Deep inside the meat packing district of Gotham stood an old, open building held together by memories and electrical tape. It had signs covering the walls for beer that didn't need to be advertised and a defunct juke box taking space in the corner. On it, a small speaker was taped to its side whining the same ten songs on repeat.

It was a small, almost cozy place hidden between two large buildings. The bartender, Sal, began tending to it in his 20s. Now in his 50s, The Bitter End had made it through the last 30 years almost entirely unchanged. Even the customers held a steady lineup of the same faces week after week. Most nights were like most nights. Sal would say that if he were to cover up the calendar that the whole place would cease to operate as a dive bar and transform into a shittier, cheaper, Hotel California.

Tonight, mixed into the heavy cigar fog and cracking of ice against the metallic shakers, was something different.

Unbeknownst to the regulars inside, perched across the street on the rooftop was a brunette woman staring intently through the windows with a pair of purple binoculars. Helena Bertinelli had been aware of The Bitter End for most of her adult life. Its inconspicuous appearance and tucked away location made it a popular spot amongst the men associated with the family business. She herself had tagged along with a cousin once or twice for a nightcap after a family dinner on Sunday.

Since the murder of her mother last month all plans for a family dinner were cancelled. The idea of just Helena and her father sitting across from each other at the table made her heart ache. As a child, her family lost her younger brother Pino to a revenge-seeking guard, opening up a chair at the family table. Now with her mother taken from her, Helena felt a wave of disparity like nothing before. Half of her family was gone, their chairs forever empty in the kitchen at home.

She pushed her grief down and refocused back on peering into the bar.

There was a specific man she was hunting tonight. Tucked away at the end of the bar, surrounded by men in suits sat her target: John Anthony Lucchese. He was a member of the Lucchese family but kept tabs on everyone and everything in the business. The man was never without a drink his hand and gossip on his lips. If anyone had any information about who was involved in her mother's murder, it would be him.

The night continued slowly, the bar going through the motions with years of practice. Patrons slowly trickled out until John Anthony and his associates were the only people left chatting away into the evening.

The night had gone on as it always had. The Good Life by Sinatra had been playing into the room when an arrow suddenly sliced into a window, shattering the glass. Before anyone could react, another arrow whirled through the opening straight ahead to John Anthony, snagging into his coat collar and pinning him to the wall.

The front door then slammed open to reveal the assailant: a tall brunette in a purple and black suit. She wore a tall domino mask and a sneer, a golden rosary dangling around her neck. "John Anthony, just the man I wanted to see."

The man looked at her in bewilderment before breaking into a shout. "Don't just stand there you morons, get her!"

The crowd of men suddenly sprang into action. A gun was pulled, only to be impaled by an arrow and exploding in the man's hand. Another went in for a punch and in response was thrown against a wall. One by one the men were taken down. Breathing heavily, Huntress looked over the pile of yes men who now laid on the floor. Behind her with her back to him, John Anythony pulled the arrow out of the wall, freeing himself. He reached for the gun in his pocket and aimed it at her head.

The speaker that had been taped to the jukebox flew through the air, Frank Sinatra still belting into the night. It smacked into the mans head causing him to crumple to the ground instantly. The gun clacked against the floor as it collided into the concrete.

Helena whipped around wildly to see a redheaded man in a trench coat standing there. Oh, for christ's sake. "You!"

"Me."

"What are you doing here! Did you… follow me?"

"Of course. Need I remind you, it's my job."

Helena fantasized about using one of her arrows on her self-proclaimed protector. "Need I remind you to shove it up your ass. I don't need your help."

"Is that why you've taken up larping around the city in costume?"

Her fantasy intensified. "I'm not larping around the city, you ass. I'm here to get answers that I can't exactly do in my usual lululemon."

Despite her composed and pissed off appearance, Helena was inwardly panicking. Tonight was her grand debut as Huntress, the masked enemy of mobsters in Gotham City. She had been inspired by rumors going around of a masked man dressed as a bat crashing a drug deal in Gotham Heights a few weeks back. While Helena had every intention of finding the son of a bitch who killed her mother, she couldn't do it as herself. There was too much at stake. She would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to her father on her quest for vengeance.

No, the optics of the mafia princess shaking down made men for leads on rival families were not ideal. If word got around then there could be a potential war between the five families. Or, even more chilling, she would have to face the fallout of her father.

Helena glared at the redheaded ass in front of her. Weeks had been spent on getting this disguise to be perfect. Hell, weeks had been spent planning on hunting John Anthony for answers to get a lead. All that work just for this prick to over-insert himself into the middle of it all.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I believe I just saved your life." Vic stuffed his hands in his pockets, his eyes boring into hers.

"Saved my life? You just ruined everything! This was my only chance to get an answer and now my lead is passed out on the floor!"

"Your lead?"

"Forget it. Just leave."

Helena turned towards the door and started walking out of The Bitter End. All of this was such bullshit. It was so damn unfair.

A hand touched her armand she immediately grabbed it, pulling her attacker over her shoulder and slamming him into the ground.

"-The hell?" Vic groaned on the floor. Feeling a little better, Helena continued to walk out only for her bodyguard to swing one of his own legs out, tripping her mid stride so she joined him on the floor. He rolled over and pinned her down. "Will you stop acting like a child!"

The flash of rage in her blood was accompanied by a wave of admiration. Though later, when recounting this all to Dinah, she would leave that part out. Helena barrel-rolled so that she was now on top of him, his body trapped between the crush of her thighs.

Vic blinked at her, a peculiar look on his face. The compromising nature of their positioning suddenly became neon to the pair. Huntress quickly pressed her hand on his chest to lift off of him, taking an extra two steps back as if to prove to herself she wanted to be as far away as possible.

For a moment it was silent.

"I didn't intend to ruin anything for you." Vic began, hoping his voice sounded more stable than he felt.

"Yeah, well, that's fair." Helena toyed with her crossbow absently. "I know you're just following my dad's orders. But I don't need anyone to protect me. You're just going to get in my way."

"Get in the way of what?"

Vic looked around the bedroom as he looked over everything in his life- curiously. He took note of the purple details (must be her favorite color), the pictures hanging on the wall (she's sentimental), and the mass cards taped to her vanity mirror (no stranger to grief). Standing in the corner, hands in his pockets, he watched the brunette slide her mask off her face. Her dark hair fell in front of her face for a moment before she tucked it behind her ears.

"Do you know why my father hired you to protect me?"

"He wants to keep you safe while the man who killed your mother is walking free." The look of pain on her face suddenly made him uncomfortable. He had always been blunt. In a world of technicalities it was important to be direct.

She nodded slowly. "Yes. We lost my brother a few years ago. Now with my mother gone, it's just the two of us left."

None of this was news to him, but he nodded as if it was.

He seemed unphased by what she was telling him. She couldn't tell if he was stoic or if he somehow already knew the gory details of her life.

"Someone murdered my mother and I'm going to figure out who did it. When I find them, I'm going to kill the son of a bitch."

Her resolve was impressive. His initial read of a spoiled brat was slowly evolving into a stubborn, resilient brat. "Understandable."

"I'm going to hit him with arrows or a solid punch to the skull. I'm not focused on the details. I don't care how it's done as long as he's gone."

"So this," Vic gestured towards her costume. "is all to disguise yourself from your father?"

"And other made men. No one can know I'm sticking my nose into this. It wouldn't end well for my father and I."

It made sense to Vic. Capes and masks had become more widespread lately, especially in Gotham. He himself had considered it before. Sure, being a detective was fine. He did love the thrill of putting a puzzle of facts together to solve a case. It was the overhead, the focus on paperwork that he detested. While Gotham had its fair share of interesting crimes all of them paled when it came to his true professional passion: The Conspiracy.

That was what all of this was for. Watching over the `Don's daughter would lead to the dismantling of the Bertinelli Family, which lead to Vic being promoted, which lead to more money, which led to more resources to string together all of his leads on major world events. This assignment was going to allow for a proper deep dive it all.

He looked at Helena sitting on her bed, her crossbow still in her right hand. Clearly this whole debacle was going to be more complicated than he had initially deduced. Even with all of his research and insight he had no way of knowing his protectee had stitched together a costume for a revenge hunt.

"So?"

"So..?"

"So will you stay out of my way and let me do what I need to do?"

Vic had an unnervingly focused look in her direction. He was such a weirdo. So intense and awkward. She had no idea what he was thinking, but her willingness to wait to find out was rapidly bowing out.

"You're going to need help. I'm joining you."

"I'm sorry I must have just blacked out for a minute. When did I invite you to join me?"

"It's my job to watch you. Plus, you clearly need my help."

"Clearly?" Helena took a step in his direction, her eyes narrowing at him. "I don't need your attitude or your help."

"Maybe not, but your father finding out about your little dress up game might impact your plans."

"You wouldn't!"

"Do you really want to find out?"

He was an absolute pain in the ass. Already she could tell that he was going to seriously dash her plans of delivering justice. While technically he saved her life, Helena would never admit that out loud to anyone. Even if her pride allowed her to, the grief she felt in her heart told her that this was a mission only meant for her.

Still, Vic was unrelenting. He was stubborn, a stickler for the rules, and another yes man for her father. She didn't trust him. She didn't respect him. She didn't like him.

She didn't have a choice.

"Fine. Whatever."

He stuck his hand out. "So, it's a deal then."

"Deal." Helena reached his hand and shook it firmly. His grip was stronger than she expected. She made sure to squeeze her own hand a little harder.

The motion was immediately noted by Vic. Her need to be seen as stronger than him was interesting, something he would investigate later. While none of this was ideal, he was determined to fulfill his assignment no matter what it took. He watched Helena remove the rosary from her neck, her Huntress uniform still bearing a cross. Absolutely none of this was going to be in his report to the commissioner. There was no need to include it. It had nothing to do with taking down the Bertinelli family. There was no reason to tell this to anyone, even if they would have been interested in hearing it.

It was a lie. Vic knew damn well that this would get attention from Gordon but buried the thought. He would keep her secret from everyone. Even though he was guarding her strictly as a cover, for reasons he didn't quite understand he felt a genuine urge to protect her. Maybe it was constant grief in her eyes, but something about Helena Bertinelli sparked something in Charles Victor Szasz that was sincere.

He made a mental note to investigate that later too.