The Devil We Know

by gaarafreak

How was Christine Daae to know her recently deceased father was a mafia boss? After his death, she is thrust into the world of organized crime with only one person left that she can trust: a notorious hit man known as the Phantom.

3. Chapter 3

Title: The Devil We Know

Summary: Christine Daae is the daughter of a recently deceased mafia boss. Suddenly, she finds herself toted as an up and coming gang leader, learning from the Phantom, a man who is feared by even the most powerful in the field as a notorious hit man. Will Christine find the strength to carve her own path, disregarding both darkness and light? Raoul's in it too. I guess.

Disclaimer: Phantom isn't copywritten any more, is it? I don't know. But the book belongs to Leroux and the musical belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber. Regardless, Erik, Christine, and Raoul aren't my original characters.

Author's Note: Christine's mom's name is Elizabeth in my story. I honestly don't know what it was in the book or even if she had a name. My good pal and fellow POTO fan, Sara, insists Christine's mom didn't have one. But Gustav was her father's name. So we'll go with Elizabeth and Gustav Daae. Onward and thanks for the reviews!

Chapter Three: Balance

Christine woke with a painful ache throbbing in her skull. Her neck creaked from the stiff, flat pillow and the angle she had slept on it. A wheezing snore filled the room with its soft, irritating sound. She cringed as she sat up on the squeaky bed and peered across the room at the lumpy couch.

Sprawled out on his back, Erik slept with his head tilted back and his legs dangling off the armrest at his knees. His bone white mask was still pressed firmly over the right half of his face, obscuring his breathing and producing the annoying whistle. Christine padded passed him, trying not to wake him up. Halfway to the stairs leading up into to the main part of the restaurant, Erik groaned loudly and sat up, looking around groggily.

"Wha?" he squinted at her blurrily. When she didn't respond, he flopped back down on the couch and continued to snore. She took the chance to ascend the stairs and enter the brightly lit restaurant.

The hardwood floor of the restaurant clacked under her inch tall heels as she paused to shut the door to the basement behind her. She turned around to find everyone in the immediate vicinity staring at her with wide-eyed expressions. A spoon clattered in the silence as someone dropped their utensils.

Flushed, Christine tried to smooth down her unruly, sleep mussed hair to no avail. No doubt her black dress was wrinkled from tossing and turning all night. She gathered her courage and approached a slack-jawed waiter who was gawking at her as if she were an alien. "Excuse me, may I eat here?"

It took a whole ten seconds for the question to register in the young man's mind before he nodded hastily and gestured toward a nearby table. She smiled hesitantly and sat down. "I-I'll go g-get something from the ki-kitchen right away!"

Christine watched him run away, confused. She cupped her hand to her mouth and sniffed her breath. Well, she didn't smell. And she wasn't ugly or covered in dirt. Why was everyone staring at her?

While she was pondering this, someone approached from the kitchen, a large, pleasant smile on his face, his hand out as if to embrace her. She eyed him warily, but returned the smile. "My dear! I am Andre, the owner of this humble establishment. I would like to extend my heartiest greetings to the lady friend of the Phantom! Please, what would you like to eat? Anything! It's on the house."

Oh. They thought she was sleeping with Erik. She opened her mouth to explain, but then thought better of it. Her stomach growled angrily. She WAS hungry. "I don't know what to order. The waiter forgot to give me a menu."

"Consider him fired." Andre snapped his fingers and a different waiter appeared, brandishing a menu for her to peruse. She nodded happily and flipped through the pages briefly while he waited patiently for her order.

"I would like-"

Before she could get any further, the door leading down to the basement slammed open and Erik stomped up the steps into the dining area. His shirt was still unbuttoned at the collar and untucked. His feet were bare as he had forgotten to put on his shoes in his haste. In one gloved hand he gripped his pistol, but he kept it down at his side as he scanned the room. His eyes found Christine easily and he strode across the room with barely leashed anger in each step.

Christine got to her feet immediately, tossing the menu to the table just as Erik neared and grabbed her roughly by the arm. Without a word to the flattering Andre, Erik dragged her back down into the basement and slammed the door behind him. It clicked locked.

"You fool!" He spat, whirling around to face her once the door was secured. "I told you the only people who patron that restaurant are Mafioso! They want you dead!"

"I was hungry!" she countered, crossing her arms around her stomach defensively.

Erik let out a ragged breath as he pressed the knuckles of his hand against his left temple. "Now Andre and all those other imbeciles know that we are connected. What's worse, look at you! Look at your clothes. They'll think I've-"

"Slept with me?" she offered when he sputtered haltingly to find an appropriate term.

"Like a whore!" he finished, exasperated. His chest heaved from the tirade, eyes wild and black hair falling over his forehead.

"You don't have to be a whore to have sex with someone," Christine laughed lightly. "Haven't you ever loved anyone, Erik?"

Erik stared at her in disbelief for a few moments before throwing his arms in the air, gun still in his hand. "I am not having this conversation with you! Do you even know what time it is? I'm going back to sleep- you better not leave this room again."

The menace in his voice would have been more effective if Christine wasn't still grinning from his rant. When he plopped back onto the couch and placed the gun on the ground within arm's reach, Christine informed him, "I'm still hungry."

"We'll eat before we go to Madame Giry's in a few hours."

She watched him squeeze his eyes shut and try to will himself asleep. "I'm bored."

"I swear to-" He sat up again. "If you don't go back to sleep, I'll take the bed and then you'll have to sleep on this couch!"

Tsking, Christine made her way back to the bed, not wanting to give it up even if she wasn't tired. "Fine."

"Good." Erik repeated, dropping back down against the armrest. Now that his blood was boiling, it would be difficult going back to sleep. Frustrated beyond belief, he buried his masked face into the pillow and growled furiously. He was beginning to wish that he'd just left her at her house.

There were many bad points about Christine not fearing him like the others in organized crime, Erik pondered as he drove them toward Madame Giry's nightclub around noon. Fear made a quick and easy substitute for respect in many cases and since she neither feared nor respected him yet, he found himself in unsure territory.

For example, during their brief meal at a small diner after leaving The Opera House, he had warned her that they couldn't stay long. So what did she do? She changed her order THREE times, each time waiting until the meal was fully cooked and in front of her before realizing it wasn't what she wanted. On the third time, he smiled at Christine across the table and demanded, "Are you hungry?"

Christine looked shocked that he would doubt her. "Of course! I'm famished! Remember, someone wouldn't let me eat this morning."

"Then eat what is on that plate or we'll leave right now."

He hated having to act like a father to her, but if she insisted upon her role as a spoiled brat, he supposed he could shape her into a responsible woman. Or at least a slightly less annoying one.

They were currently speeding toward the area of downtown littered with various clubs and bars. Christine was huddled as far away as possible, still irritated at him for his tyrannical rule over her breakfast. He sighed and motioned to her. "Come here."

She eyed him wearily, but scooted closer. He reached out with his right hand and gently ran it over and through her hair. "You like to test me, Christine. You are very stubborn, I know, but you have to understand that I tell you these things because I'm worried about your safety."

Christine sat in place, bewildered by his show of affection. "You're petting me. Is this normally how you show girls you care for them?"

Erik's hand froze halfway through a third stroke on her hair. He dropped his hand immediately and turned his attention to the road. She pressed on, undaunted. "You don't care what happens to me. Your only reason for doing this is to feel better about my mother's death. But she's been dead a long time, Erik. Watching over me won't help that."

The steering wheel creaked under the force of his grip and his jaw muscles clenched as he stared blankly out the window. "Open the glove compartment."

She shot him a bored look. "Why? Does it explode when opened?"

"Just open it," he replied. Christine reached out and clicked it open. There was a smaller handgun and some insurance papers for the car. Nestled down at the bottom of the compartment was a 4X5 inch photograph slightly scratched with age.

She'd seen copies of this picture before in the family album. Her mother was leaning down to hold a toddler aged version of Christine up by her hands as she practiced walking. They wore matching dresses made of ruffled, white material embroidered with pink roses.

Written on the back of the photo in black pen were the words, "Erik- little Christine misses her angel, so visit again soon! Love, Elizabeth and Gustav Daae."

After a moment of gawking at the picture, Christine turned to stare at him. "How old ARE you?"

He laughed once, a hoarse sound. "Is that all you have to say?"

"I'm just wondering. You couldn't have been very old when you first got into this whole… mafia business." She paused and held up the dated photo. "I was about one and a half when this was taken. How old were you?"

"Almost twenty." He replied, parking the car as they arrived at a three story building with a large sign shaped like a martini glass with the word's "Madame Giry's" scrawled across it. He glanced over at her to find her still staring at him in shock, and pried the picture out of her hands before placing it back into the glove compartment. "Don't look so traumatized. You're the same age now as I was then."

He got out of the car and started toward the front of the building, leaving her scrambling to catch up. She breathed in awe as she ran after him. "You're so OLD! What are you, 40 now?"

"More like 38. Are we done talking about this?" He asked, waiting with his hand on the door. She nodded, though the dazed expression was still on her face when he pushed the door open and entered the nightclub. They stood in the waiting area and Christine noticed Erik was squeezing his hands into fists. "I hate this part."

Almost on cue, a feminine cry of surprise resonated throughout the empty bar. "It's Erik! Madame Giry, Erik is here!"

Four women appeared from various parts of the bar and immediately fawned over Erik, who shied away from their hands. One of them, a cute blonde woman, latched onto his arm and purred, "Erik, you've been away so long. I was starting to think you only came here when you wanted something."

Erik's face paled even more as he tried to evade the women. He looked as if it was physically draining to be around these admiring young ladies. Finally he asked in a strangled voice, "Where is the Madame?"

An elegant, older woman entered from a back room, her face scowling serious as she snapped, "Meg! Girls! Go back to what you were doing and leave poor Erik alone."

Meg, the young blond woman, detached from Erik's arm and left with a pout. Once they were the only ones left, Erik let out a quiet breath. He gestured to Christine, who was standing with her hands on her hips a few feet away, having been pushed aside by the women in their haste to get to Erik. "This is Miss Christine Daae."

Madame Giry focused her sharp, intelligent stare on Christine, appraising her instantly. "Elizabeth's child. Yes, I've heard about you. You're all my patrons want to talk about these days."

Erik glared at her. "Who?"

Madame Giry smiled secretively. "Now, now, Erik. No need to get protective. Most of it is idle banter from old men who just want something new to play with."

"I'd rather not be the plaything of old men." Christine stated, sending an amused glance in Erik's direction. He frowned. Madame Giry laughed, motioning them toward her office in the back.

"You picked up your mother's ability to torture Erik, I see. He doesn't allow many people that privilege." Madame said as they were ushered into the small office and shut the door behind them. "So, what can I do for you two?"

"Christine wants to learn more about her parents and the world they ruled. There is no better place to overhear gossip and become immersed in the culture of our society than Madame Giry's."

"You flatter me, but is that truly what you want?" Giry turned her attention to Christine directly. "You haven't said more than a handful of words since you arrived. I won't agree to this absurd plan unless you're the one who wants it."

Christine pondered her words for a moment. If she stayed here, no doubt she would learn more than she ever wanted to know about the lives of her parents outside of her loving home. She would be forced to face the truth, no matter how much it hurt her or left her disillusioned with the people she loved.

Madame Giry continued, seeing Christine's confusion. "It will be dangerous if you're not careful, manipulative, and smart. The girls here have been working in this field since they were young, so they know exactly what they can get away with and what is taboo. For the most part, this will be a culture shock for you."

"You forget to tell her," Erik spoke up from the other side of the room. "The powerful men in the mafia have a glaring weakness that I plan to have you exploit. It will be easy for you to take full advantage of their blindness."

"What weakness is that?" Christine asked, surprised.

"It's simple, really. The men of the underworld underestimate the intelligence and strength of their women. They let their guard down and spill secrets in front of prostitutes and barmaids, thinking they're as safe as babies in a womb. But these women are not their mothers." Erik stated in a hard tone, eyes glinting in excitement. "Elizabeth wielded this knowledge more efficiently than any weapon."

Madame Giry nodded. "Your mother was a dangerous woman to have as an enemy. You can learn the same skills here."

"Just what kind of place is this?" Christine breathed in wonder.

Madame Giry smiled, knowing that Christine was too curious and bright to do anything but accept their proposal. "A simple nightclub, love. My staff is all female and many of them prostitute themselves to the patrons for information and favors. Do not worry, that is their personal choice, not an act forced upon them."

"You won't be doing that." Erik added hastily. Giry turned sly eyes on him with a knowing smile. He caught her expression and scowled. "No. She won't be selling herself."

"Erik has a problem with prostitution." Madame Giry explained to Christine with an apologetic tone. "Besides, it's not as though he hasn't made use of our informants on occasion."

"Erik has a problem with being spoken about like he's not in the room." He corrected, angrily. "And no, Giry. If I hear you've let her-"

"Calm down," Christine interjected, cutting the rest of his spiel short. "I'm not going that far. I'm nowhere near ready for something like that."

"Which reminds me," he commented. "I'm going to be teaching you about weapons and self-defense during the day when the club is closed. Your father obviously thought you above such violence, but I won't be satisfied until you can take care of yourself."

"Why? I have you to take care of that stuff, right?"

He stared at her with an expression caught between delight and disbelief. "If something happens to me, I won't leave you defenseless like your father did. Being too dependent on anyone leads to disaster, you've already seen that for yourself."

Christine stiffened at his words. It hurt when someone spoke negatively about her father, especially when that someone was Erik. She was already starting to trust his instincts and advice. "Fine. I can handle that."

He nodded, turning to Giry. "I have work to do. Take care of her for now."

Madame Giry bowed her head. "Christine, please see Erik out."

"Why? He knows where the door is."

Giry caught her by the arm and gave her a little push. "Do as I say. You must learn to obey me if you plan to live long in this field."

Sighing heavily, Christine took Erik's offered arm and they left the office, walking toward the front door of the bar. She peered at him out of the corner of her eyes. "So. I see you're popular with the ladies here. Must get plenty of action."

"Is it always about sex with you?" he rolled his eyes, noticing that several women were sending him suggestive looks. "Maybe it's not just you."

"How many of them have you slept with?" Christine asked, grinning at him. His visible eyebrow rose up on his forehead as he quickly looked at the ground. Her eyes widened. "Wait, are you-?"

They reached the entrance and Erik slipped her hand out of his arm. "I'm going to be late for a meeting."

"Don't change the subject. Have you had sex?"

"No." He stated simply, trying to make for the door. She grabbed his coat sleeve and held on, making him halt halfway out the building.

"Forget that for a second. Have you even let anyone see your face without the mask on?"

"Look," he sighed in a harassed voice. "I really do have to go. I have to meet with an informant regarding a suspect in your father's murder. If I'm late, the man might be compromised. Are my sexual escapades, or lack thereof, worth a man's life?"

Christine quickly dropped her hand from his sleeve. "Sorry. Will you be back soon?"

Surprised, he noticed the uneasiness in the way she wrung her hands, the slight slump of her shoulders. Reaching out, he brushed her curly hair out of her eyes and smiled down at her faintly. "Don't worry about me. Just go listen to the Madame, you have plenty to learn before the club opens tonight."

Christine nodded and watched him cross the parking lot toward his old fashioned car. Exhaling a breath she didn't remember holding, she gazed after the car as it receded into the distant sprawl of skyscrapers and cement walkways. A pair of slender, pink arms slipped around her shoulders and a weight leaned against her from behind. "Missing him already, little bird?"

Startled, Christine whirled around just as the other girl dropped her arms and stepped back, giggling. It was the blonde woman in the simple, blue dress that Madame Giry called Meg. "What? No. Of course not. Why? Do I look sad?"

"It's always sad when Erik leaves. Too bad we couldn't get him to sing something this time. That man has the voice of an angel." Meg sighed longingly before smiling brightly again. "Well, let's get you changed into something fresher. That looks like something you wore two days in a row."

"Now remember," Meg ordered in warning as she cast a backward glance at Christine, who was following behind her warily. "Confidence is most important. If you can fake that, then try for the shy, innocent girl act. Well, you probably won't have to pretend with that one, but just don't let the customer get the upper hand. You're in control here. If things get too rough, I'll try to stay nearby."

"Okay," Christine managed though her throat was dry from nervousness. Half of her uneasiness came from having to wear a form-fitting, dark red dress cut lower on her chest than anything else she'd worn in her life. One of the women wore the same bra size and let her borrow a clean push-up bra, forcing an ample amount of cleavage to fill the void left by the dress. A layer of black, mesh material peeked out from beneath the knee length red skirt. As a rule, none of the women working at Madame Giry's wore nylons over their underwear.

The sun was setting outside the windows in the main club area as they descended the stairs the led upstairs to the women's living quarters. Most of the workers at Madame Giry's shared rooms on the second floor and the third floor served as Madame Giry's condo.

The ground level was already hopping with activity as more men in dark suits entered through the front door. Women in short, attractive dresses immediately flocked to the customers, asking to take their coats and showing them to the bar area. The men receiving such attention walked with a strut that was so absurd Christine almost giggled.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Madame Giry swooped in to take her by the elbow gently, leaving Meg free to attend to the ever increasing number of men entering the club. Loud, hypnotic music thumped in the background, smoke hung heavy in the air near the ceiling imitating clouds, and the deep thrill of energy surrounded her from all sides.

Christine stood straighter, her long, curly brown hair sweeping back behind her as she walked with a confidence she had never known before. This place swam in her blood, she knew it like her own heartbeat. She could do this.

Madame Giry led her toward a young man in a dark blue suit standing with his back toward them at the bar. He had shoulder length, straight blond hair pulled back into a fashionable, low ponytail at the base of his neck and she could see a few earrings in his ears from behind. Before they could reach him, Giry leaned close to murmur into Christine's ear, "I've already watched this one, he's a softie. You won't have any problems being the aggressor."

Christine felt a gentle push as Giry propelled her toward the man. Unprepared for the sudden moment, she stumbled over her heels and had to grab the man's back to keep from falling. Surprised, he glanced over his shoulder and she was met with the most beautiful pair of bright blue eyes she'd ever seen on a man. Something tugged at her mind, a warm memory of childhood. He seemed just as shocked by her presence as she did by his. "Christine?"

"Raoul!" she breathed, overwhelmed by the surge of happiness that flooded her upon hearing his voice. She wasn't alone in this world after all. "I haven't seen you in years."

For the most part, his face was a mirror of her own happy expression, but he quickly glanced around the room before pressing a finger to his own lips to warn her. He leaned in and whispered, "Little Miss Daae, would you like to go up to your room to talk?"

While he spoke, his finely manicured hand trailed from her wrist to her forearm, drawing sweet circles on her sensitive skin. She reacted to his touch, but her mind drifted to the voice she yearned to hear… that seductive, smooth growl belonging to Erik only. Shaking her mind awake, she blushed fiery red and nodded excitedly. "Yes, we must talk. But only talk, nothing else."

"You wound me," he grinned at her, a boyish expression that spread to her infectiously. He reached out to wrap an arm around her waist and lead her steadily toward the stairs. "What are you doing here, Christine? Don't tell me you've hit on hard times?"

Christine shook her head, speaking quietly in reply, "No, I'm fine. My father died a few weeks ago. So much has changed since I last saw you, Raoul. You're all grown up now, last I knew you were a gangly little boy running around showing off for all the little girls in school."

"What did you expect? We were only eleven years old! Of course I was just an awkward, little boy! But you," he smiled as the turned at the top of the stairs and made for the room she shared with Meg. "You were always so beautiful. Like a fragile porcelain doll. The boys were always afraid to play with you, in case you got hurt."

Her cheek burned at the compliment as she opened the door and let him in. She hadn't smiled this hard in a long time and her face ached with the exercise already. "Why are you here, Raoul? Are you here for the company?"

Now was his turn to flush crimson. He stumbled over his words, such a cute expression on his face as he tried to justify his coming to a nightclub full of prostitutes and criminals. "My father got a promotion, which is why we moved away so suddenly. He's now the chief of police here. I'm undercover."

A stab of ice cold fear cut through her stomach as he said this. "What are you investigating?"

"I'm not sure I should say…" he worried a loud, but when she gave him an exasperated, quirked eyebrow look he caved with an embarrassed smile. "I keep forgetting, you're an old friend. I have nothing to fear from my sweet Christine."

A small voice in her head triumphed at this tiny success, but her heart sank at his praise. He explained, "I have reason to believe that a notorious criminal frequents the downtown area. We don't know much about him, just that he is called the Phantom, among other things. The witnesses don't live long enough to tell us more than that."

Christine's knees wobbled unsteadily, but she took a deep breath and composed herself before Raoul could see how badly his words had impacted her. She crossed the room to sit on her bed. He plopped down next to her. "But what about you? I'm worried now that you're here. I mean, what if someone finds out we're connected? It could put you in serious danger."

She almost laughed at that statement. To risk a cliché, danger was becoming her middle name. "Don't worry, I'm safe here. The other girls look out for me. I'm like a little sister to them."

He frowned in thought. "That's not exactly comforting…"

Raoul didn't get to finish his sentence, as the bedroom door slammed open to reveal a very pissed off Erik. He still had his overcoat on, having bypassed the women tending the entrance in search of Christine. And here she was, sitting on her bed with a cute, young man, both of them looking up at Erik as though he had caught them in the act.

Even when he had killed Buquet, Christine knew Erik hadn't been this scary. He looked ready to explode.

She leapt up from her seat just as he pulled his gun out and aimed it directly at Raoul's chest. He fired once, missing her by a hair as she shoved Raoul off the bed. Shocked, Erik stood frozen in the doorway before rushing forward to grab her by the arms and examine her for injuries. "Are you alright? Did I hit you?"

She latched onto Erik's arms and yelled to Raoul, "Get out of here!"

Erik's eyes widened as Raoul hesitated, wanting to help her. He reached for his underarm holster, but Christine snapped, "Don't you do it! Leave! I'm fine here!"

Confused, Raoul nodded and hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Erik didn't even struggle in Christine's grip, which he could have easily broken. He glared down at her, eyes gleaming in anger and pain. "I'm sure your boyfriend is out of the club by now. Would you mind letting go of me?"

She let go of his arms, moving her grip to encircle his waist tightly. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she murmured, "I didn't do anything, Erik. I promise. I wouldn't do anything like that to hurt you."

The tension stiffening his shoulders and chest eased a fraction, but he still held his back painfully straight. "Why were you up here then?"

Christine's breath caught in her throat and she craned her neck to look into his dark eyes. Who would she betray? Erik or Raoul? "He's an old friend. I was surprised to see him here. He just wanted to talk."

"I'm sure he did," Erik bit off sarcastically. The sadness in her eyes softened his expression and he reached up to ghost a touch along her jaw. "You have to be more careful, Christine. Men aren't always your knights in shining armor. Sometimes they're just human with secrets and needs as real as your own."

"Are you sure you aren't talking about yourself?" A lopsided smile spread across her full, red lips. It melted his heart and for the life of him, he couldn't resist leaning down to capture her lips with his own.

She felt the coolness of his lips, so different from the warmth that flooded her through to her toes. He broke the kiss, lips still hovering centimeters from her own to whisper, "Never for money, Christine. Don't place a value on such wonders. Promise me."

"I promise." She breathed as she arched upward for another kiss.