CHAPTER 29

Lovino stared out at the rolling sea.

"Mi amor, ¿no relajarse?" Antonio walked into the room. "Es nuestra luna de miel. Trate de relajarse, sí?"

The Mafia Lord looked up at his husband. "It's-a been-a week since she last-a called-a us." He may not have been the closest to Alice, but she was still a friend of his. He owed her a lot of things. "Should I-a tell her?"

"What use would it do?" Antonio said, sitting next to Lovino on the sofa, wrapping his tanned arms around the Italian. "He's dead."

"Sí…" Lovino muttered. "But-a those-a knives..."

"How can a ghost kill someone, mi amor?" His husband said, trailing soft kisses on Lovino's neck. "We threw his body into the ocean after we made sure there was no more heartbeat, you know that."

"I guess you're right for once, idiota." Lovino smiled softly, turning around and smashing his lips onto Antonio's, full of lust. The Spaniard smirked, glad he finally got his husband's attention. He pushed Lovino down into the sofa, moaning when he bit Antonio's lip and tugged on his dark chocolate hair. Oh, ho. They were going to have fun tonight.

XXX

She could feel it slowly eating away at her.

The madness had begun, slowly spreading throughout the week. Alice jumped at every nearly inaudible creak, every little blow of the wind. She thought that working alone would've been a great advantage. It wasn't, really. She was scared, she was vulnerable, and she was alone. Alice realized that, for the first time in her life, she was really alone.

When she was a child, she'd been surrounded by doctors and nurses, when she was going through her youth, she had her family and Alfred. As an adult, she had her fiancé and the orchestra. The past years, she had Alfred, her family and Francis.

Now, there was no one.

There is no one to talk to, no one to stand by her. No one, except…him.

The killer visited her every night. She never saw him, but always, always at four o'clock at night, the kicking would begin. And it wouldn't stop until four o'clock in the morning. It was no use to try and wear ear plugs, she'd only hear the haunting echo, anyways. The few hours of sleep that she did get was filled with nightmares. When she'd shoot awake, dripping in sweat, the only thing that she'd remember was blood and screams. Lots of blood.

The alcohol helped.

It distracted Alice from the terrorizing of the killer.

It was her only friend, at this point, anyways. Alfred and Francis were banned from calling, meeting, or having any sort of contact with her, whatsoever. Stupid bastards, though she was slightly grateful. She would have a harder time keeping them away if their job was on the line. The stupid American would probably be worrying sick about her instead of doing his job. Alfred was always like that. He was filled with bright smiles and free eyes. It wasn't hard to see why the cold Russian lawyer had taken a liking to him.

Francis…

She was alone, now, and there was no shame in admitting to the emptiness about her feelings. Alice had never felt so strongly about anyone before, not even her past fiancé, before he'd cheated.

Yes, Francis was a French, womanizing, flirt, who still had the habits of a spoiled rich kid, sometimes. But still…He was kind and loving. Francis gave her a home, when he could've just ignored her. His rich, indigo eyes sparkled when he talked about baking or his son. His nicknames made her heart beat skip. Just a little bit. And to be perfectly, excruciatingly honest, Francis put those Greek statues to shame. She didn't even have to see underneath to know that.

But what was she compared to him?

Alice was a dull, poor, alcoholic homicide detective.

She was also his boss. What man ever fell in love with his boss? She smoked, too, so she smelt horrendous if you managed to get past the pungent smell of liquor that radiated from her. She was too cynical for love, and too flat chested to make up for any of her faults. The only skill Alice had was violin and finding insane murderers. Yes, soooo attractive.

They lived in two different worlds and hers could potentially kill him and his son. It'd be better for their safety if she didn't say anything.

XXX

Francis honestly didn't know what made him think that coming there was a good idea.

Nonetheless, the Frenchman stood in front of a shabby apartment door. He took a deep breath and knocked softly, almost hoping that it wasn't heard.

The door swung open.

Alice stood in the doorway, looking ragged and depressed and drunk. All thoughts were forgotten as he rushed up to her. He held her face in his hands. Wide, grass green eyes looked up at him, wide and bloodshot. "Frog! What the fu-!"

"Avez-vous été manger?" He chided her. He sniffed the air in disgust. "Combien avez-vous bu? Il sent comme un pub pas cher ici." She had enough energy to scowl at him, at least. That was a good sign. "What are you doing here, Francis? You'll get fired if they find out you've come to see me." "I know zat." He huffed softly. "Here. It came in the mail for you." He handed her a small letter. Alice nearly forgot he was there as she ripped open the letter. A frown crossed her face. "It's blank." She glanced at him. "No moron would ever send a blank letter." The Englishwoman turned back into the apartment, muttering something about a lighter. "Are you sure?" Francis hesitantly walked into her apartment. It was a complete and utter mess. Take out containers lay around haphazardly, a sleeping bag in the corner of the room, and a large working space. It actually looked a lot like her office before Francis had cleaned it up for her. "Accidents do happen." "Let me rephrase that," Alice said, taking her cigarette lighter and placing it behind the paper. Slowly, cursive words appeared softly in the light. Invisible ink. "No moron I'd ever associate with would send a blank letter." She grinned triumphantly at Francis. A seemingly large weight lifted from his shoulders. It always felt good to see her smile. "What does it say?" "It's in Latin." Alice growled slightly. "Cheeky fucker." It didn't take her long to decipher the secret message. She always worked faster with new material. Francis leaned on the wall, feeling more at ease. Alice was okay. She was perfectly fine, besides sinking into alcohol, cigars, and junk food. Alfred and Francis had nearly worried their heads off before a letter arrived for her, giving them a perfect excuse to see her. He'd actually had to battle Alfred to see Alice, and that was no easy task, especially when the American had a ginormous and patriotic bionic arm on his side.

"Well?"

"It's a friend of mine." Alice muttered offhandedly. "He's helped me do some research for the case. It looks like he's got a lead on something. A man named Berwald. Swedish, I think."

"And?" It didn't surprise him that Alice was still working on the case or that she'd been doing some illegal things to get info. As long as it wasn't killing someone or becoming a prostitute, Francis was quite fine with that. Getting caught would be terrible, too.

"Berwald apparently likes to visit a strip club downtown. Huh." Alice said, then paused a bit. "I'm going."

"What?"

"I'm going to the strip club. Tonight, probably. Best to get there before he leaves London." She explained.

"You're not going alone, are you?"

She rose an eyebrow. "I'm certainly not bringing Alfred. Lord knows what he'd do if he saw a naked body besides Ivan's. It'd scare the poor boy half to death."

Francis decided to ignore that comment about Alfred's boyfriend. "Let me come wiz you."

"Why?" Alice asked. "You've already risked your job enough, why push it any farther?"

Francis paused, a blush slowly creeping over his face. "Ce sera en vaut la peine, si elle est pour vous."

Translations:

Mi amor, ¿no relajarse? = My love, why aren't you relaxing?

Es nuestra luna de miel. Trate de relajarse, sí? = It is our honeymoon. Try to relax, yes?

Sí… = Yes...

Mi amor = My love.

Idiota = Idiot.

Avez-vous été manger? = Have you been eating?

Combien avez-vous bu? Il sent comme un pub pas cher ici. = How much have you been drinking? It feels like a cheap pub here.

Ce sera en vaut la peine, si elle est pour vous. = It'll be worth it, if it's you.