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: There's some stuff in this chapter that isn't suitable for the younger ones, violence and sex-wise. Those are two separate topics, by the way. You can skip ahead if it makes you uncomfortable. You have been warned.

Also, some songs that inspired me while writing this chapter:

"House of Wolves" - My Chemical Romance

"Fever" - Ella Fitzgerald

Chapter Twelve: Blues in the Night

"ERIK!" The sound of a woman's voice broke through his dark nightmare and Erik flinched away, shielding his head with his arms as if expecting a physical blow. "Erik, please, wake up!"

Erik's eyes snapped open instantly to find Christine hovering over him. It took a moment for his frantic mind could register his surroundings. He must have looked calmer, because Christine exhaled in relief and sat back, placing a gentle hand on his chest. "You were thrashing around and screaming. It looked like you were in pain."

The sensation of her cool hands on the sweat damp skin of his chest surprised him and he glanced down to find he had kicked himself free of his overcoat, blazer, vest and tie. He had managed to undo the first five buttons on his dress shirt during his fitful sleeping, exposing a decent amount of chest. His throat felt scratchy and weak as he croaked, "How long was I doing it?"

She shrugged. "A while now. Off and on, really. It helped when I held you and sang that song you taught me when I was little."

"A few hours then," he sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes only to find his mask was still gone. He patted around the bed searching for it until she grabbed his hand.

"It's okay. Please don't put it back on yet." She squirmed closer to him under the covers. Hesitantly, he allowed her to nestle into his arms and settle her head against the crook of his neck. "It's comfortable like this."

His eyelids drooped low as she continued in her silky, gentle tone, "Were you having a nightmare?"

"Mm," he nodded slightly, his chin nudging against the top of her head with the tiny movement.

"What was it about?"

"Don't remember much of it. Just a knife in the darkness and my mother yelling all the things she used to say when she was mad," Erik murmured soothed by her nearness.

Christine kissed the small bit of skin exposed by the unbuttoned shirt and smiled when the tension immediately dissolved from his shoulders. Her voice was muffled by his shirt when she asked, "Will you tell me about her? She taught my mom things, right?"

"Things," he scoffed, a hoarse laugh escaping his throat. "Madeleine taught Elizabeth the proper way to use a man. Give and take. Mostly just clever ways of taking."

"She taught her how to be a prostitute?"

"Something like that," he managed, the dreamy tone of his voice rapidly shifting into something more impatient, annoyed. Christine felt the tension building in the muscles of his back again and quickly changed the topic.

"I can give you a massage if you want," she offered happily, sitting up on her knees. "It'll help you get back to sleep."

Erik glanced at the digital clock blinking on the nightstand and grimaced. It was only 3 A.M., technically he didn't have to be awake for any reason at the moment. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, angling his head to the side on a pillow. "Go ahead."

She grinned and cracked her knuckles then winced as her right hand stung tender from the beating she had given the assassin earlier. Pushing the pain aside, she began kneading the muscles connecting his shoulders, neck, and upper back. The muscles under his shirt were rock hard from years of stress and she had to use her elbow to help them relax.

After a few minutes of firm pressure, she noticed he wasn't saying anything and paused. "Am I hurting you? I can stop if you want. My dad always liked when I massaged his back for him."

When he didn't respond, she crept over him to glance at his face. His eyes were closed and there was a look of relaxation on his face. Panicking, she almost believed she'd killed him, but when he murmured her name lightly with a small smile twisting his already mangled lips, she knew it was only sleep. Christine leaned closer to brush her lips over his before crawling back to her side of the bed.

Christine was gone when Erik woke up later that morning. He rolled over groggily, expecting to find someone warm and comforting, only to sit up abruptly when he felt nothing but empty blankets. Confused and thoughts scattered from sleep, he quickly snatched his mask and gloves off the floor, putting both on as he hurried downstairs. The sound of Christine's laughter led him toward the kitchen.

She was seated in her pajamas at the table, spreading cream cheese on a bagel while Nadir talked and gestured animatedly with his hands. She was smiling in amusement at Nadir, and the expression irritated Erik. He stepped into the room decisively and they both turned to glance at him. Christine nodded to him as she bit into her bagel and he walked around to sit in the chair next to her. Eying Nadir jealously, he scooted his chair closer to her. "What were you two talking about?"

Gulping back a drink of milk, Christine managed, "Nadir was telling me a joke. He's got plenty of them."

Nadir shrugged, rubbing at his scalp idly. "Now that we're all present, what say I tell you who hired that assassin?"

Erik sat at attention, hands gripping the edge of the table hard. "Did he talk?"

Flashing his teeth in a wide, predator grin, Nadir stated, "Of course. He was actually pretty talkative, but then he was a petty criminal. They're really scraping the bottom of the barrel over at Carlotta's. He dropped Piangi's name."

Erik leaned forward, hands still clutching the table, eyes narrowing to slits of rage. "They're dead."

"Slow down, Turbo," Christine placed a hand on Erik's chest, easing him back in his chair as she stood to lean on his shoulders from behind. "It was me she attacked. I think I should decide her fate."

Nadir nodded in agreement, though Erik tensed in his seat. Christine continued to rest against his shoulders and back as she said, "You were there at the party last night. You should have both seen how she disrespected me. She pretty much told me she was the reason I got hurt, and had the audacity to grab my wound."

"She did WHAT?" Erik demanded, his simmering rage erupting as he tried to whirl around and face her. Christine used her weight to hold him in his seat.

"You have no place to be pissed. You should have come with me." She snapped, but changed the subject abruptly. "Anyway, what does one does a mafia boss do to someone who openly defies them?"

Erik and Nadir spoke in unison without pause. "Kill one of her men."

Christine sat back down in her seat, confusion on her face. "But how? Do I just go to her casino and shoot someone at random?"

Appalled at the statement, Erik stared at her. "No! You have to do it right. It's not about the death. It's the fear that's most important. Death is just a way to get results. Fear and respect go hand in hand with these people."

Arching an eyebrow at Erik's words, Nadir said, "Well, you'd know. But normally, you have to hire an assassin or have some of your lackeys handle the hit, Christine."

"Do we have anyone who could do it?" she asked, honestly stumped on the subject.

Both Nadir and Erik gaped at her clueless words. Finally, Nadir laughed, "Yeah. We could hire Erik. He's a fucking legend. Can kill a man five times before he hits the ground."

Christine glanced at Erik skeptically, who stared back without expression. "But he's retired. I don't want him to slip a disc doing a hit for me. He might slap us with a workmen's comp suit."

"I'm insulted. And I'm not that old."

"Well…" she held her chin while she thought about the proposal. "What are your rates?"

Nadir barely managed to choke back his laugh when Erik glared at him. "My… rates, as you so crudely put it, are reasonable. You pay per hit. Body count rises with price."

Christine pondered this for a moment before offering her hand to Erik. "Fine. One person. Make them an example that Carlotta won't forget."

"Done." He shook her hand, sealing the deal.

It was almost night time when Erik finally strode toward the large, brick warehouse nestled deep in the downtown section of town. He wore his trusty, fully loaded Glock 19 strapped to the small of his back, under his overcoat and blazer. A sturdy, sharp hunting knife was safely stashing in its sheath on his thigh, ready to go at a moment's notice.

And just in case, he kept a length of thin, strong rope fashioned into his trademark Punjab lasso secured to the inside of his overcoat. Countless men had fallen to this instrument of death before Erik's retirement.

He stopped and stared up at the building, mentally running through what he knew about it. It was an L-shaped structure with two floors. On ground level was the storage section of the building and not the area he was interested in. The whole second floor was a studio room turned recreational area for the members of Carlotta's gang. The windows on the second floor were boarded up like the building was condemned, but Erik knew that was just to deter curiosity.

Slipping around the perimeter, he found the shadowy side of the building and placed a hand on the exterior wall. The bricks were slightly worn with age, the mortar between them crumbling away to provide convenient handholds. As he scaled up the side of the wall toward a window ledge, he listened and counted the voices. Somewhere between twenty to thirty men were enjoy themselves on the second floor.

Anticipation mingled with a heady rush of revenge, fueling his quiet, spider like ascent toward the window. Anyone who saw him now would run the other way screaming. He pulled himself onto the small brick ledge outside the boarded up window and peered in through a knothole in the wood.

So many people, all of them tied to Carlotta. If he killed one, that would serve his business purpose. If he killed all of them, Carlotta would tremble in fear and helplessness. No one would be allowed to hurt Christine and go free.

Christine. He leaned his head back against the bricks and took a silent breath. She only wanted one death. One.

He wanted all of them dead. For her.

His mental casing of the area was through. Without hesitation, he slammed his elbow into the boards, splintering the wood barrier. He slipped inside while everyone was still gawking in confusion.

Erik's gun was in hand before his feet touched the floor. Three bullets left the barrel and three men fell to the ground, clutching their chests, hearts pierced by the metal projectiles. He had excellent marksmanship.

Someone rushed for the door leading to the first floor, but Erik stepped in his way. He pulled his knife out from the sheath at his thigh and slit the man's throat as he tried to escape. Erik had cut off their escape. Checkmate.

A few of the men tried to attack, but he shot bullets calmly into their heads. When he ran out of ammo, he holstered his gun and turned on the remaining men. Fifteen died by shooting, one by knife. Fourteen left out of the original thirty. He still had a chance to get his hands dirty.

One man made a dash toward the window Erik had entered through. It was the only other way out of the room besides the door. Angrily, Erik's hand whipped out and his lasso closed around the man's neck. He jerked back on the rope and there was a horrid snap and gurgle. The man slid to the floor.

Lucky thirteen. Thirteen more and his Christine would be safe from the clutches of that heartless bitch forever. Honestly, he would have killed countless more for that satisfaction.

But thirteen was a good a number as any.

His remaining weapon was the sharpened hunting knife he clutched in his gloved hand. He stepped toward the trembling men. One of them pulled a gun on him, but his grip was so weak that when he shot, the bullet barely grazed Erik's shoulder. The pain only served to heighten his anger and he charged forward, slicing and stabbing at his targets.

Within a few minutes, there were no survivors. Erik stood amidst the carnage and absently wiped his blade off on his black pants before slipping it back into the sheath. He scanned the room to make sure no one was left and his eyes caught on the lasso around the dead man's neck.

Grinning, he grabbed the long end of the rope and dragged the corpse over to the middle of the room. An old, metal and wood fan circled lazily attached to the ceiling. He stood on a nearby chair to tie the long part of the lasso to the fan's rotor. Stepping back to survey his handiwork, he nodded. The corpse now dangled from the lasso, making slow circles in the center of the room.

Puddles of blood coated the floor and he stepped in them without worrying about the state of his shoes. He slipped back out the window and climbed down the brick wall again under the cover of night. It wasn't until he was a good distance away from the building that he heard the frantic yelling. This message had been discovered.

Nadir opened the front door to come face to face with a blood splattered mask, Erik peering at him blankly from behind it. An aura of volatility pulsed around Erik. He looked like a wounded animal, ready to snap at a moment's notice. Nadir tried to quell the instinctive fear he felt staring straight into his dark eyes. "Where is she?"

At that moment, Christine hurried into the living room, chatting nonchalantly. "Nadir, I think I heard a knock at the door and-"

Erik's eyes focused on her and she halted in mid-step. Blood was smeared across the visible half of his face, trailing onto the mask and staining his clothes. Shocked, she rushed forward to grab him by the coat sleeve and drag him to the stairs. "Look at you! Are you hurt?! Come on, take your shoes off and let's get you cleaned up."

Christine pulled Erik into her room and toward the connecting bathroom. She shut the door once they were in the bathroom and she turned on him with single-minded purpose.

She tugged his gloves off quickly as they were the worst of his attire and tossed them into an empty laundry hamper. As she worked at removing his coat with swift efficiency, she said, "I can't believe so much blood was in a single person. I hope you didn't make him suffer too-"

She had just peeled off his overcoat, blazer, and vest and tossed them into the hamper when his mouth descended upon hers, silencing her instantly. His tongue slipped into her mouth, his kiss demanding and unrestrained. He stepped closer to her, pushing her against the door with his movement. When he cupped her cheek, angling his head slightly to continue the kiss, her knees trembled.

There was no denying him. His scent and lips flooded her senses and before she knew it, she was shivering so badly she felt her legs would give out. He broke the kiss long enough to lower her to the rug, not caring that they were still in the bathroom. A fractured thought invaded her mind as he tugged at the hem of her loose shirt, stripping her of the garment. How could this be Erik?

In his desperation, her bra was lost. His hands were everywhere, caressing her smooth skin greedily. When she reached up to remove his mask, he evaded her before kissing her again with the same overwhelming intensity that left her dazed. His kisses trailed down her throat and she gasped when he bit her ear. "Erik-"

She could hear his ragged, uneven breathing centimeters from her ear, but her attention was focused on his left hand. The hand he had just slid down the front of her pants and passed her underwear. When he found her wet, she arched toward him involuntarily. Her body was completely attuned to the strokes of his fingers and she grabbed him by the shirt, jerking him down to meet her lips.

While he was distracted, she unclasped his pants and ran her hand under the elastic band of his boxers. She half-expected him to pull away, ruining the mood, but was pleased when a strangled sort of groan escaped his lips and he quickened his strokes eagerly. When her hand closed around him, smooth and hard, he almost lost what little control he still had. His mouth found her breasts and he teased her nipples with his tongue, making her moan once more, hand working in time to his strokes.

"Faster," she panted and he obliged, the sweet pressure within her was building. When the climax came, she arched toward him, shuddering with release. He followed her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and groaning as his whole body tensed. They stayed in that position for a minute, breathing hard and bodies warm and relaxed.

She removed her hand, awkwardly looking for something to clean herself. Her search was hampered by Erik clinging to her tightly, his ear pressed between her breasts as he listened with his eyes closed. "Erik?"

He looked up at her, eyes drooping tiredly. One corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. "Nothing. Sorry, bathroom floor and all."

She grabbed a nearby towel to wipe her hand as she sat up, half naked. "Don't worry. I was just surprised… you're not normally this bold. I enjoyed it."

"Hm," was his reply as he picked her up off the floor and carried her to the bed. He climbed in with her and curled up.

"You've still got blood on your mask." She commented, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Take it off."

When she stretched out a hand to remove the half mask, he only tensed for a second. She smiled at him encouragingly, tossing the mask onto the nightstand. "Much better."

She placed a kiss on the sunken portion of his nose before rolling back over to sleep. Just before she slipped into dreams, she could have sworn she heard him whisper how much he loved her.

Christine woke up a few hours later when the bed shifted with a change of weight. She glanced up blurrily to see Erik on the edge of the bed about to stand. "What's going on?"

He glanced over at where she was propped up on her elbows, the sheet covering her half naked body. "It's late. I need some sleep. It's been a long day."

Reaching out her arms toward him, she whined drowsily, "Aw, sleep with me. Don't you like it here?"

"I have a home, Christine," he replied, standing up and crossing around the bed to the nightstand. When he grabbed his mask, she put her hand on top of his, making him freeze.

"You can't call that one room hole in the ground a home," she insisted, unbuttoning her jeans as she stood up. He stepped back, unsure why she was shedding what little clothes she had left. She wore only her panties as she brushed passed him to her closet. He gawked at her, eyes consuming every inch of exposed flesh, lingering on the healing scar on her side.

Pulling a simple, white nightgown out of her closet, she held it up to slip it over her head, but paused when she glimpsed Erik out of the corner of her eyes. Grinning, she let it go and it fell to the ground in a pile.

"It's nice to sleep naked sometimes, I find." She purred as she walked toward him slowly. The mask he held loosely in his hand dropped back to the nightstand as she approached. "You should stay. I might get cold later."

She sidestepped him to crawl back under the blankets. A few seconds of squirming later, she tossed her underwear near his feet and sent him a sly smile. His brain stopped working instantly and he all but dove back into the bed, spurred on by her playful laughter. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly on the mouth, cutting off her giggles. Her lips still twitched in an uncontrollable smile.

She broke away to murmur, "Erik, I want you to live here with me. No more talk of darkness, okay? You don't need to go back to that room under the Opera House."

He grew silent for so long that she had to glance up to make sure he had heard her. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable. Slowly, awkwardness seeped into her and she blushed, hiding her face in his shirt. "If you don't want to, that's up to you. But I really love falling asleep and waking up with you. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

His fingers slipped under her chin, angling her face up so he could see her. He wore an expression that was both serious and gentle. "I have a condition."

"What?"

Erik glanced up toward the window the assassin had climbed in through the night before and she followed his gaze. "I want you to sell this house and move into a new one. It must have full security features and be in a safe, undisclosed location. I love you too much to risk your life again."

"Erik, my enemies will be able to find me regardless…"

Placing a finger over her lips, he whispered. "If only I could lock you in a tower to be mine alone."

"I'm not a princess. Anyway, Nadir looks after me," she felt him stiffen when she mentioned Nadir's name and she caressed both sides of his face with her hands. "But if it'll make you happy, we'll look at house tomorrow. Okay?"

"We?" he repeated, slowly.

"You know what kind of security will stop a hit-man, right? So quit complaining," Christine ran her hand up under his shirt. He jerked back in surprise, but she kept moving her hands along his chest. "Now, what would I have to do to get you to lose this shirt?"

The next afternoon, Christine harassed Nadir into taking her to Madame Giry's so she could see Meg. As soon as they stepped through the entrance, she noticed a change in the atmosphere of the room. All the noise in the club stopped, leaving only the background music from the speakers as Christine looked around with forced nonchalance.

No one came to greet her. She walked further into the club confidently, scanning the area for any signs of Meg or Madame Giry. In her singleminded search, she almost bumped into a man in a business suit. He quickly shuffled back out of her way, all but climbing onto his seat to avoid the collision. Christine froze in place, narrowly missing the man. "Sorry."

The fear in his eyes was easily readable, even for her. She stepped back to give him some room. "Are you okay?"

"M-my apologies, Miss Daae. Please forgive my rudeness," he stammered, lowering his frightened eyes.

Christine arched an eyebrow. "Don't worry about it. It was my fault. Enjoy your drink."

She swept across the room, her steps quick. Whispers swirled around behind her back as she fought to keep her face blank. Nadir remained close to her, eyes scanning the room interestedly. She muttered to him, "What's going on here?"

"Couldn't tell you. But I have a hunch." He shrugged and nodded his head toward Meg, who had just entered from the back room.

The blonde woman locked eyes with Christine and strode over to them. She shoved her fists onto her hips and glared. "Is it true?"

"What?" Christine asked, still bewildered. Meg eyed her for a moment, hands propped on her hips. Finally, she motioned them to the isolated booth in the dark corner of the bar area. Christine followed with Nadir and they all sat in the shadows. As soon as she was out of view, the buzz of activity slowly commenced within the club again.

She leaned forward on the table and demanded, "Just what is going on here, Meg?"

"They say that Erik killed 30 of Carlotta's best at the old warehouse yesterday night." Meg whispered heatedly. "It had to be him. He left his trademark."

When Christine stared at her, obviously confused, Meg explained, "The Punjab lasso. A man was hung from the ceiling fan. Very macabre."

Silence settled on the three of them. Finally, Meg breathed, "I didn't want to believe it. He's supposed to be retired. I mean, he hasn't killed like this since… well, since the last time your mom asked him to do a hit for her."

Christine stiffened in her seat reflexively. "You saw how Carlotta treated me. I needed to set an example."

"But thirty men, Christine?! There was an inch of blood soaked into the carpet!" Meg hissed. "And using Erik like that…"

"I hired him as a professional hit-man to kill ONE man." Christine ground out between clenched teeth. "Strictly business. It had nothing to do with our relationship."

"Oh? I've never heard of him going ape-shit like that over normal clients' hits." Meg tapped the table repeatedly. "It might have been just business for you, but I doubt Erik can make the distinction as easily."

In Christine's mind, Meg's words triggered the memory of the previous night's frenzied exchange between her and Erik. Her cheeks flushed bright red as she remembered how unstable and passionate he'd seemed. Not at all like the calm, collected man had she known until now. Meg's eyebrows rose on her forehead at the embarrassment on Christine's face. "What's that look about? Did something happen between you two?"

Christine shook her head quickly, trying to avert their attention away from her. "Tell me all that you know about his attack on Carlotta's warehouse."

"Are you sure you want to know?" Meg asked. "It's pretty gory. From what I've heard, he hasn't gotten this carried away for years. You Daae women really know how to set him off, huh?"

Pursing her lips into an irritated frown, Christine grumbled, "Just tell me, alright? I don't need these little jabs."

Meg rolled her eyes and sat back against her bench. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Later that night, Erik returned to Christine's house from a long day of work and packing boxes of his belongings. He found Nadir seated in the living room, reading a magazine. "You can go home, Nadir. I'll watch over her tonight. Return in the morning."

Nadir eyed him curiously as he stood up from the couch and stretched. "Heard about your hit."

Erik paused, one foot on the stairs, his hand on the railing. "Word travels fast. Good."

"No one will even look at Christine for fear of your wrath." Nadir continued, idly. "She's pretty upset right now. You might want to choose your words carefully."

Erik shot him a glare over his shoulder. "When I want your advice, Persian, I'll ask for it."

Sighing, Nadir walked toward the front door, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don't see why I bother. You'll probably fuck it up anyway. Lock the door behind me, genius."

Erik frowned deeply and did as he said, but not because he'd told him to. He found Christine sitting in bed, her blankets drawn up around her as if she were cold. Concerned, he strode toward her, reaching his hands out. She flinched away from him slightly and he froze mid-step. "Are you afraid of me?"

She glared up at him defiantly. "I heard how you slaughtered those men. Did you think that was what I wanted?"

He watched as she wrapped the blanket closer around her body. "You asked me to-"

"I asked you to kill one man." Christine snapped, a look between anger and fear shining in her eyes. She was a wounded mouse caught between the wall and a hungry snake. She could attack, even if she was afraid. "How could you kill like it was nothing? All those people…"

Something inside him snapped. She was looking at him with eyes full of loathing, for herself and him. He couldn't understand it. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he pulled her to her feet to stand in front of him. "What you do mean! I'm a hit-man. You've know that from the beginning! How is this a surprise?!"

"You came to me covered in their blood, Erik," she stated, pain obvious on her face. "I can't understand a man who doesn't know the difference between love and death."

"I killed them for you. Now Carlotta will never risk harming you again." He protested, angrily. "That's the way of this world! If they attack you, you attack them back and beat them harder than they did you so they know the consequences."

"I didn't want that!" She yelled at him, then turned away. "I can't look at you right now."

The words cut straight through him. Those words that he'd heard countless times as a child. She might have tossed them out thoughtlessly, but they were too similar to the ones used by his mother.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around roughly into his arms. It was more restraint than embrace as he pinned her arms to her side. He kissed her hard, thoroughly invading her mouth. After a second of futile struggling in his grip, she went completely still.

He winced as her teeth bit into his lower lip and he pulled back from the kiss with a dribble of blood escaping the tiny cut. A drop of his blood was smeared along the corner of her mouth and she glared up at him accusingly. "You're a murderer. All you know is violence."

"Is that the limit of your love?" He demanded, voice rasping deep as his tongue darted out to clean the blood from the bite on his lip. Her only reply was the continued glare. "That's unfortunate. You could accept my hideous face, but you can't accept what you already knew about me. You know I'm a killer. Or did you think Buquet's death was for dramatic effect?"

Christine held perfectly still in his arms. They would only continue to hurt each other if they said anymore tonight. Somewhere in her heart, she was already crying for his forgiveness for the cruel words she'd said. But pride and anger refused to give in so easily.

When he lowered his face to hers again, she turned her face away from his, lips firmly shut. His heart sank at the desperation in her actions and he trailed kisses along her jaw. His sad whisper tickled her ear, "I love you. I would have killed a hundred more if it would keep you safe."

Before she could respond, his arms and lips were gone. She glanced up to see him walking out of her bedroom. Without turning around, he said, "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

She remained silent as he shut the door behind him.