would shove several sticks of C4 down their fucking throats before they even got the damn chance," Bec menacingly scowls whilst Eve strolls through the living room and into the mini kitchen, earning an entertained smile on Eve's behalf.

"And the people of Gotham would make a God out of you for it," Eve chuckles, gracefully side stepping the kitchen's island counter and smoothly pulling out the appropriate tools and ingredients for scrambled eggs on toast with parsley and tomatoes.

A small, nearly inaudible hum can be heard over the line, the phone now tenderly placed on top of the sleek microwave. "Got any theories yet?"

"Several," Eve pipes in absentmindedly, expertly cracking the eggs straight into the frying pan, adding a splash of full cream milk to the mix. "But a couple stand out to me."

"Do tell."

"Well my first theory is that it was sabotage against either Maroni or O'Reilly and Markovic," the private investigator hypothesizes, tactfully slicing the bright, red tomatoes. "Whoever informed Sean and Alexandra of the speculation could have a personal vendetta against one of the families, or all of them, hence their desire to jumpstart a cut-throat war between them all. That, or someone else has a personal vendetta against the families and had ties within each one so they could therefore feed each family false information, once again resulting in the catastrophic blood feud."

"And your other favoured theory?"

Eve throws the parsley and tomatoes into the pan, stirring the jumbled mix with the blended egg and milk. "Alexandra and Sean – in all their juvenile arrogance – purposefully put Maroni in a tough situation, fabricating a rumour which their fathers would believe them for over Maroni, just so they could get Maroni out of the picture. Obviously, though, despite achieving what they wanted, they didn't anticipate such a fatal reaction from him in response."

A small pause hangs in the air between them, Bec intently mulling over her best friend's speculations. "You don't seem as confident with your second theory."

Eve exhaustedly sighs, sliding the two slices of toast into the toaster. "I've had nine days to think over all this Bec, and that second theory... I feel as if I may be on the right track, but something about it just doesn't add up. Even amongst all of Sean's and Alexandra's accusations, he was winning. He was winning, and he knew it. Why shoot them? By shooting them, he surrendered into their desperate scheme. Mob men are all about money, sex and power. So why would he give the power to them?"

"Perhaps he secretly desired the war as well?" Rebecca openly suggests, followed by the sounds of something fragile indelicately shattering and a few heated profanities regarding the Holy Lord and the apocalypse. "You did say Gotham's mob men are crazy," she calmly finishes off, whole heartedly neglecting whatever transpired on her side of the line.

"Crazy... crazy..." Eve mumbles hypnotically, momentarily neglecting the scrambled eggs sizzling and spitting in the frying pan. "What if… one of them was mentally unstable?"

"Wouldn't be much of a shock."

"It would make perfect sense," she utters over her old friend's satirical comment, absent-mindedly prodding at the eggs whilst staring off dazedly. "Especially if it was Maroni. The stress of the business combined with the influences he's encompassed by is enough to render the human psyche vulnerable. If his mental stability was compromised, then he would be otherwise apathetic towards the repercussions of his actions. Even with his environment however, such a condition would've had to be triggered by something, or it would have to be a hereditary gene. I should probably inquire of Gordon the Maroni family's health records, and then go digging around for more information before I jump to this conclusion—"

"What about his old man?"

Eve flicks the stove off, allowing the cooked eggs, tomatoes and parsley to pleasantly simmer for a while longer. "Sal's old man? You mean Luigi Maroni? His father?" She asks as a confirmation, twisting the salt and pepper shakers and inattentively watching as they drift like black and white snowflakes onto the cooked meal below. "He didn't have a good relationship with him from what I can gather. Wasn't too emotionally partial to his passing, which is peculiar in itself. Italians are generally all about family."

"Is it possible he could've cared more than he let on?" Bec helpfully probes. "Could his passing have affected Sal more than anyone else cares to realize?"

"I'm entertaining the possibility," Eve acknowledges, lightly tossing the golden coloured slices of toast onto the ivory white, ceramic plate. "But it has only been nine days, and out of those nine days, I've only been officially investigating for two of them. Got Jim's permission on Wednesday."

Evangeline can sense the all-knowing grin playing at her friend's lips over the line. "I know you Angie. You most likely went out and frequented a mob restaurant or bar sometime on Sunday in hopes of picking up some gossip."

"It was Saturday, actually," Eve flippantly defends herself, skilfully using the spatula to slide the eggs onto the caramel coloured toast. "Saturdays are the big nights in Gotham, not just for the mobs and Rogues, but for Batman as well. Knowing Jim, he most likely informed the vigilante to keep a watchful eye on me. So I'm trying to plan most of my risky investigations on Saturdays or Fridays, while people like the Joker are keeping him continuously preoccupied."

"You should check your apartment for bugs," Rebecca suggests. "He may have them planted everywhere."

Eve gently places her plate on the kitchen island bench, soundlessly seating herself on one of the lanky stools. "I check every night. They give off a unique electromagnetic frequency. I just got to emit my own disruptive frequency that's not powerful enough to interfere with my other electronic devices, but strong enough to give his bugs a power shortage. Already found two."

"Outsmarting the world's greatest detective are we Angie?" Bec only partially teases. "He better watch out, a few more higher up cases and you may swipe the title."

Eve scoffs, her stainless steel knife and fork dissecting the scrambled eggs on toast. "That'll be the day."

For a short while, Eve eats in a welcome silence, paying no mind to the additional voice on the other end of the phone call who is clearly addressing her best friend. A few more heated profanities accompany the incoherent conversation, before Bec's overly displeased tone returns. "Gotta go Ange, break's over. Call me when you can though, yeah?"

"Mm hmm," Eve manages through a mouthful of eggs, her cheeks akin to a chipmunk's after they've ungracefully stuffed their mouth with acorns.

"Later Ange."

"Mmm."

Click.

The rest of the meal is spent undisturbed, but by the end of it, as Eve is smoothly cleaning up the dishes, she begins to internally talk to herself. I should really buy a cook book, she muses, the perky suds dancing over the white ceramic dish. I can only eat scrambled eggs on toast so many times before it wears out.

A/N: G'day! So, as I mentioned last chapter, things start off a tad slow BUT starting next chapter things will begin to kick up. I just wanna get to all the fun, interesting bits as quick as possible but filler chapters and slow yet informative bits are still needed. Hope you liked this chapter though nonetheless!

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

~ T.L