Maria sat quietly in the corner of Frau Valenta's elegantly furnished sitting room, the weight of the upcoming council meeting pressing heavily on her shoulders. The conversation buzzed around her as members of the Alliance discussed strategies, their voices filled with confidence and determination. Maria, however, felt a mixture of apprehension and hope. She folded her hands in her lap, focusing on steadying her breathing.
Frau Valenta, seated at the head of the room, spoke with her usual commanding tone. "We must be united in our message. The council must see that our mission is not just righteous but necessary. If they feel the weight of our purpose, they will have no choice but to support us."
There were murmurs of agreement, but Maria remained silent. Her mind was elsewhere, on the part of the meeting that hadn't been mentioned aloud—the residents of Stuwerviertel who would come to represent themselves. She knew what that meant. Georg would be there.
Since her impassioned words on the radio, Maria hadn't seen or heard from him. She wondered what he thought of her message. Had he laughed? Scoffed? Ignored it entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she clung to a fragile hope that perhaps he had listened, truly listened, and that he might understand her intentions.
"Maria," Frau Valenta's voice broke through her thoughts, drawing her attention. "You will be an important part of our delegation. Your voice on the radio already stirred many hearts. At the council, you must speak with that same conviction."
Maria nodded, though her throat tightened at the thought of speaking before such a large and intimidating audience. "I will do my best."
Frau Valenta gave her a reassuring smile, but Maria's thoughts drifted once more. Perhaps she wouldn't need to fight Georg at the council. If she could speak to him beforehand, convince him to see the righteousness of their cause, maybe they could find common ground.
Her heart ached at the thought. Convincing Georg wouldn't be easy. But if there was even the faintest chance to reach him, she had to try.
As the group decided to take a short break, Maria stepped out into the cool morning air, hoping to clear her mind from the intensity of the discussions inside. But then, as she approached the parlor doors, hushed voices reached her ears, each word cutting through her fragile calm.
"I don't know where her fiery spirit has gone," said Frau Luttenberger.
Maria froze. Her heart sank as the realization hit her—they were talking about her. Despite her instinct to ignore it, curiosity drew her closer. She lingered just out of sight, her breath shallow, straining to hear their conversation.
Frau Luttenberger continued, her voice tinged with disdain. "The girl who stood up to us in the beginning wouldn't dare send a message like that to him. What happened to her?"
Another voice chimed in, softer but equally sharp. "She's in crisis, that's what. I've seen it in her eyes. Extending a hand to all those sinners... it's a sign of weakness."
Frau Valenta spoke next, her words laced with a calm authority that only deepened the sting. "If Father Cohen knew about this, he'd be appalled. After everything we've worked for, after all the risks we've taken, she dares to waver?"
Maria clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. The warmth of indignation rose in her chest, but so did a bitter sadness. How could they speak so freely about her, as if she were a stranger, a pawn in their crusade? Was this how they saw her—a tool to be used, judged, and discarded the moment she showed a trace of humanity?
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to burst in and defend herself. But what could she say? That she believed in redemption for everyone, even for someone like Georg? That she still believed kindness and understanding could achieve more than condemnation?
For now, she stayed rooted in place, listening, her heart heavy with their words and the weight of her own convictions.
But as much as their criticism stung, Maria reminded herself that her purpose wasn't to seek their approval—it was to do what was right in the eyes of God. Silently, she vowed not to let their words deter her. With a deep breath, she let the bitterness sink into the back of her mind, locking it away.
When the meeting resumed, Maria returned to her seat, her expression serene even as her emotions churned beneath the surface. She listened intently, offering her thoughts when necessary, but the fire that usually animated her contributions was noticeably absent.
Once the discussions concluded and the other members began chatting among themselves, Maria quietly rose from her seat. Frau Valenta, ever observant, approached her.
"Maria, won't you stay for tea?" Frau Valenta asked, her tone warm but probing.
Maria forced a polite smile. "Thank you, Frau Valenta, but I have something important to attend to back at the convent."
"Are you sure?" Frau Valenta pressed, a slight frown on her face.
"I'm sure," Maria replied softly, already stepping toward the door. "Please, give everyone my regards."
Without waiting for a response, she left the room, her steps steady even as her heart felt heavy. As she made her way back to the convent, her thoughts raced. Have I made a mistake? Was I wrong to reach out to him, to believe in redemption for those they deem beyond saving? She looked up at the stars above, their gentle light flickering in the dark sky. No, she decided. This path may be lonely, but it is the one I must follow.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The bar & breakfast near the club was bustling with its usual morning crowd. Max leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink, his usual easy grin playing on his lips as his friends exchanged jokes and stories. Georg, predictably, was preoccupied with the demands of running the club, leaving Max free to enjoy a lazy morning with their circle.
It was during one of his absentminded glances around the room that Max's eyes landed on an unusual sight. At a table not far from them sat two men he recognized instantly: the priest from the Alliance and Herr Valenta.
Max's eyebrows raised slightly. What an odd pairing—one man determined to cleanse the district of its sins, the other reveling in them.
He nudged his friend across the table. "Mind switching seats with me?"
The friend tilted his head, puzzled. "Why? This one's perfectly fine."
"Come on," Max insisted, flashing a grin. "Humor me."
With a shrug, the friend obliged, sliding over to Max's side as Max casually took the vacated seat. From this new vantage point, he had a clear line of sight to the priest and Valenta. He leaned back, appearing relaxed, but his mind was already working.
Max had always been teased for his large ears as a child, earning him nicknames that followed him into adulthood. But what others mocked, he embraced. "These ears hear everything," he would joke, tapping them proudly. While it was nothing more than playful bravado, Max had developed an uncanny knack for picking up snippets of conversation in crowded places.
Now, those "bug ears" were about to be put to the test. Whatever they were discussing, Max knew it was bound to be interesting.
Max leaned slightly forward, his casual demeanor masking the tension building within him as he listened intently to the conversation between the priest and Herr Valenta. The priest's voice carried a calculated calmness, each word laced with a subtle weight.
"I know you have political aspirations," the priest said, his tone neutral, almost friendly.
Valenta shifted in his seat, his body language betraying unease. "It's... it's just a possibility," he stammered, forcing a nervous chuckle. "Mainly because of friends who keep insisting."
The priest offered a thin smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, I would urge you to be cautious, Herr Valenta. Politics can be a perilous arena, especially when certain... associations come to light."
Max narrowed his eyes, catching the faint edge in the priest's words. Was that a warning? Or worse, a veiled threat?
The priest continued without giving Valenta a chance to respond. "Speaking of associations, your friend, Herr Böhm, was here recently. He had quite a bit to say about you, you know. Made some rather colorful jokes about your presence at the Velvet Lounge."
Valenta's face flushed, and he raised his hand as if to protest. "That's not—"
"Spare me the denials," the priest interrupted sharply. "We both know why you were there." His voice lowered, becoming almost conspiratorial. "You weren't there to indulge in their... services. You were gathering information for our case against that establishment, weren't you?"
Max fought to keep his expression neutral as his thoughts raced. If the priest's accusations about Valenta's espionage were true, it raised the troubling possibility that similar moles could be planted in the Edelweiss.
Valenta froze, his face pale. "Y-yes, of course," he stammered, his voice tinged with panic.
Hearing his tone, Max exhaled slowly, his relief tempered by the unsettling realization that the priest was manipulating him. Max was smart enough to know that the priest was pretending that Valenta was helping their group so he wouldn't be able to deny the priest anything.
The priest's voice grew ominous again. "Good. That's the kind of loyalty we need. But remember, Herr Valenta, in matters like these, it's always good to be careful."
Max remained seated, his posture relaxed, though his mind was anything but. He watched the priest's retreating figure as the man exited the bar with an air of quiet authority. There was no denying it—this priest wielded his influence with precision, and he knew exactly how to push people like Valenta into submission.
Valenta, now alone at his table, looked visibly shaken. His hand trembled slightly as he signaled for a drink. The bartender, oblivious to the tension that had just unfolded, served him a glass of schnapps. Valenta downed it in one gulp, his nervous energy spilling over in the way he clutched at his empty glass.
Max quietly exhaled, shifting his attention back to his companions. They were engaged in their own conversations, completely unaware of the delicate game of manipulation playing out a few tables away.
He turned his focus back to Valenta, studying him. The man's unease was palpable, his every movement betraying the weight of the priest's words. Max's instincts told him that Valenta wasn't cut out for this kind of work. The man was a pawn, easily manipulated by those more cunning and ruthless than himself.
Just like Maria, Max thought, the bitterness creeping into his chest. The Alliance's methods were all too clear now: intimidation, exploitation, and the relentless use of moral superiority to control those who stood in their way.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Georg sat back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood of his desk. The low hum of the club's activity outside the office door was a familiar sound. Karl, ever the dutiful bar manager, had just finished updating Georg on the status of the club. It was business as usual—everything running smoothly, no new issues to report.
"Anything needs changing, then?" Georg asked, a slight edge to his voice as he leaned forward. "Any complaints from the customers or the girls?"
Karl shook his head, his expression calm. "No, Captain. The club's fine, really. You've got everything in order."
Georg let out a breath, leaning back into his chair, his gaze drifting to the framed photographs on the wall. It was good to hear, of course, but he'd grown used to the regular reassurances. Still, he appreciated Karl's steady management.
As their meeting wrapped up, Karl stood, giving a casual stretch. The door to the office was half-open, the muffled sounds of the bustling club seeping in. He hesitated for a moment, then turned back to Georg, an odd look crossing his face.
"Captain," he began, the question hanging in the air before he voiced it, "is there... anyone special in your life?"
Georg raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback. His expression tightened just slightly, a cautious curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why do you ask?"
Karl shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Well, I overheard the girls talking... about you, and—well, it got me wondering." He shrugged, offering a half-apologetic smile. "Curiosity got the better of me."
Georg's lips curled into a brief, amused smirk. The idea of the club's women gossiping about him didn't surprise him, but the way Karl had brought it up made him feel slightly uneasy. There was always the sense that the women in the club had their own speculations, but he hadn't thought they'd become the subject of such open conversation.
"Well," Georg said after a long pause, his tone neutral, "it's a private matter, don't you think?"
Karl leaned against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed, giving Georg a knowing look. "You know, Captain," he began, his tone carrying a hint of teasing, "I don't think I've ever seen you downstairs when the club's open. It's like you're hiding in here, avoiding all the fun. You're not celibate, are you?"
Georg raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the remark. "Celibate?" he echoed, the word almost foreign on his tongue.
Karl chuckled, narrowing his eyes playfully. "Well, if you are, it'd be kind of impressive. Considering how many beautiful girls come through here every night, it's not exactly a vow most men could keep." He placed a hand over his heart dramatically. "Of course, my own eyes, heart, and body belong entirely to my wife. You know that."
Georg let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Of course, Karl. You're the model of fidelity."
Karl grinned, but his gaze didn't waver, as if silently urging Georg to answer the unspoken question.
Georg hesitated, glancing down at the papers on his desk as though they might provide some kind of distraction. After a moment, he shrugged, the gesture casual but his tone measured. "Maybe I've taken a few kisses here and there," he admitted, his voice low. "But nothing serious. It's not something I'm looking for."
Karl tilted his head, his curiosity evident. "No relationships? Not even a fling?"
Georg leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest. "I don't want anything beyond flirtation," he said simply. "It's easier that way."
Karl studied him for a moment, the playful smile slipping into something more thoughtful. "Easier, huh?" he murmured, almost to himself. But he didn't press further, letting Georg's words settle between them.
Karl crossed his arms, leaning slightly toward Georg, his voice taking on a poetic tone. "A kiss," he began, "is a declaration of love, told directly to the lips of a beloved. It's a way to feel the heartbeat of the loved one in our own chest and to savor, in that kiss, the flavor of their soul."
Georg stilled, his gaze dropping to the desk in front of him, as Karl's words hung heavily in the air. For a moment, the office grew quiet, the usual hum of life outside the walls of Edelweiss fading into the background.
Then Karl laughed, breaking the silence, the sound light and warm. "You know," he said, shaking his head, "I shouldn't have asked you if you had a woman or not. You're a lot like me, Captain."
Georg raised an eyebrow at him, curious where this was going.
"We both hold our hearts on our sleeves," Karl pointed out with a grin. "The only difference is, I'm a lot less grumpy about it."
Georg chuckled, his laugh genuine for a brief moment, but it didn't last long. The humor in his eyes dimmed as his smile faltered. He leaned back in his chair, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "She still hasn't given the rosary back."
Karl furrowed his brow, tilting his head in confusion. "She?" he asked.
Georg nodded slightly, his gaze distant. "The supposed woman of my life," he said, his voice carrying a weight that made Karl's curiosity grow. Maybe Georg was meant to be alone forever, having broken two hearts already—the woman who claimed to love him and the only woman whom he truly loved.
Karl leaned forward, his tone gentle but insistent. "Who is it?"
Georg's expression hardened slightly, the walls he'd carefully built rising once again. "It doesn't matter," he said briskly, waving a hand. "We're done here. Get back to work."
Karl hesitated for a moment, searching Georg's face for a crack in his armor. But sensing he wouldn't get another answer, he nodded and left the office, the door clicking softly behind him.