Georg stood at the entrance of his club, The Edelweiss, arms crossed, watching as yet another member of the upper class was being escorted out. The man had been too drunk, his behavior far too aggressive toward one of the girls under Georg's employ. The girl, Maria-Luise, had told the man off more than once about his rough hands and inappropriate behavior, but he had persisted. Now, with the man stumbling toward the street, mumbling curses under his breath, Georg felt a strange mix of satisfaction and disappointment.
This wasn't what he had imagined for himself, standing at the threshold of a place like this. But the moment he had first walked into The Edelweiss, drunk and desperate to escape the painful reality of his life, something about it had stuck with him. It had been a rundown, forgotten place, full of women whose lives seemed even more broken than the club itself. He had sobered up in its dim light, taken a long look at the dilapidated rooms, the peeling walls, the worn-out faces of the women who worked there.
In a moment of clarity, he had seen an opportunity—a way to take control of something, to at least make something in his life better when everything else was falling apart. And so he had done what no one had expected. He used his family name, his reputation, and a hefty amount of his own savings as a naval engineer to buy the place from its previous owner, a man who was more than happy to sell to someone with enough money and influence to make the deal quick and quiet. Georg knew that with the scandal spreading among Vienna's elite, he would never work a proper job again. His father's connections in high society would see to that. So he had made his choice—he would embrace the scandal, embrace Stuwerviertel, and make this club something more than just another den of sin.
And it had worked, in a way. The club was well-known now, infamous because of its owner—a disgraced son of nobility, living among the people he was supposed to despise. But Georg had a purpose here, a strange sense of fulfillment that he hadn't felt in years. He had fixed up the club, cleaned it, renovated it, made it into a place where the women who worked there were treated with respect, where they were safe. He had implemented strict rules—any man who disrespected one of the girls would be thrown out, banned, and publicly shamed. And in this neighborhood, that kind of shame stuck.
Stuwerviertel was different from the polished, "respectable" parts of Vienna where he had spent his time. Here, people didn't hide behind smiles and titles. They lived their lives openly, messily, and sometimes tragically. Georg had once been one of those men who frequented the high-end clubs and salons where reputations were protected and indiscretions were whispered about in private. The Edelweiss was the complete opposite, and maybe that was why he had found himself here.
Leaning against the doorframe, he watched the scene unfold before him with a mixture of amusement and calculation. People of all classes frequented his club—men and women who, by daylight, held positions of respect and influence, but by night, surrendered themselves to the allure of indulgence that Stuwerviertel offered. It was this blend of social hierarchy and debauchery that gave Georg so much power over those who dared to disrespect the people under his employ. He held a quiet, yet unspoken influence that could ruin lives with a mere whisper.
The families of some of these men, the so-called "respectable" members of society, had no idea that their husbands, sons, and brothers slunk into this den of sin under the cover of night. It would take just one word from Georg, or worse, from the people of Stuwerviertel, and their spotless reputations would be soiled forever. Georg's lips twitched into a smirk as he watched the drunken man who had been thrown out earlier now being pushed around by the most feared figures of Stuwerviertel—Marie de Sachelles and Clemens Finck, better known as Big Boy.
Marie de Sachelles was a force to be reckoned with. A petite woman, perhaps half Georg's height, but what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in sheer will. She was a French immigrant, the last of her family after a fever had claimed the rest of them years ago. She had kept herself alive through sheer grit, first working as a seamstress, but eventually finding more lucrative opportunities in Stuwerviertel's darker corners. While she dabbled in the sex trade, Marie had made it clear to Georg that she had no interest in working for anyone. She liked doing things her own way, by her own rules, and Georg respected that. By day, she still worked as a seamstress, mending and stitching for the residents of Stuwerviertel, but by night, she was something entirely different—a woman who wielded power over those who underestimated her.
Georg had once tried to convince her to join his club, offering her better pay and protection, but Marie had laughed in his face. "I don't need you, Captain," she had said, crossing her arms with a defiant tilt to her chin. "I take care of myself. Always have."
He couldn't argue with that. Marie had survived more than most people in this part of town, and she'd done it all on her terms. Now, as she and Big Boy pushed the drunkard further down the street, Georg could hear her sharp voice cutting through the night air, berating the man for his behavior, for daring to act like his money made him untouchable here. She was relentless, and the man shrunk under her words, like a child being scolded by a schoolmaster.
Big Boy, on the other hand, was a far more imposing figure. A mountain of a man with broad shoulders and an unshakable presence, Clemens Finck had grown up in the streets of Stuwerviertel, born to a prostitute who had raised him with whatever love she could spare between clients. Despite his intimidating appearance, Big Boy was surprisingly gentle, at least with those he liked. His reputation, however, was built on a different kind of dominance. While the men who frequented the streets sought the company of women, Big Boy's interests lay elsewhere, and it was well-known that once Big Boy set his sights on someone, he would have them, one way or another.
Georg still remembered the first time they had met. He had been in one of his lowest points, drunk beyond reason, sitting in a corner of The Edelweiss when Big Boy had approached him. Georg had expected the worst, especially given Big Boy's reputation. But instead of making any advances, Big Boy had looked at him with something like pity, shaking his head and saying, "You're too broken for me, Captain."
The two had become friends after that, or at least something close to it. Big Boy's rough humor and Marie's sharp wit had provided Georg with the first real laughs he'd had in months. The three of them often spent evenings drinking together, bickering over the ridiculousness of the upper class, or arguing about who had the most outrageous stories from their lives on the streets.
Georg watched with a wry smile as Marie and Big Boy cornered the drunk outside the club, the two of them wielding their weapons like extensions of their own sharp personalities. They weren't fighting each other today—a rare sight—and instead, they had teamed up, as they always did when someone disrespected one of The Edelweiss employees. The drunken man stood shaking, his bravado long gone, while the locals jeered from the sidelines. Even the police, instead of stepping in, cheered Marie and Big Boy on, a testament to how much these streets despised outsiders—especially upper-class outsiders who treated them with disdain.
Big Boy's razor gleamed in the dim streetlights, and Marie's small knife danced between her fingers as they closed in on the man. The residents were used to scenes like this, where justice in Stuwerviertel wasn't handed down by the authorities but by those who lived here, defending their own. The police didn't intervene because they knew better—this place had its own set of rules, ones that even the law turned a blind eye to.
Georg chuckled darkly, his fingers unconsciously reaching for the rosary in his pocket, feeling the cool beads slip between his fingers. A habit he hadn't shaken, despite everything. It was ironic, he thought, that he still clung to something as sacred as a rosary in a place like this, surrounded by sin and vice. But then again, he had always found comfort in contradictions.
He looked out at the scene before him, his mind wandering back to his own upbringing. The social divide had been a bitter lesson he'd learned early on. As a child, he'd never understood why people like the ones in Stuwerviertel were treated as though they were beneath notice, as if their struggles, their lives, didn't matter. They're people, just like us, he had thought in his youth, back when the world seemed simpler. Why must we pretend they don't exist?
Now, standing here as the owner of The Edelweiss, a club that had become a symbol of rebellion against the social hierarchy he had been born into, he scoffed at the hypocrisy of it all. The same upper-class men who shamed places like this, who looked down on the people who lived and worked here, were the ones sneaking in after dark, indulging in the very vices they condemned. Hypocrites, he thought, shaking his head.
His mind drifted back to his arrival in Stuwerviertel, when he'd been nothing more than a broken man running from a scandal that had threatened to destroy his life. The people here had been wary of him at first. His family name, known for their service in the navy, had cast a long shadow, and many in the neighborhood had assumed he was just another rich man looking to exploit them.
But Georg had been different. He had poured everything he had into fixing the club, making it a place where the women who worked there felt safe and respected. Slowly, the people of Stuwerviertel had begun to trust him, seeing that he wasn't like the others. He wasn't here to take advantage of them. He wanted to be a part of their world, to understand it, to make it better in whatever way he could.
It wasn't long before their wariness turned to respect. He had earned it, not by throwing around his money or his family name, but by working alongside them, fixing what was broken, and defending those who needed it. And in return, they had given him something he had never had in his old life—freedom.
Here, in these streets, he was truly free. Free from the suffocating expectations of the upper class, from the endless pressure to maintain a spotless reputation. In the world he had left behind, everything was about appearances, about how you were perceived. Every move, every word was calculated, meant to bolster your standing in society. It had been exhausting, and more often than not, Georg had found himself wondering whether he was still the person he had once been, or merely a reflection of what others wanted him to be.
But here, in Stuwerviertel, he didn't care what the upper class thought of him anymore. He had found something far more valuable than their approval—he had found a community, a place where he belonged. These people, Marie, Big Boy, and the countless others who lived in these streets, they were his people now.
As the crowd began to disperse, the drunken man thoroughly humiliated and sent scurrying away, Georg felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. This world, for all its chaos and darkness, had become his refuge. It was messy, it was flawed, but it was real.
And in it, he had finally found himself.