Before Elizabeta knew it, she was cornered in an alleyway. The man came toward her with a lusty smile twisted upon his shit-eating face. She cursed, loudly this time and pressed herself hard against the wall behind her as if to try to slip through it. The man panted from exhaustion. His big, hairy figure cast a shadow that spilled over her and the ground and the wall. It was so dark that he could barely see her. The only hint he had that she was there was her frying pan which gleamed against the moonlight.

"Well, well, well." As he crept forward, he smirked and she trembled. "Nowhere ta run to, baby, nowhere ta hide."

"Stay away!" She reached for her weapon and held it up like it was shield. In a way, it was.

"Whazzat? A skillet? Move that." The brute took the pan easily and tossed it over his shoulder. "Now, now. Where was I? Oh, right." He took hold of her wrist and cackled as she used her other hand to punch at his arm.

"Damn you! Let me go!" Elizabeta squeezed her eyes shut so not to look at the man's disgusting, perverted face. No knife in her pocket, no frying pan on hand—dammit.

"C'mon…I know you wan' it," he slurred. So he was drunk. The fool was drunk. She couldn't believe that she was about to overtaken by an intoxicated gangster.

"Let her go." A debonair voice called out loudly but calmly through the brisk air. As the man turned, Elizabeta opened her eyes and there stood a tall figure, though not nearly as tall as her offender, with a cat on his shoulder, hissing with its snout wrinkled in aggression. The man before them glared icily, a look to match his pet's. The rest of his face was unreadable, an outline of darkness over his features.

"What?" The man's grip only tightened on her wrist and she cried out.

"Let her go, I said."

"Butt out, stringbean. This ain't your concern."

"That may be, but I can't just stand by and let you do this. That is no way to treat a lady. She wants you to let go."

The man looked from her to him and after a while complied and stood, towering over him. "Well, just what are you gonna do about it, little man?"

Roderich sighed. "Oh, I wish I knew, sir," he spat, the last word very harshly. "What would I do against a big, scary mafia man like you?" As they glowered at each other, Roderich's hand moved, gesturing for Elizabeta. Her startled state had passed by now and she raised an eyebrow at him. He didn't dare flick his eyes toward her for if he did the man would break their intense lock. Soon she got the idea. So she stepped forward cautiously and prayed the man didn't notice.

"But just the same what would you do to me? What am I, an intelligent young man, against a witless wop? Far greater."

She hesitantly reached out for him and took hold of his hand, the angry man oblivious to their connection. Through the dark she could see his other hand reach into his coat pocket and pull out an object, one that looked like a gun. Her eyes widened. The man sneered, fuming. "You crossed the line, little man. You gonna get it."

"Oh?"

Just as the man lifted his fist, Roderich pressed the gun against his chest and pulled the trigger. Elizabeta screamed and she was yanked from the wall and into the arms of this stranger. The thug's scream had drowned out the sound of the shot and he gasped in agony.

"What is wrong with you?! You shot him!"

"Not with a real gun. He's just being a baby."

Before Elizabeta could blink, the man realized he wasn't dead and he pulled a knife out, slashing at an unprepared Roderich's cheek. He hadn't anticipated a knife. The young man growled loudly, the cold air pungent against the fresh wound. Moritz hissed as the offender reached for Roderich again but he moved quickly and turned them around. He pushed Elizabeta forward and yelled for her to run. And she did, frantically, hastily grabbing her pan, not knowing what else to do. She heard two more shots but now that she was hearing them again they didn't sound like actual gunshots. They sounded like BB shots.

She turned her head back for a split second to see the Roderich was following suit with the other man on his tail. He shot once more before pocketing the BB gun and facing forward to see where he was going. There was a small scream from behind them and a loud threat that Roderich would be crippled when he would be through with him. If he could catch him.

Roderich struggled to run faster than Elizabeta to guide her where to go and with luck, was able to. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her as they turned a corner, taking a brief look behind him. The man was far behind. A smirk made its way to his lips as he turned one more corner and into an alley. Once there, Roderich pulled the girl behind a dumpster. His breathing shallow and fast but hushed, his palms and forehead sweating, he held Elizabeta tighter than intended, dead set on keeping her safe.

"He's…not gone. Remain quiet…please…" Her breathing wasn't heavier and less shallow. "J-Just trust me…" She drew long gasps of air as she nodded.

Loud, thumping footsteps came, then went, then came again, stopping on a final stomp at the entrance of the alleyway. Roderich covered his mouth. Now he was scared. It wasn't the fact that cheeks had a gash so wide it fit at last four fingers. It wasn't that his possible death had stared him in the face and smirked smugly at him, saying, "You gonna get it now." It was this, the suspense of hiding something someone else wanted. At this point he had to rely on his luck and hope that the idiot didn't find them.

Elizabeta, clinging to the arm that was wrapped tightly around her abdomen, could feel tears coming to her eyes, as if believing they'd been found. But there was a grunt and footsteps began again, growing quieter and quieter as he left.

Relief had swelled in both of them, as well as shock and disappointment, and had burst and flooded their bodies, winning over the latter. Roderich released his breath and finally panted to his heart's content until he regained his breath. Thank God. Once he did this, he realized Elizabeta's squirming to get out of his grip. He let go, apologizing frantically. He hadn't noticed how much he'd tightened his grasp on her.

"I'm sorry…I-I…Sorry." He cleared his throat, pulling away from her. "Sorry."

"It's fine." She smiled a bit, rubbing her side as she straightened up and placing her frying pan in her bag. "Thank you. For helping me. I'm sorry for putting you in such a mess." His face was still covered in darkness and she still couldn't see what he looked like.

"It was no trouble. Glad to help. Do you need help getting home or are you satisfied with being followed again by another brute?"

She laughed. Genuinely. It sounded beautiful to Roderich. Did she realize just how beautiful her voice was? "I just arrived in this city—what, ten minutes ago? That was a fine welcome."

"Well, you really shouldn't come here so late at night. The mafia rages in this part." You would think a woman like her would know this. He shuffled a bit to the side and cleared his throat again. "Do you want me to walk you home? I'm only asking to be polite. Of course I have to. To spare you of another horrible thug-involved incident." Then he paused. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that you just arrived here. Well, it's well past one in the morning and I'm fairly certain that they all lock up at night, ever since a rather…ahem, mafia-related episode occurred a few months back. The nearest hotel, I really doubt you can afford. No offense intended."

"No offense taken."

"The next hotel isn't for another seventeen or so blocks. The motels around these parts are so crap-filled and infested with vermin that you'd leave once you caught a whiff of it just before you got to the door. Also, the walls aren't very stable; in fact, they've been knocked down a few times, courtesy of big men who bring home their…um, comfort women." His cheeks flushed. Thank God, she couldn't see his face.

"So what do you suggest I do?" The way he knew the city and the conditions and prices of the hotels and motels intrigued her. He didn't sound like he was from New York.

"W-Well…I guess that you could stay at my home for a night?" At that point, he expected a slap to the face for suggesting something so intimate.

But Elizabeta smiled at him, despite his face being completely covered with the shadow caused by a combination of the street lights and the moon. "That would be nice. Thank you." After she said that she could tell that he was mirroring her smile.

"We should go then. To spare ourselves of another incident that could rob me of all the oxygen in my lungs."

She laughed and he blinked, not realizing that it sounded like a joke. "Let's go then."

As they made their way out of the alleyway, the stinging pain in Roderich's cheek intensified and he gave a slight grunt, holding the side of his face that was bleeding. He shook his head when Elizabeta looked at him. But she saw that grimace, those wrinkles between his brows.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just a scratch from that goon's knife." The light was about to unravel his face, so he covered most of the wound.

"Here. Let me see."

"N-No, it's fi—Ah…" She'd reached over to him and caressed his cheek, moving his hand out of the way. His skin was warm and moist. From blood, she was guessing.

"You certainly aren't as fine as you claim. I can tell you're bleeding. I can treat it but I need to know just how bad it is." It was too dark to see. "Come on. Move this way." She ushered him further out of the alleyway.

The shadows were almost past him and Elizabeta was very eager to see her hero's face. Seconds passed and now the nearly blinding luminosity was upon him, clashing with his pale skin. Elizabeta squinted and blinked as her sight refocused. Once it did her eyes widened and she gasped, pulling her hand away.

"Wh-What? What's wrong?" Roderich looked around, oblivious that she was looking at him. "Is he back?"

Shock was evident but she regained her composure quickly without realizing that her brows had furrowed. He seemed a bit surprised at her and he stared at what seemed to be her anger.

"No, it's fine. Here." She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and attempted to wipe the blood away. It had gradually trickled all the way down to his jawline and it only seemed to smear against his skin. But she got most of it off. Then the handkerchief was pressed against the gash. "Hold it there. I don't have a proper bandage for something that big. Just wait till you get home." Her voice bore a caring tone. Half of it was fake: a quick little plan she'd conceived to get to his better side (thinking that she wasn't already there); but half of it was real, the feelings she felt for the one who'd saved her.

"Oh. Thank you." Roderich then yelped as Moritz, who'd hidden in his coat pocket or safety, pounced out and crawled up his arm to his shoulder. Elizabeta paid no mind to the feline who looked at her curiously. But who could ignore a cute animal…crawling on to your arm and— "O-Oh, um…I guess he likes you. Sorry about him."

"It's fine." She giggled as he meowed, settling himself in her arms, against her bosom for warmth.

"Ah, well. We should get going, else he'll come back to look for a second time. Hopefully he gave up." The thug, he meant.

They started walking, Moritz now asleep in Elizabeta's arms, Roderich pressing the cloth on his wound to shield from the cold. All the while, Elizabeta thought of how incompetent she'd been, how stupid. The moment her life is in danger, she forgets her mission. The moment someone comes to her rescue, she forgets everything she's supposed to remember when such a thing happens. What ever happened to 'trust no one but your comrades'? But here she was, walking with her enemy, the man she was supposed to kill, to stay at his home for a night. He probably knew by now she was sent here as an assassin and would smother her in her sleep.

Even so, he didn't seem to be the person she thought he'd be. He expected him to be cruel, manipulative, sly, and, above all, the type to seduce a woman when he had the chance. She expected a rebel, a criminal—someone who was much like Gilbert but worse—a killer. This man before her, Roderich Edelstein, was a tad shy but well-spoken, smart but also…naïve. She didn't know if she would be able to trick him.

Elizabeta cleared her throat. "By the way, you said that people shouldn't be out at night."

"Correct."

"Why are you out here?"

"Most won't touch me. The Capo di Tutti Capi, he's my underling." He felt no need to exaggerate the name, expecting that she knew who exactly he meant.

"Underling?" He could tell she didn't believe him. Which was strange. Was she expecting that he was a middle-aged man like every other mafia boss? Of course, she could. The Capo di Tutti Capi, who shared the title of the don of their part of New York City with his older brother, wasn't often recognized as the boss nor did he take his job as serious as he should. Most people expected him to be a man who appeared to be middle-aged and couldn't grow up.

A dark brow rose questioningly. "What is that supposed to mean? I'm the one who saved you, remember?"

"Well, yeah, you're…not—I mean, how can Giovanni Vargas be your underling?"

"Not Giovanni. His grandson."

Elizabeta looked at the stranger with whom she was making idle conversation with and furrowed her brows to express her confusion. "Why is his grandson the Capo?"

"Oh. Right. I forgot that news of the mafia doesn't travel by paper, or by voice. Because someone always hears. Unfortunately Giovanni has…passed on, and in his will, he bequeathed the title of Capo to his second grandson, the don of these parts to the first."

"Right. Because his son is dead."

"Yes." Elizabeta shivered as a gust blew past her. She rubbed her arms absentmindedly. "Are you cold?" Roderich sounded concerned. "Do you want my coat?"

"N-No, I'm fine." She didn't feel very comfortable.

"You're obviously not. I can hear your teeth chattering." It's true, they were. She hadn't noticed. "Here." He took off the article of clothing and held it out to her.

"I-I…I'm fine. I don't want to burden you."

"You're not. I have two or three layers. It's fine."

"I just—"

"Take the coat." He tried to manage a calm voice and succeeded, fortunately. Nothing bugged him more than when people lied to keep others from worrying. If you need help, ask for it. But Elizabeta was adamant. He sighed and draped it over her shoulders, clicking the top buttons together. "Don't try to keep secrets here. That's the worst thing to do. You're not warm enough. Take the coat. I have layers."

Now her cheeks were red with timidity. "Th-Thank you." And he smiled and it was the most honest-to-God smile she'd ever seen. "Sorry." She was apologizing by instinct.

"Trust me, I'll manage. I guess it's safe to say my Austrian blood makes me accustomed to cold weather."

"So you're Austrian. I was wondering about that accent of yours. Not the standard New Yorker, you know?"

Roderich shrugged. "I'm trying to keep it. Else I'll sound like an American. Yes, I was told I was born in Austria."

"You were told?"

"Well, yes. I don't remember much but my friend told me that I was born in Austria. I can't remember because I hit my head when we were just five years old and lost everything…He'd tell me that I would get upset when people mistook an Austrian for German. He told me this after I woke up and I didn't really know him then but he seemed reliable so I trusted him." He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. "Now that I think about I can remember him now from before I woke up and for some reason, it was only him. Without him, I probably would've died when I hit my head."

He explained things well and he talked a lot. He was talker. "You don't have parents?"

"No." His mood didn't seem to be faltered by the fact. Of course, at one time, he was sad that he never knew who his parents were but he soon grew out of it once he realized how far he'd gotten, how strong he'd become without them. There was no point in crying about it, especially after all the years of being raised by an old Chinese man. He lasted just fine without his actual birth parents, far better than he would have if he had them.

"But what interests me is your accent. I can't quite place it."

She smiled. "I'm Hungarian. And the odd part of this is that I had amnesia too and I had a friend who guided me in the right direction. But…I've always wondered who my parents were. He told me that I did have parents but he never told me what happened to them."

"That is odd." Roderich reached out and Moritz shifted and crawled onto his arm to his shoulder. "By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"Elizabeta." She stopped herself from uttering her last name. She, unlike Ivan, was well aware of someone listening to their conversation from the floor above and it seemed that Ivan hadn't noticed. So much for a vigilant leader.

"Roderich." I know, Elizabeta thought. Of course, I know who you are. He held his hand out. "It's nice to meet you, Elizabeta." Another smile played at his lips but this time was something different in it. She couldn't quite place it and it scared her. She didn't know if it was good or bad.

Hesitantly, she took hold of the hand before her and shook it. Nothing happened and she sighed, cursing her inopportune overreactions.

"Likewise. How's your wound?"

"Better." Roderich pulled the stained cloth away from his face and frowned. "The bleeding stopped but your handkerchief is stained. Sorry."

"It's no problem. Here, let me see." As she took the fabric from him, she gently ran her thumb over the closed wound. He winced and turned his head away quickly in a panic. "It's okay. I'll be gentle." As she examined the scar, her nail grazed it, nearly reopening it and Roderich flinched. "S-Sorry…" Slowly, their eyes met and they locked gazes. She could barely understand Roderich. He held so much emotion in those eyes of his and his smile too. Now she realized that none of these emotions were negative. At least, not at this moment. His eyes were enchanting, almost hypnotizing.

Just as she stared, Roderich stared back, mesmerized. He felt like smiling but didn't. Cheeks flushed, he cleared his throat plainly, turning his head away from hand and avoiding eye contact.

"I-I have bandages at home. We should go."

Elizabeta blinked, her arm recoiling, cheeks also red with embarrassment. "Oh. Right." And they continued to walk, oblivious to the adolescent watching them from the darkness of the alleyway.

It took no time at all to arrive at their destination. Roderich's home wasn't large but wasn't small either. It was just the perfect size. Home is home, Roderich said humbly as he dug into his pocket for his house key. Potted plants were poised on the doorstep, lively and free from the cold due to warmth emanating from the house. The porch light was on, to fool others into thinking that he was home and awake. Of course, there were times when that didn't stop burglars from breaking in but Roderich had made sure that word had spread that he and the Capo were close. There was no car in the driveway, Elizabeta noticed.

"You don't drive? You seem like someone who would."

"No," he laughed quietly with a bashful tone. "It's dangerous for me to drive. I'd just get lost on the roads, or crash it. I'm better off walking everywhere. Even if I have to rest every three blocks."

He opened the door slowly and quietly, letting Elizabeta follow him inside. Once the door was closed, Roderich scanned the room before sighing. He'd come home to find the television on and loud and the living room in a colorful mess. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a German curse. Moritz stretched out and jumped off of his shoulder and onto the couch.

Elizabeta looked around. Just what sort of budget did Roderich receive? The interior of his home was rather sophisticated. The front door led into the living room by a small step. Two white leather couches, stained with paint, were placed at a ninety-degree angle with a wooden coffee table standing within the space of the square that the couches created. A flat-screen TV stood atop a DVD case. The living room was adjacent to the kitchen and on the opposite side, a hallway mostly likely to the bedrooms.

A door opened and there was a child peeking out of a room, surprising Elizabeta and nearly scaring her into screaming as she mistook him for something else. His eyes lit up as Roderich, who was walking toward the unkempt living area, came into his sight and he rushed out of the room. He hugged Roderich's leg, causing him to stagger.

"You're home!"

Roderich, caught by surprise, shouted a curse as he stumbled but covered his mouth when the boy's head shot up.

"You—You're supposed to be in bed! It is well past your bedtime." He was obviously trying to cover up that fact that he swore in front of the boy, to make it seem to the boy that he had misheard Roderich. It seemed to work.

"I was waiting for you to come home, brother." He pouted. "It's scary here without you." Roderich sighed and scooped the boy up in his arms, hugging him to his chest. The hug didn't seem to take him by surprise. He wrapped his arms around his brother's neck.

"I missed you too. I guess." He was rather pale with long, snow white hair that reminded her of Gilbert.

Once again, Elizabeta found herself smiling as the brothers embraced. There was little sibling love in the Era, and that was Katyusha, who hugged her younger brother and sister every chance she got. Arthur and his younger brother fought like cats and dogs and Raivis and Eduard held as little contact with each other as possible. This love before her was pure, innocent—no faults.

The hug ended rather quickly and Roderich placed his hands under the boy's arms, facing him toward the stained couches. "Pleasantries aside, what do you have to say about this?"

Swinging his feet gently, he answered, "It's art."

The elder brother raised an eyebrow, holding him again, sighing. "Of course it is. Who do you expect is to clean this 'art'?" There was a shrug and an inaudible murmur. Roderich pinched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowing in slight annoyance. "Dominik…"

Before Dominik could reply again, he looked toward Elizabeta, who was still smiling. Once his eyes were set on her, his pale cheeks grew redder and he hugged Roderich around his neck again, hiding his face. The elder looked down and asked what was wrong. He shook his pale blonde head.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeta." She jumped as she heard his directed at her again. She was sure she was forgotten. "He's very shy to strangers. To women." It was a correction. Most likely a way to say that he was especially shy to females.

"It's fine. I know someone just like that." She approached him, smiling as he snuck a look at her. "Hello, there. I'm Elizabeta. What's your name?"

The big, violet eyes blinked at her as he managed to mumble, "Dominik."

Her smile widened. "Nice to meet you."

Everything went smoothly after that. Dominik fussed over the closed wound on Roderich's cheek and helped him bandage it up. Then Roderich went to cook because all he had done that day was run from gangsters and he needed something in his stomach. Elizabeta admitted she was also hungry and while the food cooked Dominik began to warm up to Elizabeta, once she caught sight of his drawings. As they talked more and more, he grew comfortable with someone who commented positively about his talents. So that was the key. Compliments.

Granted, that would only work on children, who were so easy to trust the person next to them. Though he would probably never fall for an empty compliment, it was hard to tell whether or not he was foolish enough. Roderich was indeed a boy, fresh out of childhood and thrust into a new world as a legal adult. Who knew if his maturity rose with his age?

Once the food was ready Roderich went off to take a shower, stating that he'd eat after.

"Is it just you two here?" Elizabeta took a big bite out of the sausage that she'd impaled with her fork. "No mom? Or dad?"

Dominik nodded to the first question as he ate. "Just us. It's nice."

"I can imagine it is. I live alone, back in Albany."

"That sounds scary."

"It really is." Elizabeta wasn't lying. "You never know if someone's planning to jump in and steal your stuff. You're lucky you have an older brother to protect you." At that Dominik smiled. "By the way, how old are you, Dominik?"

He held up his fingers to show that he was six years old, since his mouth was full with food.

"Six, huh? I have a little friend back home who's seven."

As he swallowed he looked at her with curiosity. "What's his name?"

"Peter. He's so sweet. A little adventurous."

"Oh." That was about all he had to say about the subject. Elizabeta noticed that, unlike Roderich, Dominik bore no accent so she guessed that he wasn't born in Austria, nor did she think he spoke fluent German. Roderich came out of his bedroom a few moments later, rubbing a towel against his head.

"I'm afraid I have only one bed, which I do share with Dominik. I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

"Oh, you don't have to do that. I can sleep on the couch." She was doing it again. She was being nice to him just because she cared.

"Please Elizabeta. You are my guest. It's warmer in my room." The living is cold at night and I don't want to freeze, he meant. But Elizabeta didn't get the meaning.

"…Alright." After her hesitant assent, a satisfied Roderich sat down to eat and finished rather quickly, without taking part in the conversation between the other two. Once he finished, he reminded Dominik that it was still so late into the night and that his habit of staying up late wasn't good for someone of his age (or size). So the boy grudgingly went, knowing that he'd sleep in if he didn't go to sleep earlier. Elizabeta followed as Roderich helped set the bed up.

The bedroom was rather messy. What looked like sheet music was scattered on the floor and in an untidy stack on the desk at the far left side of the room next to the dresser. An electric keyboard sat on its metal stand on the other side of the desk. Elizabeta guessed that he was a music person, one who cared more for his ideas than the tidiness of his own workspace. He apologized for his mess as he hastily scrambled to pick up the discarded sheets of paper. "It's been a rather productive week," he said, smiling as folded and placed them on the desk with the others.

"I-I also don't have anything for you to change into that will actually fit."

"Oh! It's alright, I have extra clothing." She pointed to the backpack that she still had on her back.

"Good." He kissed Dominik's forehead and muttered a good night to him, then a good night to Elizabeta after he directed her to the bathroom. Then he clapped his hands twice for the lights to go out and left for the living room with a thick blanket over his shoulder and pillow under his arm.

As Elizabeta laid herself down on the soft bed, she sighed. Dominik was already asleep, soft snoring invading her ears. He must have been tired but acted like he wasn't so Roderich wouldn't send him off sooner. After a while of staring at the ceiling, she turned over on her stomach, smiling as his tiny body inched towards her own, in search of more warmth. She lifted an arm, happily inviting him and he curled up to her side, fidgeting to get comfortable. Soon, with a sigh, he settled. She chuckled.

It was cute, how a so-called brutal killer of the Wang Dynasty took care of a child. It was never cute when Arthur and Peter came along. All they did was bicker and fight. But was that really a good thing that Roderich kept Dominik with him? Either Roderich was really a criminal and his younger brother didn't know, or he wasn't at all and Dominik knew his brother through and through. She hoped it was the latter and also didn't.

She would still be forced to finish her job either way, meaning she had to take away Dominik's only family.