When he returned his attention to the woman, his eyes lit on her with a casual intensity as she settled her shoulders on the leather bench behind her. Luciano listened closely with his head angled in a tilt where he could shift easily his eyes between the glass of Whiskey Sour and Yvonne, but his eyes were mostly on the drink, gently swirling it between his fingers with an arm on the table. His visual focus reposed on the glass while his ears and thoughts were following what Yvonne was communicating. When she spoke of the Fatherland – Germany – being the one America needs for a promising future, Luciano could not help but to let a chuckle escape his lips, while an expression of disappointment crossed his face momentarily. The smile left by the chuckle faded from his lips and an eyebrow arched on his forehead as he licked his lips before taking a sip of Whiskey Sour. He cleared his throat and continued listening as much as the idea of Germany dominating America sounded ridiculous.<br/><br/>The Italian looked up finally at Yvonne and met her eyes. He had a feeling that the woman received the message he sent across without having to say a word or two about it then. The message itself spoke of thousands of words. He did not care what she thought of him at that point. For what could have been between 10 seconds to 15 seconds, Yvonne and Luciano stared at each other, severely, which caused discomfort to show in the waitress' tone of voice as she placed their light order on the table and excused herself. Fanaticism to barbarism was only one step away, and that is what Germany was falling into.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Frau Wójcik, you have a very interesting way of looking into the future. I applaud your sense of fate in your Fatherland, although you are Polish of origin aren't you?”</span>The man cleared his throat with a sip of his drink. He carried a black raspberry to his lips with a toothpick and nodded his head. To each their commitment. To each their faith. He had his opinion, she had hers. The once neutral Italy required uncontested access to the world's oceans and shipping lanes to ensure its national sovereignty. Have they sided with the Allies, Germany would have invaded Italy. His homeland had no desire to side with the Nazis but it was all about affairs and goals. Their fate was sealed already. If they went to the allies, Italy would walk down the same path as Poland. Luciano studied Yvonne's fierce eyes as they looked back at him, the way her lips moved to speak the words, the way she carried herself. She reminded him of a mythical creature that once visited his dreams ... but were they really dreams? She could be dressed in the finest feminine clothes, carried herself like a Lady of the time, but Luciano was well aware of the warrioress within her soul. He could feel the passion of combat and gunpowder run in her veins.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">An Amazon Goddess... Penthesilea</span>. That is who she reminded him of.<br/><br/>He found himself discreetly smiling to the thought. She was the type of women worthy enough opponents. Tonight she had come to him without her helmet, revealing the femininity beneath, but even then she remained true to the woman that she was, her scepter of mass destruction within her hands.<br/><br/>Was it<span style="font-style: italic">wrong</span>to say that he found himself secretly admiring her? Only in the same way that an artist would admire an art piece.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">"The letter from your brother,"</span></span>she said, turning her attention to the lemon quarters, emptying one wedge into the tall glass,<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">"He renounced his belief in Nazism, but more specifically the Fuhrer. Officer Grazzienelli advised I do the same."</span></span>She tipped back the glass, staring straight ahead at the dancers on the floor before them, eyes steady and forced, combating the pressure rising in them from her throat, where the liquid barely slid.<br/><br/>Luciano stiffened, a tremor shot through him at the mention of his brother's name. His usual sternness crept back quickly to his face. He slowly rose on his feet and looked away from the woman, austere eyes painting a path a few feet away from her. He held his glass to his lips with a right hand, his left rested inside his left pocket as he advanced to stand near the sliding doors. His back straightened as he turned his frame in a way where he was facing the dancers in the distance.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“I have goals and ambitions, really high ones, Frau Wójcik. I do not waste my time with unnecessary explanations and long talk, unless I have something for me in it that would benefit me. This is why I accepted meeting you tonight. I believe that you have some answers for me, as I may have some for you. What my brother thought of your Nazi regime rule is none of my business. Actually, allow me to take that back and say,”</span>Luciano pushed a button on the wall and the tinted doors began to slide shut. One would still look at the scenery from the interior of the private lounge, but that would prevent people on the other side of the doors to see the insides of the room. The lounge itself was created for comfort and ultimate privacy; two bar table, booth couches and a large lounge couch for maximum space was positioned to the side. He slowly turned around, glass doors closing in the background. A smile that one would interpret as 'wicked' touched one corner of his lips.<span style="font-style: italic">“-I am glad he did.”</span>He said in a low tone and took a large sip from his glass. Even in the dim lit room, Luciano attempted to study the woman's facial expression from the distance he had put between them a moment ago.<span style="font-style: italic">“I'm glad that my brother died finally realizing the truth. I would not have found peace have I known that Fabiano died a fool, an idiot that he once was serving under a flag that brought him nothing else but a dishonorable death. As a soldier you are supposed to die fighting for what is yours. My brother was murdered, executed on sight.</span>The man was extremely angry in the inside but he did not want to let that show through his actions.<span style="font-style: italic">“You see, Signorina, the distinction between right and wrong is quite blurry in our time and age, but especially our reality ... but again, every problem can be solved if approached wisely. Your leader believes in the greatness within his people, my brother fought for that cause. Fanaticism is present in the way your Fuhrer carries his business, but we can assume that his fanaticism is guided by the greatness he has for his country and the victory he promised his people.” </span><br/><br/>Luciano emptied his glass with one last sip. Emotional spams threatened to consume him that very moment as he began to pace back and forth, but he was also a man who mastered how to never lose his composure, especially in front of a woman. He remained composed as he continued to speak, pausing near Yvonne. He lowered calculated eyes to stare at her, his face sporting one only expression, that of a diplomatic person. His voice though as he addressed the woman exposed a man of a humble, down to earth origin. A new piece of smooth jazz and piano continued to spill into the room through the four in-ceiling speakers, only slow-dancing would bring it justice then. The man sat his empty glass aside on the table and brought forth a flawless left hand, palm up. His eyes asked  her<span style="font-style: italic"> 'Would you like to dance?'</span>while he continued to slow-speak, voicing his thoughts and questions in a neutral manner. As neutral as his dear Italy once was.<br/><br/>_________________________________________________<br/><br/>If the woman decided to accept this dance - a dance of two people accepting a deal of shared information, then Luciano would hold onto her hand and lead her to the space in the lounge to continue discussing the revelation within his brother's letter, speaking,<span style="font-style: italic">"You said that my brother advised you to do the same. Mhm... Let's look at the positive side of things, shall we? Do you question your believes Frau Wójcik? What were your thoughts? I believe that in every difficult situation there lies therein an opportunity to change, to advance or to grow."</span><br/><br/>He would then place a gentle flat hand on the small of her back and he will hold his left hand out to the side, at chest level for Yvonne to take in hers. The Italian would then bring her body close to him but he would leave three inches between them - Intimacy with the ability to move freely.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">An invitation to a dance, testing the waters and softening the tension</span></div><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><span style="color: #8080BF">“You see, Signorina,” she listened to him say, “the distinction between right and wrong is quite blurry in our time and age, but especially our reality ... but again, every problem can be solved if approached wisely. Your leader believes in the greatness within his people, my brother fought for that cause. Fanaticism is present in the way your Fuhrer carries his business, but we can assume that his fanaticism is guided by the greatness he has for his country and the victory he promised his people.”<br/><br/>The glare in Officer Wojcik’s eyes wasn’t watered down but balanced out by her smile.  There was an opposition in his connotations, but his words held no proof or true conviction except where his brother was concerned.  Even then, she could beg the question of his location at the time of his brother’s demise.  There was no use in that but rendering the man whom she still needed answers from, and she could trust herself to express the thoughts without the vindication she was feeling, which some deep part of her knew was just a form of denial in any case.<br/><br/>The man’s conversation with himself, aloud with her as audience but clearly not meant for her response, put her back into wariness with him.  The captain - which she had to refer to him as, for anything else was too reminiscent of his twin - downed the tumbler and began to pace, an obvious attempt at regaining control.  Yvonne couldn’t help but snicker a little.  It was always such an easy thing for men to lose, yet it was somehow considered a strength amongst men of the world.  Men of the Word would know better.<br/><br/>Finally fed-up with himself, the captain turned to her and held out his hand.  She stared at it in surprise for a moment, confused about this turn in events and what he meant by the gesture until he said the words.<br/><br/>“Would you like to dance?”<br/><br/>Hers widened at him.  If he’d simply told her, made commentary on the music or those already on the floor, or if he had stayed silent, she would’ve countered the underlying question smoothly.  However, the direct question, especially with such a heavy posture before her, gave her pause.  She could not find a way to gracefully reject him.  “I would be most obliged,” escaped her mouth as her fingers laid across his own.  He lead her around the path which first brought them to the booth<br/>and  back toward the wooden surface, then pulled her close, leaving enough space between the to fill with uncertain heat.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Oh God</span>, she thought.  How had she gotten into this mess?<br/><br/>Motioning to the side, she barely followed him, and any other motion after she turned her chin downward so she could stare at her feet and order them away from his own.  Whatever questions or commentary he shared, she missed.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Oh God!</span> she thought again. <span style="font-style: italic">How</span> had she gotten into this mess?!</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">With one hand of hers on the arm he had around her, and her other holding his, Luciano grasped the latter and lifted their hands to shoulder level. He began to lead the dance in agonizing slow movements. He assumed that Yvonne could have been against the idea of dancing because she simply did not want to refuse the offer so that she does not come off as rude, perhaps she did not know how to dance, but it did not matter to the man. Yvonne was not utterly powerless to say 'no' to something she did not want, perhaps she felt it was only polite to accept his hand. For all he knew, she did well carrying herself the way she thought felt comfortable for her. Motioning to the side, Yvonne barely followed him, and any other motion after she turned her chin downward so she could stare at her feet and order them away from his own.<br/><br/>She continued being silent.<br/><br/>When the woman looked down, Luciano stared past her face with an amused smile that threatened to touch his face but which he controlled by forcing his lips tightly together. It did not matter if she knew how to dance, nobody needed professional skills to slow dance to Jazz and Piano, but the man sought to test her. Trust was necessary during business transactions, be it a share of information or a deal. If she could not trust him in a dance, he would not be able to exchange information with her. Truth be told, he might have taken her by surprise with his dance invitation. It might have been a horrifying experience for the woman, equal enough to a meteor falling over her backyard. His mindset believed that trust was owed to no one, it was earned.<br/><br/>The man smoothly glided her form gracefully along with his. He was aware of the heat forming between their bodies. Even the three inches space in between was not a sufficient enough of a number to block this uncertain fervency. There was something about the woman he could simply not put his finger on. Innocence perhaps? But that ‘something’ could also be the fact that she was ‘different’ than most of the women at the Cabaret. Yvonne was military. Looking no further, he shifted his eyes from the shoulder of this liberated female to this warrioress’ face, searching for the  eyes he could not find and which she hid by staring down at her feet. He was not looking to make her blush, or to make her uncomfortable. He barely knew anything about the woman. His hand slid from her upper back to her left hip, correcting his arm position. It allowed for even more freedom and space between them. As much as he wanted to test the woman's trust by coming the night, he did not wish to create unnecessary distraction.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">''Frau Wójcik?''</span> Came a low yet deep voice with a breathy quality to it. Luciano moved his head to the right while Yvonne's was to his left. He briefly looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. A silent chuckle escaped his mouth as he guided their frames around painfully at a snail's pace – literally - one step for every slow beat. <span style="font-style: italic">''You have not answered my question. I believe that I have lost you there for a moment.''</span> Luciano allowed the tone of his reminder to come as direct but sanguine nonetheless, questioning yet playful enough; a man's hope to disarm the atmosphere from any tense feelings and for once, it was not about taking full control of a situation like he always attempted to do in his dominant nature. Fair play.<br/></span><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">The woman turned her face up at his inquiring one.  He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.  Was he laughing at her?<br/><br/>''You have not answered my question. I believe that I have lost you there for a moment.''<br/><br/>He was!  Oh, that simply would not do. Yvonne straightened her back and cooled her expression, something placid and professional, but she couldn’t hide the bit of warmth behind it for his reaction.  She couldn’t exactly blame him.  With an internal sigh, she put more confidence into her steps, deciding however, that she would not let him get away with it by pushing into her right, brushing their bodies less than gently and rotating her foot behind that side, so he would be forced to turn with her as she pulled on his hand.<br/><br/>The problem wasn’t that she didn’t know how to dance, it was simply that she didn’t know how to follow.  She had practiced quite a bit for such situations, but all the forms she found directed the male partner, and that only helped her when dancing with someone more inept than she who knew the exact same patterns or did not mind giving up the reins.  Captain Grazzienelli did not seem to be that sort of man, so she would have her fun.  So she continued to push and pull him into the spin, likely disturbing the others on the floor, but she paid them little mind as she replied to his point, unable to remove the smart grin from her lips or even the chuckle in her voice as she was too unaware of them.<br/><br/>“If you were to lose me, you would  never be able to find me again, Captain.  Now tell me, what question is that?”  And she bit down on her snarky tongue behind closed lips, smiling sweetly up at the man, as innocent as ever.  Her lashes may or may not have fluttered once or twice to emphasize it.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">The man’s hand slid slightly down the woman’s hip in response to the movement of her back straightening, her expression cooling. Her searched her face, the smirk he forcefully attempted to conceal flourished within his irises and found form on his lips. Did he just get himself in trouble? Just as he wondered, amused, the lead was taken away from him. He found himself stepping backwards as the woman stepped forward; at times forced to turn with her, pulled into her spins; chests brushing up less than gently. He felt like a sailor fighting over the control of his boat regardless of the storm. An endless battlefield combat on the dance floor. His eyes narrowed. He exchanged a challenging smile with her, lifting a questioning brow in disbelief. The man had known fierce opponents in different circumstances, and this dance had made his adrenaline spike just as high would he have facing these individuals again, friends and foes.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“If you were to lose me, you would never be able to find me again, Captain. Now tell me, what question is that?”</span> And she bit down on her snarky tongue behind closed lips, smiling sweetly up at the man, as innocent as ever. Her lashes may or may not have fluttered once or twice to emphasize it. Luciano’s eyes glinted with mischief as their forms resumed to move slower again to the slow beat of the music. He found himself shaking his head, watching as the woman opened up to her surroundings like a flower. For now, he decided not to remind her of the question, allowing her to have her enjoyment instead - while it lasted. <br/><br/>The woman had way with words, he noted. He would return the favor soon enough, he thought, to give her a taste of his venom in return. Luciano noticed the looks on the faces of some men with hungry eyes planted on Yvonne. The Italian was not one to put up with these type of men, so disrespectful with their stares even though they could clearly see that she was in the company of another. The floor was marked as his territory the moment he decided to inhabit it with his body and soul. If they were the coyote, he was the bold lion.<br/><br/>Legs apart, Luciano brought his left forward for balance, and he moved his hand from the woman’s hip to her upper back, focusing a good percentage of his strength into that one particular hand as he calculated his next move successfully. Without signalling to the other what he was about to do, he continued to slow-dance with her until a certain rise in the beat. He swiftly but gently lowered Yvonne, dipping her forme further back to the left while supporting her arching body with a hand tightly behind her back. The support naturally brought forth her abdomen into contact with his groin. His right leg found a relaxed shelter between her thighs and Luciano voiced his laugh for the first time that night as he stared down at the Polish female with a glistening, undivided attention.<br/><br/>His other forgiving hand slid down the woman’s waist to her left thigh which he curled his hand gently around. Mercilessly, he brought her leg naturally into a forward and up lift, and it curled over his right hip. His eyes blinked to a dissipating vision of her neck arching back. In that position he answered her, <span style="font-style: italic">“I have crossed oceans, Frau Wójcik. There is no place in the world that I cannot reach should I lose you.”</span> A decisive smirk curled up one corner of his lips, his greys momentarily lingered from Yvonne’s neck to catch her eyes as he looked down at her. Their forms have taken the spotlight and bathed in the flashing lights of the cameras. <span style="font-style: italic">“I would not want to lose the valuable information and answers I assume you have for me - unless you decide to dive into the Bermuda Triangle, then I might not be able to conduct a search for you in there.”</span> Luciano added in a mock-friendly chuckle and an arch of the left brow.<br/><br/></span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">Yvonne &amp; Luciano, discussing the assassination of his twin brother, Erlind Kohler &amp; Hamish's wareabouts.</span></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><span style="color: #8080BF">Yvonne felt like a huntress, throwing him off his guard the way she had, but he was no prey.  His hand moved toward the center of her back, bringing them closer together as the spin came to a close, and her eyes, a dark green now, gave him a challenging glare.  It didn’t take him long to meet it.<br/><br/>He leaned into her, pushing away with one hand so she arched away from him, but he dropped the hand slowly so she continued with it, holding her unflinchingly with just the one appendage, and the young woman realized he was also a hunter.  Her hand slid from his shoulder to his forearm, where it attached firmly.  The other he loosed as it reached her legs somewhere far beyond her registration, but when he did so, his now free hand slipped around the extremity and brought it burning to her awareness.  He lifted her from that length, it bending at the knee for a desperate hold around his hip, her fingers barely refrained from making marks just below the man’s elbow. <br/><br/> All the while, she bowed further and further in the revers, until only her neck could continue the curve and she opened her eyes with a slow breath out, seeing the faces upon her, under flashing lights, and upside-down to her eyes.  She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes - out of fear?  Out of trust?  Cold rushed from her heavy cheeks and she knew which it had been.  Keeping her composure, she trailed her opened hand up her body, through her hair, and stretched it back above her head, pointing into a camera as it released a blindingly light into her eyes.<br/><br/>“I have crossed oceans, Frau Wójcik. There is no place in the world that I cannot reach should I lose you…. I would not want to lose the valuable information and answers I assume you have for me,” she heard him say, somewhere in the white.  The words lit a flurry of thoughts and questions and emotions she was wholly unprepared for, confusion the brightest of them all.  He was right, though, that they had business to attend to, and it was this that she used to balance herself once more as she wrangled her hold tighter, ready to move so she could stand, with dignity, again.<br/><br/>“Unless you decide to dive into the Bermuda Triangle, then I might not be able to conduct a search for you in there.”<br/><br/>He added it like a joke, but the officer had closed her hanging lips and her chest clenched around her unrestrained heart rate, forcing out of her focus how she could feel it throughout her.  She was back in control of herself.  As soon as she had it, he whipped her up, the impact on her neck nearly bringing her face to his as her hand came around to slap him on his right pectoral.  Her breath had left her again and she fought for that control one more time.   Pushing herself back and extending her leg only provided him a greater hold on her torso so she was arched solidly against him.  The woman inhaled slowly and exhaled the same, her eyes flat as she stared into his, relaying no emotion except, possibly,  the intensity of whatever lay below the surface, like frustration.<br/><br/>Finding the courage for the words, rather than the words themselves, she spoke steadily for his awareness more than the bustling around them that might overhear.  “You’ll have no need to look when we’re finished with our exchange this night, Triangle or no.”  When he would finally let her go, the commander would smile graciously to their audience, and bow her head humbly before heading back toward the booth, alone.<br/></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF"> <span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">“You’ll have no need to look when we’re finished with our exchange this night, Triangle or no.’’</span></span><br/><br/>She let go of him. Correction. He let go of her. He watched her make her way back to their private booth, the motion detectors on the sliding doors forcing them open to give her access to their comfort zone. Luciano raised his chin up and clenched his fists as he bit the inside of his mouth, almost making the soft skin bleed. He did not look at the audience nor did he pay any form of attention to the men with the ‘ouch she did it’ expression on their faces. Wasn’t that all they got anyway? Peasants dressed in luxury costumes, he thought as he regained composure and followed the trail of the scent Yvonne has left behind. He followed it to the sliding doors. He immediately walked to a table where he picked up the remote control in order to lower the volume of the music echoing within the walls of their private booth.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"So, Captain, what information is it you seek from me?”</span> She asked haughtily, practically pouncing into the booth.”<br/><br/>He threw a gaze her way and advanced towards the table which hosted varieties of drinks to pour himself a glass of gin. <span style="font-style: italic">“Very well played. You’ve done great out there!”</span> He commented, sipping on his drink as he eyed the woman in question. <span style="font-style: italic">“Would you prefer to head somewhere else to discuss our meeting tonight, Frau Wójcik? I wish not to hold you any longer in a setting that may not be to your likings.”</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"No, I'm quite fine where I am, thank you. Aren't you, Captain Grazzienelli."</span> It wasn't a question. Her eyes may have been innocent, but nothing else about her was. She was the huntress once again. "This booth is private enough and you don't need to go to any great lengths finding me again. Sit. We have business to attend to."<br/><br/>Did she just order him to sit down? Unbelievable. The audacity was blinding, he thought. He chuckled to himself and shook his head, lowering his gaze to the ground for what seemed to be a second or two. He never underestimated the woman. The dance was all about wanting to know who he was dealing with. Strangely enough, he could feel that she trusted him out there. This was probably one form of truth Yvonne may not want to accept. Her frustration though, he thought, was quite amusing to say the least…<br/><br/>Toxic even.<br/><br/>When he seemed unable to respond - whether his hunter’s obstinence was also an influence or not - she continued.  <span style="font-style: italic">“Fine then, I messaged you to meet me here, and I already gave the content of your brother’s letter to you, so it is my turn, I suppose.”</span>  Officer Wojcik, adjusted in her seat, trying to calm herself with the distraction so she could conduct this conversation more reasonably…<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Rest assured, I do not need to look for you anywhere, indeed.”</span> Luciano smiled, revealing a set of white teeth as he looked away from Yvonne, silently trying to recover from whatever the heck just happened out there on the dance floor. He felt the huntress in her in return, and the taste was bitter, yet there was no situation he could not survive through. A primal feeling. Challenge was the purest form of intense pleasure in his own dictionary. It  turned the man into an unstoppable beast. Obstacles fought it him, they did not frighten him. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“You’ve given me the contents, I agree, but you haven’t answered my question yet. Don’t you remember?”</span> Luciano turned around on his heels, meeting the woman’s eyes with a serious expression on his own. He parted his lips slightly and briefly licked the corner of his lips prior to clearing his throat. <span style="font-style: italic">“You were … somehow lost … out there. But please, do ask your question. One for you and one for me.” </span>The man gave the woman a wink and joined her in the booth, taking a seat across from her, arms crossed over his chest.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">Officer Wojcik lowered her chin, trying to glare where she did not feel the need.  She eventually sighed, and gave in.  “Quid pro quo.  Seems fair enough.  Your brother…” the woman started.  The pause gave them both a moment to let his image sink in, making the brief silence longer than intended.  Honestly, it was a subconscious stall while she pieced together her question, like rolling the codex into place on a briefcase.  “He was transferred into the German regime for a purpose, I imagine.  He mentioned that he was not a good fellow, which seems to align with many military personnel, but I’d like to know…” she trailed off, switching from Deutch to Italian, “What exactly was his expertise that involved him in his missions with Oberstlutenant Kohler?”<br/><br/>It was a heavy question.  It gave the captain more information than she might get back in return, but it was important, and the reports were too ambiguous for her to get a clear reading herself.  It was completely possible the twin brother of the man in question had no knowledge of the others goings-on once he joined the Nazi party, so she opened with it.  If that were the case, he could be of no help regarding the night he died.  It wasn’t the end of her questions even if that were the case, so she kept her face as neutral as she could manage it.  Afterall, this was just another soldier they were discussing, wasn’t it?<br/><br/>Only it wasn’t, and she knew he wasn’t.  “Oberstleutnant Kohler was the man leading the mission on the, the church,” she had to refrain from a snarl as she said this, “and though I did not know it at the time, shortly after: the clinic, where he was shot and he fell.”<br/><br/>The woman looked at the table, taking in what little air she could to maintain herself. Then, she looked back up into the eyes that mirrored those in her mind, yet were so different on their own behalf.  “I will not lie and tell you he died honorably, a hero.  He was taken down by an unknown assailant and one with a personal vendetta, I believe, despite - no<span style="font-style: italic"> in favor</span> of the accuracy of the shooter. Which means something connected to his history.  Moreover, due to the circumstances of the mission, I believe it to be in connection with the oberstleutnant.  How else would the assassin know the movements of the operation and Officer Fab- Grazzienelli’s inclusion, who had not been selected until the day prior?  If not for the… emotion of the wound, I would have suspected the bullet may have been intended for Officer Kohler.  However, given the <span style="font-style: italic">evidence</span>, I am not so inclined.<br/><br/>“I know that’s probably more than you were expecting to hear.  I apologize.  Let me add in one other question, however:  How did your brother meet Kohler, and why would the oberstleuntenant want him dead?”  Her eyes were as a pale as ghosts as she stared into those of the man across from her. This was an inquiry and she was prepared for any answers since they could only lead her to one destination; the killer.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">Luciano listened to the woman closely. He let her finish what she needed to say before answering with any word. When she said that his brother died honorably, the Italian smiled weakly and bowed his head. Not only he appreciated the humbleness in those words, but also appreciated her efforts when she continued in his mother language and he was quite marvelled at how well she spoke Italian. It was so … penetrative. If his eyes ever left her face for a second, that was when he closed his eyelids momentarily to swallow back any tears that threatened to water his eyes at the mention of the day his brother was assassinated. The man did not mourn yet, in a more proper way at least. He has been drinking, hoping that alcohol will make him forget, gambling even. For now, he just needed to isolate himself and scream as loud as he could... He needed to do something with the anger that has been tormenting him since.<br/><br/>When his eyes fluttered open to look at her, he felt a certain one-sided connection with the woman sitting across from him. He did not care if it was mutual. The connection was simply there. His brother was with her during his last moments on earth and that alone made the man uneasy in her presence because there was comfort still, as though his brother was standing behind him, cold hands on his shoulders, whispering:It was okay to be speaking to this woman. Luciano knew right then that he will have to withdraw one day, from this whole thing and distance himself as far as possible from anyone who could have come across his brother, his mother included. It was only a matter of time before he sails his ship as far away from Europe as possible. He wanted this distance. No. He craved it. He would never be surprised if he lived a solitary life. He would never have to worry about losing someone ever again.<br/><br/>He could still feel his twin brother. Somewhere out there. Not completely gone but not really there. His emotions even in death, on the same level as his own. Luciano never felt so disturbed in his life. At that very moment he just wanted to use the world as a punching bag to release all the pain and anger. It took him a great amount of psychological strength to keep those emotions under control before this woman.<br/><br/>As much as he wanted any information possible about his brother’s killer, giving this woman whatever documents he possessed would mean sending her straight into the dragon’s lair. A mortal danger. The truth was his to find. He reached into his blazer’s front pocket for a box of cigarettes, a tremor passing through his right hand. Decisions. He needed to make a decision and fast. He sat the box aside on the table and interlaced his fingers together on the surface of that table, his grey eyes narrowing as they shifted between the woman and the movement in her arm. <br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Have you ever lost someone you truly cared for and loved,  Frau Wójcik?”</span> Luciano did not expect an answer in return. He shrugged it off and continued.<span style="font-style: italic"> “To answer you, my brother was never transferred under the Nazi regime. My brother and I were born in Germany, here in Munich.”</span> The man coughed into his hand and lowered his gaze to the table, a touch of sorrow could clearly be witnessed on his face if one was to look closer, even with his eyes lowered. But he made sure not to give the woman too much access to those private thoughts. Those thoughts were his. No one had any rights to them. It was unfortunately that resistance and suppression of emotions that made his pain even greater. Yet he spoke in a low, soft tone, debating silently over if he should hold the door open a little bit for the woman as she took a glimpse into his past. So he continued in that same tone, a tone he would never have used in the presence of strangers. A tone only reserved to those he knew, like family for example.<br/><br/>A pair of eyes like the combined color of cirrus clouds with their reflection in the sea were raised to look at Yvonne. <span style="font-style: italic">“I am German of birth. I have lived here until the age of fourteen. It was then that I have made an essential decision to return to the home of my ancestors and devote my life to the Regia Marina. My brother remained here, giving everything he had to your Fuhrer. Now you see why we were on two different sides of the same coin. The day my brother was assassinated I knew that something went wrong. We twins can just feel it. I had just arrived from America to Naples. I was driving the following day and I had an accident which rendered me in a coma for a week. This is why I could not attend his funerals. I am sure you’ve noticed. Upon my return to Germany to investigate what happened, I found the letter he left for you. But it was not the only thing that I found. There was this diary,” </span><br/><br/>Luciano paused and frowned, looking away to take a deep breath, one hand rubbing his chin. <span style="font-style: italic">“-unfortunately I believe that Fabiano had torn out most of the pages except some where he mentioned the name of a certain Isolde Dev- Dever … Ah, I can’t remember. But this woman, he stated that she was helping the Jewish by hiding them and that he signed up for some … some task where he was to investigate the situation. Then ... there was this strange photo of a man between one of the pages. My brother had made sure to attach it  to one of the blank pages. I saw the name of this person written on the photo but I do no recall what it was. It’s up there in my hotel room. I also have with me this audio-cassette of a recording. A conversation between two men, and-” </span><br/><br/>Luciano paused. He would not want to give the woman too much information just yet. Whatever that he heard in that audio-recording he decided to simply forget it. There was no possible way any of that was true. Luciano needed a moment to collect his thoughts, her last question pacing around in his brain. <span style="font-style: italic">‘How did your brother meet Kohler, and why would the oberstleutnant want him dead?’</span> He looked away from Yvonne and as he did, the man accidentally knocked off the bottle of gin. It spilled over the table and the liquid may or may not have stained the Polish woman’s dress. <span style="font-style: italic">“I - I am terribly sorry, Miss.”</span> Luciano swiftly rose to his feet, picking up a napkin while turning his attention to Yvonne not knowing what to do with the cloth. He sighed, pressing his lips together and frowned, shaking his head.</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic">Luciano's Hotel room, to discuss the issue further more, revealing the possession of Hamish's picture and a video recording of Kai and Erlind's conversation the night they visited Isolde in her flat.</span></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;"><span style="color: #8080BF"><span style="font-style: italic">He’s being vague</span>, she noted.  <span style="font-style: italic">He does know something.</span><br/><br/>As Captain Grazienelli continued through their history to the documents he had, she had to wonder what sort of tasks his brother had been assigned to and what he did of his own accord.  Those sorts of reports did not seem like anything a German soldier would keep.  Especially not the man she knew, blindly following orders to his death, which gave her pause in believing the words but also her memories.  She had barely known <span style="font-style: italic">him</span>.  Surely his twin brother, whom he entrusted with these details, knew better - including but not limited to sharing a sensation of his death.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">That didn’t mean they shared thoughts.</span><br/><br/>Officer Wojcik considered the implications of following the stranger back to his room, what intentions he might have there.  His ambiguity could have been bait at best, but hesitation at worst.  Should it be possible that the captain was attempting to get information from her and get her alone, she needed to prepare for it.  She wasn’t exactly unarmed, and she was thankful the dance exposed the opposite thigh if that were the case - not that she would have cared under other circumstances - but there was clearly another side to consider.  Kohler had been working with the officer until he was of better use dead - he probably wasn’t the only one.  And Luciano Grazzienelli could very well be one like him or another target of those like him, which meant care on her part no matter his involvement.<br/><br/>Yvonne sighed, frustrated, as the drink poured over.  The way her hands set upon the table allowed her much grace, able to grab a napkin and stop the flood heading for the edge of the table, but much of it splashed up across her chest, or dribbled out from beneath the cloth and onto her legs and shoes.  Honestly, she could have gone for more attacking her dress.  Then again, if he was trying to get her to his rooms, alone, needing to clean the thing or change entirely from it would be a convenient way to do so.<br/><br/>But she needed to know what there was available to her.  Yvonne begged for the square he held uncertainly by holding out one hand and giving him an exasperated look.  He handed it over and she dipped it in her water glass before bending over to clean-up her lower appendages - it was more inconvenient there than anyplace else.  Shaking her head with a soft chuckle, she tried to lighten the man’s mood.<br/><br/>“Isolde Devereaux was his final mission, a healer at that clinic.  She is alive.  I mean to find her.  Be assured, Captain.”  She nodded once for emphasis, knowing that statement could be taken either for zealotry or treason.  There was only way she could find out which it was for him.  Patting herself down with the dry corner of one napkin, she laughed, avoiding eye contact as she said, “You know, if you wanted to get me out of this dress, all you had to do was ask.”<br/><br/>Shaking her head again, and continuing the laughter, the commander looked up with complete seriousness and a smile.  “So, your room, then?”</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">“Isolde Devereaux was his final mission, a healer at that clinic.  She is alive.  I mean to find her.  Be assured, Captain.”  <br/><br/>The man surveyed her as she began to clean the mess, and he remained standing, not allowing the events of the night to rule his behaviour. It was not polite to resume sitting when he almost ruined the woman's dress so early into their meeting, so he stepped to the side and gave the woman some time to clean herself as she continued speaking. The man nodded his head with self-control, wondering if this Polish woman thought ill of Isolde Devereaux and wanted to find her for other reasons than offer her aid. For now, this Isolde woman was not his business, but she could still know something. She was there the day his brother was murdered.<br/><br/>Hands in his pockets, Luciano shifted his eyes to watch random people who passed by. When she began to laugh, the man turned his head surprised at the change of tone in her voice. The laughter was certainly not expected, but what made him stiffen were the words she pronounced soon after, avoiding his eyes.<br/><br/>“You know, if you wanted to get me out of this dress, all you had to do was ask.”<br/><br/>As he stared at her for a moment, almost with a glare, the man felt deeply insulted. She made it sound as though his intentions were ill. How could she assume such things? Lips parted slightly to speak something, to explain to this woman that she was highly mistaken and needed to watch her language, but the moment she shook her head and raised her face; staring at him with a complete seriousness and a smile, Luciano gazed at Yvonne and understood it all. She simply wanted to lighten up the mood a little bit, and that was her way of doing so, he came to believe, appreciating it while re-thinking her words.<br/><br/>You know, if you wanted to get me out of this dress, all you had to do was ask.<br/><br/>This time the words crept up clearer in his head and his breath was caught in his throat. Luciano fought for every molecule of oxygen in his lungs as those exact same words did things to him, things the woman may not have intended to do. Things she would still not be able to witness on the face of the man, or maybe she would be capable to see those signs. But even as the Mariner stood there portraying a man who would never surrender to anything in this world and beyond, these words silently stimulated his mind, ravished his senses as they translated from simple alluring words to dangerous imagery inking in his brain. Irritating all at once, yet highly seductive.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">“So, your room, then?”</span></span><br/><br/>But there she sat clothed in the image of innocence, power and intrigue all together, standing out from the other women, when the man suddenly saw in her something troubling, something frightening. Could Fabiano have seen that too? A truth that pounded against the anchoring of his self-control. Luciano regarded a woman who could lure the strongest of them all men to their misery and death with their intelligence, beauty and femme fatale attitude. The only creation ever that would bring a man like him to his knees. She was there, body and soul yet distant - and when you least expect it, she's back again in your face.<br/><br/>A political threat. A living weapon. A mythic enchantress.<br/><br/>A <span style="font-style: italic">Siren..</span>.<br/><br/>No mariner would wish to sail his fate to Sirenum Scopuli only to become ruined. But he could not blame her. He could not blame her for what his eyes were capable to see through. He could avoid such an obstacle with great odds of success by tearing down through the barrier which threatened to consume the supreme productivity of his brain. And so he did, pushing all distracting thoughts away with the blink of an eye. His response to a visual thought ohhh-so intoxicating was but a minor sit-back, an unexpected hazardous touch. Nothing but that, and nothing he could not handle with a strong dignity before it intensified.<br/><br/>Luciano tilted his head to the side. One discreet sigh through his lips was all it needed to set himself free of a sensation he knew oh too well. A liquid smile, and a repressed gaze sailed from the gentle curve of Yvonne's knee to her face.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“Ah, well, I would have gone myself and I would have returned with these documents so you don't need to leave the comfort of your seat, right here,  Frau Wójcik”</span> The man paused a second with a thoughtful expression before adding, picking up his blazer. <span style="font-style: italic">“But since you asked, I cannot deny you that. Please, do follow me.”</span> Luciano stepped to the side, a gesture of a hand opening an invisible path to the woman as he lead her outside of the cabaret. As they passed the reception desk in the lobby, the man placed a gentle palm on the woman’s upper back. It was a respectful act. A silent message to the bored pigs in proximity: that she was a lady of honest company, and certainly not a courtesan. He removed his hand as they stepped into the elevator that would take the two all the way up to the 18th floor of the hotel building. With smooth movements, he walked beside the woman to his suite, discussing random political matters before fondling his keys to open the door to his quiet temporary habitat; one with a view over Munich. It was divided into three compartments: The living room, bedroom and bathroom.<br/><br/>The man invited Yvonne into the dim-lit living-room. <span style="font-style: italic">“Should you ... wish to drink anything, go ahead, and please feel at home.”</span> Luciano's words came a little bit hesitant as he suggested with a curt nod while dropping his blazer on his work desk, along with his gaze. The hesitance came entirely from the fact that it felt quite strange to do business with a female within the comfort of his very own sanctuary – and she was not just 'another' female. He was completely filled with warmth the moment the other stepped inside as though visited by an angel. Yet, his tone portrayed one with unique openness as to not make her feel unwelcome. <span style="font-style: italic">“I have coffee, tea ... juice. Whatever your heart desires.”</span> He added with a neutral expression. The man's own diary was face down on the center table which he had forgotten to store away somewhere safer. The very first few pages were written in English, the rest in a language unknown to most. A language he recalled from far away dreams, almost from another life.<br/><br/>The Italian excused himself as he walked into the door-less bedroom to fetch for the photo of the man who killed his brother - which he doesn’t know about - and the audio-recording ... of course.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">Leading a women’s battalion meant a lot more than training women in nursing or firearms, it meant teaching them to be aware of the enemy within their own ranks and homes. Sincerely, it had always been a strange concept for her.  Men were no more threatening to her than women, demons, or monsters.  However, she understood the mental dangers either sex could play on each other, and it was completely possible women were the more dangerous of the two, especially since so many me - taking after their predecessor Adam - had the naivete or pride to believe they were beyond harm from women, often believing women to be infallible.  The Word had clearly taught otherwise.<br/><br/>So, Commander Wojcik followed the man back to his room, knowing she may have caused him temptation should he not have understood her purpose, knowing she may have caused temptation to those overhearing as she intended, and knowing that this presupposition was a sin in itself. Yvonne smiled, but should anyone nearby see it, they might’ve believed her to be nervous, as weak as it was.  Down the first hall, surprised by the lack of privacy this offered already with pairs of men and women attempting their own seclusion, the woman steadied herself with a deep breath on the elevator.  Silence stretched between the captain and herself. Her thoughts kept it from being awkward with herself, but she could not say the same of her companion.<br/><br/>The doors parted and he picked-up a light conversation piece where he had left it when they originally closed.  She couldn’t be sure what it was about, but he seemed comfortable with carrying it alone.  Here it was much less busy with bodies, but she noticed the few that did remain outside their rooms with acute awareness - awareness, as she taught, was the greatest weapon any soldier could have.  None of the persons in her sights gave her reason to object when he lifted the decorated key and chain to his own suite.  Still, as the door swung open, the holy warrior braced herself and thrust her aura throughout the room, feeling every surface  like she slid her own hands over them, pressing out the creases of ill-will and evil intentions, or just for a sense of the physical surroundings - living or otherwise that may be inside.  She felt nothing out of the ordinary, not even from the man gesturing for her entry.  Except maybe a little hesitation.  Perhaps the silence had been awkward for him afterall.<br/><br/>“Should you ... wish to drink anything, go ahead, and please feel at home I have coffee, tea ... juice. Whatever your heart desires,” he trailed off almost teasingly, but one look at his face indicated nothing of the sort.  A relief, she was sure.<br/><br/>Wojcik refrained from emitting her more sociable sigh as she answered, “I appreciate the invitation, but I do not wish to keep us at all from business.”<br/><br/>He excused himself and returned from another room shortly, the glance within giving her a brief view of the bed and other furniture of his sleeping quarters.  It all seemed much more luxurious than she had expected of anyone anywhere, let alone for a traveling sea captain only in Munich for the period of grief expected of a brother to the deceased when fulfilling final wishes.  Maybe he meant to stay longer - it certainly begged the question.  From what she’d seen of the man, however, chances were that he simply enjoyed the finery and ostentatious displays for his own sake.  Pride.  Pride and vanity.<br/><br/>The officer glimpsed through the folders, giving a once-over for anything which would stand-out before laying them out at the table, handing the small book there to its owner.  “A journal for the journey of a mariner.  It seems fitting,” she remarked idly as she arranged the pages. “Now, tell me what I need to know of these.  This man seems familiar, but I do not know him.  Was he a part of the troop with which your brother fought?  Under Kohler’s leadership?”<br/><br/>She snaked the last pages underneath some of the first, hiding imagery of the clinic and autopsy. This was not needed at that exact moment.  “So what all am I seeing here? I suppose it’s your turn for a question, but if you would kindly give me some sort of report on this, I would appreciate it.”</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">“A journal for the journey of a mariner. It seems fitting”<br/><br/>The Italian frowned as he took his diary from her hand, adding a gentle smirk to his lips. His hand movement was slow as he carried the journal somewhere on the couch in the empty space to his left. Even the brilliant of minds out there would never be able to translate the language in which he wrote the important parts of his diary. He moved closer to Yvonne and seated himself next to her. He pulled the center table towards them as he listened to her attentively.<br/><br/>“Now, tell me what I need to know of these. This man seems familiar, but I do not know him. Was he a part of the troop which your brother fought? Under Kohler's leadership?” Luciano watched the woman pause, storing away the images of the crime scene and the autopsy of his brother before she added, “So what all am I seeing here? I suppose it's your turn for a question, but if you would kindly give me some sort of report on this, I would appreciate it.”<br/><br/>“Yes I have questions, but what you have seen so far is not all.” Luciano shewed on the inside of his mouth as he carried a small audio device from the couch to his lap. He glanced at the picture on the table and he turned his gaze to Yvonne. The toned black-and-white photo showed a man in a black suit. One could tell from the up-close shot of the upper body that his head was clean shaven, even though he wore a black Derby hat. The man in the picture seemed to be looking away from the photograph, as if this one's presence was not recognized. “Have you taken a look at the name on the back of the photo? You do not seem to be familiar with this face, that I can see. Hamish James Buchannen. Does this name sound familiar to you? The strangest of it all is the audio-cassette within this device.” Luciano held Yvonne's eyes for what could have felt like forever and with uncertainty he clicked the 'play' button. The man stepped away from the couch to survey the city from behind the balcony’s large windows. He stood there in a solid standing posture as he listened again to the recording for the hundredth time.<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>“Hamish James Buchannen. Photo was taken outside of a shack somewhere in the mountains surrounding the city. I've ... (static) ... it in my personal mailbox couple ... (static) ... ago. Sender anonymous. I would have known who it was, but he was very smart not to use pen to write his message, but instead he used a type printer .... (laugher) ...Tell me about the woman Darcy, the man in the picture was asking from inside the shack. The sender did not say much about this event, but he explained that whoever this Hamish guy was speaking to, the victim was constantly begging for mercy before giving up, speaking of ... (static) ... in the mountains. (Static) ... screamed ... (static) ... name. I ... I used my senses to guide me to this location ... the shack ... see if I could use the energy left behind in order to find out what exactly happened but there was nothing else left to use except for one dried drop of blood outside of the shack. The victim's, but it lead me to a ... (static) ... Burned bones is what I found.” First voice said, second voice responded. "The visage is unfamiliar."<br/><br/>“Franz Zimmer. The bones of Franz ... (static) ..., previously promoted to SS-Hauptsturmführer. He was reported missing which explains what happened. But that is all that I could find as long as I was in this form. I was immediately summoned from the fire pit to Tokyo where I had to conclude a new deal. ... (shewing, then silence for a while) ... am intrigued by the origin of the sender, but more by this person, Hamish. And he seems to clean oh too well after himself. I could not locate him but I do sense his presence in the area. How far? ... (static) ... If we could find him, he will tell us where Darcy hides. I wonder why the Archangel Raphael hasn't already.”  End of recording.</div></blockquote><br/><br/>Luciano walked back to the table and paused the audio. “This is not possible. My brother was not a Sherlock Holmes, yet he stated in this page,” The man said about the twin brother he used to enjoy bullying when they were kids. He walked around the table and paused near Yvonne's seated self. He leaned his upper body over the table and turned the pages on his brother's diary until he came across a half-torn page. He pointed at the inked words as he read them aloud. “This happened not too long ago. Here, look what it says ... 'When I walked up to that one apartment in the company of my comrade and saw this man in a white suit standing at the door of the female traitor, I knew, that something was up. I was carrying a transmitting device. All it took, was a swift and smooth hand movement to hide this intriguing governmental creation, this wonderful concealed microphone, into this man's pocket as we squeezed into the doorway of this woman's habitat. I cannot stop laughing as I write this. Unfortunately, my device was limited to a ten minutes recording option or fifteen minutes. My brain cannot process what I just heard. As for the photo, well who is this man anyway? It dropped from the pocket of my comrade this morning on his way out from the Colonel's office. I must return it when I get a chance to' ...”<br/><br/>Luciano cleared his throat and remained calm in response to his emotions. He straightened his neck and back and took a seat next to Yvonne. He licked his lips and cleared his throat again as he turned his attention to the woman. “It is probably nothing of importance.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I have seen strange things, Yvonne,” He continued, addressing her by her first name. “- and I can tell you that there is no possible way … no way … what we've heard could be true. I mean, angels, demons? Seriously? What is next, aliens?” Luciano laughed softly, his back retreating into the couch as he carried both his hands to his face before running them through his short hair. He turned his face to the woman, a flourishing spark of amusement and disbelief glinted within the depths of his glistening eyes. “Tell me I am right...” His request for confirmation sounded like a distant murmur, yet deep in quality.<br/><br/>Luciano moved his face closer to the woman as if to conceal the seriousness of the words he was about to speak next, just in case that bloody cop was following him around again. Or ... as if he was about to speak a very terrible secret. His complexion paled as much as he fought to remain in control. He shook his head slowly, eyes shifting back and forth between her lips to the windows of her soul, searching for the confirmation he craved as he subconsciously took one of her hands into his own, not that he was afraid of physical contact. His nature spoke; one of a man who simply happened to get a little touchy in the presence of people he was comfortable with. Otherwise very rarely. “I might have met this woman mentioned in the recording ... Darcy ... the night of the day you and I have spoken at the church. She was ... she was not alone.”</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">Yvonne recognized the tremor of fragility in the man.  He was on the precipice of enlightenment or disaster, between the conversations of divine things and meeting the creature Darcy.  She was not surprised by his mention of another at the witches side, but she was surprised by his response to such a person.  Could it have been Kohler?  A demon would surely cause such a reaction, like fear, only the man did not seem to be afraid as one would be for their wellbeing.  He stared into her eyes, begging the commander to speak, his support for his sanity.<br/><br/>She could not give it.  In fact, the captain before her suddenly did seem so fragile, so ill-prepared, young and innocent, maybe.  To tell him the truth would be to shatter everything he was, his world had been based upon, and it would cause him to erect walls much like his brother did the night they had spoken in the snow. The night she warned him…<br/><br/>“Is that your question,” she asked him, “whether these things are real?”<br/><br/>Any indication of the affirmative and her statuesque expression would shift along the faultline of her eyes, nearly spilling forth every thought that boiled below its surface.  They burned her and she would hiss at their exposure.  “What you tell me I cannot believe, but not for the reasons you hope.  What you hear is true.  I am tired of the non-believers in this world, how easy it has been for you all to disregard your texts, His Word.  You are weak, denial your shield.  I tell you now, if this is the weapon you choose to face such truth then you are a braver soul than I to put such faith in luck.  Mine lies with Our Lord and Savior, whether you accept Him or not.  This must be clear before any further conversation can be understood between us, or you can dismiss me much like- I am not unaccustomed to such reactions; however, it will make discussion difficult to say the least.”  Her veneer was laying itself back into place as she spoke, conviction always a strength on which she could rely, even as she had to force herself to look upon that face again.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">The man let go of her hand, his face slowly turned to look away. The skin of his hand hardened tightened, skin turned cold as if he has placed his hands into a bucket of ice. It was certainly not due to blood circulation, or tissue damage. He shifted his weight comfortably on the couch, angling his chest towards the woman and he bent his left knee, bringing one left foot underneath his right thigh, while his right foot remained on the floor. His right hand came to rest between his thighs as if seeking some warmth, and the fingers of his other hand ran through his light brown short locks, and they remained there as he brought his left elbow to rest against the top surface of the couch.<br/><br/>“I tell you now, if this is the weapon you choose to face such truth then you are a braver soul than I to put such faith in luck.”<br/><br/>The Mediterranean blush on his face faded away as his complexion became paler. The warmth that was the energetic hint of blue in his eyes evanesced behind a connotation of a cloudy stormy day which reflected in the grey of his orbs. “I’m a believer myself, and that was my question, indeed. ” He began, “but none of what I heard in that recording makes sense.” The male arched a brow still in disbelief. “But you do not seem surprised at all. What is going on really?”</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">“Really?”  The officer exhaled sharply, an indignant sound.  “A war, as you know it <span style="font-style: italic">and</span> as has been for thousands of eons more than time itself.  This man,” she gestured toward the image laying on the table, “I do not know how he is involved, or your brother, but if they are related to the oberstlutenant - herr Kohler? - than they are whether they like it, know it, believe it, or not.  He is a demon, and he is not the only one in our midst, even amongst the Cause.  The woman, Darcy, is a supporter of mein Fuhrer, but she is also a betrayer, one whose purpose is not with God, but his enemy, Lucifer.  <br/><br/>“The same could be said of any war, but when angels and demons are given names, it is a turning point in history.  This one especially.”  Wojcik stood and walked about - sitting was honestly not a comfortable thinking or speaking position for her.  The woman like to be in action, and she liked to be on the move - sitting did neither.  Sighing as she turned abruptly, military-training in her very steps, she began a second lap in her pacing.  “What is going on <span style="font-style: italic">really</span> is beyond you or even I.  That does not mean it is not our war to fight or that we can abstain from our roles within it, but the information may not all be available and faith may be our only leader.  This,” she indicated his reports, “is more than enough for me.  I asked your brother not to partake in that mission, and he refused my advice.  I believed it to be simple folly, and his change in mind in that letter you gave me seemed so out-of-place to his response to me then that I did not believe it.  I’m not sure I do now, but this paints a far different picture than the one I had been inspecting and it is possible he knew more than I gave him credit for, but I do not believe he accepted the facts so easily.  His faith…” she shook her head, bringing herself back to the present, to the company in which she stood.  “The point being, we have met for answers we are both seeking and I’m not entirely sure either has.  If you did, I doubt you would’ve opened up so readily to me.  At first I thought it a ruse, but now I see you are really as innocent as you portray yourself, but it does not answer my initial question - how was your brother involved.  Do you know?  Do you wish to find out?”</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">Luciano gazed at the woman, lips parted in an effortless discreet smile which curled up one corner of his lips. She was not crazy or insane, that he knew. He closed his lips and maintained eye contact until the woman broke it, standing up to start pacing as she went about conveying the valuable information she entrusted him with. As she spoke, the man began to process her words.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">“I do not know who this Kohler is, but what I can tell you is that I came in contact with this woman, Darcy and the man who was with her, and who she referred to as Zanzibar.”</span> He paused, feeling irritation building up again as he momentarily had a flashback of the night they cornered him in the restroom and how he allowed himself to abundantly surrender to that one lustful feeling. Sorcery. If it wasn't for his willpower and the bloody cop who saved him afterwards, God knows what would have happened. <span style="font-style: italic">“I am not a fool. They sought me for something, and I know I was their target that night. Nothing I could not handle though.”</span><br/><br/>The man shook his head. <span style="font-style: italic">“I have not stepped into my brother's apartment since my last visit. Perhaps if I do I can find some more informa-”</span> The man trailed off and he sighed, looking up at the woman. <span style="font-style: italic">“Forgive me. If I have not seen my share of strange things, I would have assumed you are a lunatic telling me that some demon is working under the Fuhrer or that some Archangel is walking amongst mankind.”</span> Luciano got up to his feet and picked up two glasses in one hand. <br/><br/>He waved fingers over a wine bottle with red berries flavor and smoky tobacco notes before settling on a different option that will more than likely be to the woman’s liking. He picked up a Venetian red wine bottle of Costasera Amarone - a pristine creation with sultry, exotic notes of berries, chocolate, plums and other enticing, sensual flavors that would leave one’s throat like a bewitched lover craving for more.  He poured the correct amount of the content into the wine glasses which he took with him around as he resumed to speak with confidence. <span style="font-style: italic">“But you are much wiser than I would have thought. I give you that.”</span> He advanced towards the woman, slowly but boldly cornering her up against the wall as he offered one of the two glasses her way, color returning to his face once more. A subtle hint of a smirk crossed his lips. <span style="font-style: italic">“If I wish to find out? Sure I do … This woman, I have seen her at the Hotel in Naples, the night I arrived from America and of course, the day prior to my brother’s assassination. But how did you get involved in all of this? Mhm? How did you, a human being, come to accept this reality oh so easily? I would have to assume.”</span> The man raised the glass to his lips but did not take a sip. Instead, he cast a left-sided glance at the woman - a signature glance his brother and himself shared in common. <br/><br/>He was not suspicious of her.<br/><br/>He was ... intrigued by <span style="font-style: italic">her.</span> Suddenly, nothing in existence seemed so mysterious and enigmatic than Commander Yvonne Wojcik.<br/></span><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #8080BF">Wojcik was not surprised to see the man head for the bar after such news.  She was surprised by how well he handled it as he walked over to said bar, and in responding to her.  In fact, she was impressed.  Impressions were not always good, however, and she kept that in mind as he returned to her, a bold stride with the bottle and, she noted, <span style="font-style: italic">two</span> glasses.  If he was really such an alcoholic, he would just keep one hand full with the glass and the other with the bottle, but he was a different sort of fool - the arrogant kind.  She did not budge as he came very close to her, certainly within the bubble of familiarity.  Her eyes challenged his and the smirk on his lips.  That same expression, a nuance from the one just before, seemed to nearly mock her - not by intent, of course, but nonetheless perceived so.  Captain Grazzienelli was in a different sort of denial, one in which he believed himself above this supernatural revelation, that whatever experiences he’d had before let him untouchable to the world of the divine.  Oh, what folly.  She almost pitied him.<br/><br/>But the fact that he stood so close to her with her back so close to the wall was not lost on her.  He was the hunter again, the innocence she saw in him before not lost but simply molded into this facade - he needed to see himself as something strong, and so he was.  Turning the conversation on her, he made her the prey that gave him that strength.  She would not stand for it, but she would not break his illusion entirely, a man’s ego could only suffer so much, and it was so intricately tied with their stability in any case.  She could forgive him this fault now.  Afterall, he had been pertinent to her cause and potentially of further use to her mission, so she acted as if the glance from the side of his tipped-back glass had no effect on her.  In all earnestness, it may have had the exact reaction he hoped, or the exact opposite of what he expected, so the neutrality was easy for her to portray.<br/><br/>“What would you <span style="font-style: italic">have</span> to assume, seniore?” she asked with a smile, stealing the extra glass from between his fingers.<br/><br/>The commander, playing in the moment, threw back her head and took the entirety of the wide bowl in a single swallow which fell her against the wall there, her neck arched back in a reference to their earlier evening on the dance floor.  It was a feminine bask, the wine, a kind of dessert wine one could enjoy with nothing else - the kind one easily got carried away with nothing else  Sweet and dry, she tasted it well in the back of her palate.  The woman personally enjoyed something darker and headier, but she could appreciate the occasional break to tradition, especially when that something had the smooth elegance of  such a selection.<br/><br/> Her face, returning to its pursuer, remained playful as she turned her hips to the side, out of sight.  “We are all children of <span style="font-style: italic">God</span>,” said she, “any of those literate enough know the Bible is not simple rhetoric.” <br/><br/>The motion of her torso pulled her closer to him. <br/><br/> “I told you I was raised in the church, then joined the military of my country to face the demons of this Earth - I hope to one day join His army.” <br/><br/>She was barely an inch away from him.<br/><br/>Her eyes were on his lips.<br/><br/> “So I can destroy the distributors of temptation and sin.”  With that she thrust the rotation, her hip pushing into the man’s and giving her the room to whip around and out of the corner in which he kept her.  She stole the bottle in the motion and brought her form back to the couch and papers laid there.  “Which brings us back to the point of this meeting,” she sighed and laughed at once.  “This Darcy is an agent of the devil, and so would be her Zanzibar fellow.  Kohler and his associates are, too, which is likely why he wanted your brother dead, so when he failed he had to hire another to do it, and it is fully possible this man would know about it as one of those associates - but <span style="font-style: italic">like</span> your brother, it is just as likely he is only a pawn.”<br/><br/>Pushing back a single blonde strand, the commander was intent on the pages and folders under her leaning form.  She studied them closely, hoping she could spot any indication of what it was she was searching for - information on the man, the killer, the demon, the chosen - but it all seemed to circle around the deceased himself.  It made sense that the brother would get what he needed in his search, but the reports seemed to only present her with more questions, and none of them favorable - except possibly that the officer hadn’t died a stubborn idiot.  She took more relief from that than she really should have.<br/><br/>“I’ll have to read each of these dictations.  Do you require that I do that here?  I will remain the whole night if this is the case - I will not leave without the information I seek and I cannot consider your comfort on the circumstance.”</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #BFBFBF">There was something delightfully alluring about her charm, her attitude and behaviour as threatening to any man's ego and pride as it was. He liked her empowerment, her confidence which mirrored his; how she was so easy-to-bore, yet so natural about it. It was simple as that. The man eyed her as she threw her head back to drink the wine in a single swallow. His standards were high, and he was not to be impressed so easily, but this woman somehow found a way to stimulate him as if she was reading his mind, turning his weak points to her advantage; knowing exactly when to strike and when to pull back. He watched her eyelids lower to his lips, her frame an inch from him.<br/><br/>Painfully <span style="font-style: italic">provocative.</span><br/><br/>He could almost feel her breath on his neck, preying on him. Not too warm, not too cold, but her breath made his own lips turn dry as though she was the water and he was a thirsty, dying plant wanting to be revitalized back to life. He was drawn to her own lips, momentarily craving strong contact with them, yet he held back. Self-control, mentioned already, by far his greatest attribute. There was this sweet scent though about the woman which flew through his veins, sending heat through his form. She stole the bottle from his hand, her hips coming into contact with his as he turned around and watched the <span style="font-style: italic">Huntress</span> sway her way back to the couch. Luciano wet his lips, pupils dilating. Aggressiveness sought to consume his silent reaction. It shuddered throughout his frame, wanting to take control but he forced it to fade away. Her demeanour on the other hand was not intimidating enough for him, and no level of intimidation would have been, but he was very certain another would not have thought the same unless they were as equipped with a strong character as he was. He wished to have known what his brother’s thoughts were. The man let his mind wander no longer as he sipped his drink, a sly smile concealing itself as he did.<br/><br/>He walked around the living room in smooth movements, one hand in his left pocket with the thumb out, and the other carrying his wine around as he listened to more of her revelations about this Darcy. He decided not to join Yvonne immediately on the couch. He felt as though he needed to distance himself from the woman after their recent, brief intimate exchange of breath and risky fire-play. He would give her the driving seat <span style="font-style: italic">for now</span>. Even in the protection of solid walls and dim lights, Luciano found himself very receptive to the call of the Siren, who was now comfortably leaning over the documents presented to her. His walls grew in height, too tall and thick. <span style="font-style: italic">''When you say an agent of the devil, do you mean a witch? I desire to know what my brother had to do with all of this.''</span> Luciano asked, concerned once more about the situation as he surveyed the street lights 18 floors below.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">“I’ll have to read each of these dictations.  Do you require that I do that here?  I will remain the whole night if this is the case - I will not leave without the information I seek and I cannot consider your comfort on the circumstance.”</span></span><br/><br/>The man chuckled with an amused glint in his eyes. <span style="font-style: italic">''Take all the time you need. I must sit down and process this whole thing myself. And please, feel free to remove those heels.''</span> Luciano offered the woman a sincere smile as he turned around, shielding his troubled eyes as he shifted them towards the desk in the living room. <span style="font-style: italic">‘’If it comes to a point where you wish to seek some rest, my bedroom is yours. I can sleep in the couch.’’</span> He looked at the time. 23:00. The man walked up to the desk and leaned back in a half-seated position on its surface. He reached out for a small bottle of cognac sitting on the right side of the desk and poured himself some in the now empty wine glass. <span style="font-style: italic">''Let me be honest again. I am not doubting what you say a bit. I am amazed at the courage you exhibit through such strong faith, dreams and plans. I am simply too bothered by the death of my brother to think clearly for the moment, but I shall get there in no time.''</span> He raised a self-assured gaze from underneath his brows, glancing briefly at the woman. ''For now, we do not need to see the whole staircase, Yvonne. Search for  what we can find tonight. That would be a huge step for us already.'' He turned his back just enough to push the telephone towards him. The man opened his lips to ask her if she would want him to order a late dinner for her, or for them, but he found himself pronouncing completely other words. <span style="font-style: italic">''What was your relationship with my brother, Fabiano?''</span><br/><br/>The usual arch on the man's left brow softened, and so did his stern facial features as he cocked his head to the side, pulling away to close the distance once more, of course. The subconscious chase was never too much. He took a seat next to the woman, legs apart; arms on thighs, his fingers crossed together. In an intimate, revealing soft tone he added, <span style="font-style: italic">''What was there about you that made my brother entrust you with his newly found faith which could have gotten him shot for treason? I can feel energies. I would have felt you thinking, right now,''</span> The Italian frowned. <span style="font-style: italic">''- but ... I cannot feel your thoughts and I strongly believed that I did at the church. Do not misunderstand me, I respect people's thoughts. I do not seek to feel what I wish no understanding of. But you ... you have concealed your energy so well tonight, Yvonne.''</span> The man had once built a defence wall around him. Since then he had carried a curious penchant towards finding out if anybody would be strong enough to break it down. Everyone seemed to have failed. Silence was golden and he was never passionate about speaking in-depth with people. He always knew when to cut it short. With this Yvonne, it strangely seemed to be different and there could only be two explanations. His brother’s death was one, and the Heavenly masquerade the other, he thought, one hand passing over the collar of his black shirt.</span></span>