From The Ashes Chapter 18: 18: To Kill a Firebird, a sakura wars fanfic

Rating: PG-13/R – VERY strong language

"FROM THE ASHES" – To Kill a Firebird

"A' course I know Benedetta Luna," the bartender said, pausing in his eternal task of wiping down the bar. "She's gotta restaurant down in Nolita."

"In… what?" Fujieda Ayame looked back at the paper she'd shown to the bartender containing the English-written name of the Italian woman.

"Nolita. Yanno. North. Little Italy. No-L-Ita. Joint's called Luna's Restaurant. Got apartments upstairs, too."

"You can tell me… how I can go there?"

"Yeah, sure, lady. But it's awmost 7:30. Crowd down there getsa li'l rough dis time a night, if ya know what I mean. Gotta be family or ya ain't welcome. If ya want, I can recommend a better place for di—"

"No. Thank you. I must go see Ms. Luna-san. It is urgent." Ayame spoke clearly and slowly, her tone careful, but brooking no further argument.

Maria's gun was cleaned and reloaded. Her hands had stopped shaking. Almost three dollars of the ten that Joseph had given her went to paying for the hotel room in which she was currently sitting, and buying as strong a drink as she could watch the bartender make downstairs.

The room was stunning, but Maria didn't have the presence of mind to appreciate it. It cost almost half a month's rent when compared to the dump in which she'd lived until a couple of months ago. Despite her 'windfall' from Carlo Bianni's death, Maria never became very affluent. She could have, but she preferred subtlety. Her apartment was nice, but not opulent. Maria had learned to live with hardship, poverty, hunger and want, but she was raised in privilege, the daughter of a powerful and wealthy Russian man. Her taste was still exquisite. When she did buy something for herself, it was the best she could afford – but never more than she could afford.

So the luxurious hotel room passed unnoticed. She sat at the window in the upholstered armchair, her chin rested in her hand and her gaze unfocused into the darkness outside. So far above the city street, she could almost imagine it was smaller, more distant… less grasping and treacherous, less prepared to end her this very night.

She looked at the clock on the desk. Seven-thirty. She could see the restaurant from her room, but time and experience had taught her never to be the last one to sit down at dinner.

She stood from her chair by the window and went to get her coat. Time felt ever so slightly out of joint – as if everything were somewhat unreal.

She had tried not to become this. She had tried everything she could think of. Fate was a curious device. Every path she chose lead her here – no matter how many times she'd changed her mind, changed her path, changed her life, she was still going to dinner with a loaded gun in her coat. She was still being sent alone to arrange a tenuous peace between two powerful mob families, and she was still instructed to let Lupo walk her to a taxi… And if he disagreed to the negotiations, she was to be certain he did not make the trip from restaurant to taxi alive. How she managed that was up to her.

Dinner would determine her method, though she was hoping it would not be necessary. If he was a cad, he could easily be lured to her hotel room, and once alone with him, she could easily kill him. If he was suspicious, she was to have the restaurant call a taxi for her, giving a number that would have rung O'Rourke and Cavaradossi. They would come in a steamer and pick her up, and they would be her getaway drivers, leaving Lupo on the street. The problem with that plan now was that she'd killed O'Rourke earlier this evening. Maria had shown Valentinov mercy, though. No doubt, by now, Joseph Ignazio knew what she'd done. Perhaps even his uncle knew.

Her choices were few, and the list of her enemies was great. What she had no doubt about now was that someone, if not many someones, wanted her dead, tonight.

Maria tied her coat and pulled on her read leather gloves.

She had escaped death twice in her life; once when her family died and she did not, and again when her regiment died and she did not.

Third time is a charm, she thought wryly as she closed the hotel room door.

"Si, io sono Benedetta Luna," Mama Luna responded upon hearing her name.

Ayame smiled. "Ms. Luna-san, I am looking for…" she drew the old, cracked photo from her briefcase and held it out to the woman. "Maria Tachibana. Though… she is three years old in this picture, and she would be almost eighteen, now."

Mama Luna looked at the picture through her narrow spectacles, confused.

Ayame elabourated. "She pay rent to you. She is Russian."

"Ah! Si! Kazuar!"

"…Kazuar?"

"Si, Kazuar-- Ah, Vincenzo!" Mama Luna reached to her son, who'd just rushed in through the door. "Vincenzo, aiutate, per favore. Questa donna sta cercando la ragazza Russa."

Vincenzo turned suspicious eyes on Ayame, which Ayame took as a bad sign. If these were her quasi-allies and they were suspicious of someone looking for her, she's in a lot of trouble. "Why are you looking for Maria?" he asked, not missing the army uniform the Japanese woman was wearing.

"Please, Mister…" Ayame recalled the name Mama Luna had just called him, "Vincenzo-san, Maria may be in very much danger."

"Mama, per favore, I need to speak to you alone," Vincenzo tried to drag his mother toward the kitchen door, disregarding Ayame's request.

"Wait, please!" Ayame called. "If you do not help me find her, it may be too late."

Vincenzo paused. Something about the expression on her face, the desperation in her voice, something about her eyes made Vincenzo believe he could trust her.

He sighed. "Si, she is in much danger. She is going to the restaurant below Battery Park, the one on the Harbour with the balcony th—"

"Driftwood!" Mama Luna gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Vincenzo and Ayame looked at her, startled.

Mama Luna began babbling in Italian so quickly that Ayame couldn't follow even a little. Vincenzo translated for her.

"Mama says… Rudolfo… friend of hers… runs Italian restaurant uptown called Vermicelli's… and both families… Ignazio and Lupo… met there today… with the owner of Douglas-Stewart…"

Ayame's eyes widened.

"…later, Ignazio's nephew came back with Lupo, alone… the Kazuar—Maria… had shot some people…" Vincenzo cringed to hear this part, for he had sent her right to them and had cleaned up the scene. "…one man they believe is dead, but no body. Lupo is going to the Driftwood to meet someone for dinner… to kill them!"

Ayame grabbed Vincenzo's sleeve.

"When?"

Vincenzo looked at Mama Luna. "Quando?"

"Alla nove."

"Nine o'clock."

"Show me!" Ayame half plead, half ordered Vincenzo, dragging him out the door.

Mama Luna looked up at the grandfather clock which stood by the kitchen door. It was two minutes after eight o'clock. She crossed herself.

Language Glossary:

Si, io sono Benedetta Luna – Yes, I am Benedetta Luna.

Aiutate, per favore. – You help, please.

Questa donna sta cercando la ragazza russa. – This lady is looking for the Russian girl.