Chapter Text
(Voilà! Here is how I see Alastor!)
New Orleans, 1928
It wasn’t the loud wailing of sirens that did Giovanna in. Flashing blue and red ran off the brick buildings like shadows, moving farther away and eventually disappearing.
Must’ve took a turn.
She couldn’t exactly say where, because New Orleans was a foreign, humid jungle of iron balconies and overhanging gardens.
Two certainties blared clearly in her mind now, almost as noisy as the fuzz.
One: The pistol in her hand was firm, and pointed right at monstrous target.
Two: She really needed to get back to Chicago.
A barking laugh, high-pitched and careless, made Bella’s tiny freckled fingers clutch Gia’s pantleg tighter. Her heart squeezed at the sensation, and an overwhelming urge to protect steeled her resolve. Her finger itched over the trigger.
“Is that just for decoration, or do you know how to use it?” The patronizing remark, dripping with an overabundant transatlantic flair, set a fire deep in her veins. She was never very good at controlling her temper.
Being part of a Mafia family made that crutch rather easy to handle, but she was seriously out of her depth in the South. Absolutely no connections, and every goddamn mosquito God made all joined in a sweaty hellhole.
A deadly one too, if she didn’t handle this carefully.
Normally, she would just shoot the bastard who dared with her or her daughter.
Nothing about this, unfortunately, was normal.
The person in front of her has to be possibly the very definition of trouble, and she had seen some real doozies.
It wasn’t his rich skin, the hue of milk chocolate that pointed to mixed ancestry. ( Although to many on this side of the Mason Dixon line it likely was. )
It wasn’t his carefully styled black hair, curling loosely out of the gell from possible exertion.
It wasn’t his glittering dark eyes, shining like onyx, and holding a ghost of amusement at the entire situation.
Not even the sharp, white smile with perfect pearly teeth garnered any apprehension.
All in all, he appeared very respectable, dressing sharply and obviously well off, but that’s where the facade shattered.
Because he was absolutely drenched in thick, crimson blood. Promptly, she might add, holding an obvious accessory to murder.
She didn’t even have to guess what those sirens were calling for, because the infamous Bayou Butcher was right in front of her .
To be completely honest, she hardly payed much attention to what happened in Louisiana of all places, but the serial killer who cut his victims apart, piece by piece, had taken the nation in a morbid storm.
It was the calling card, and whenever a body showed up with parts missing, the New Orleans police knew who to pin.
Which is why the corpse just behind the man, sloppily dragged from who knows where- and missing the lower half of his arm- screwed Giovanna to hell and back.
Of course an innocent vacation, an escape from the bustle of Chicago, ended up with her getting royally fucked in an one-and-a-million chance encounter.
And of course it had to be on the walk back to the train station with her 6 year old daughter, who hadn't even been introduced to the family business yet.
“Put the axe down, or I’ll show ya.” Giovanna said with a scowl. She had no idea what this guy was capable of, and she couldn't make any reckless mistakes.
Preferably, she’d also like to conserve her daughter’s view of her, and not bear witness to someone getting gunned down by her own mother.
The butcher in question sized her up, like he was analyzing how much of a threat confronted him. “You know, this is hardly a way for introductions!”
Apparently, not a big one.
She didn’t know if it was because she looked friendly- the ragged scar stretching up the right side of her olive face said no- or because she was a woman.
Either way, it was his funeral.
“Seems like your in a bit of trouble, butcher.” Giovanna narrowed her brown eyes, and blew a stray ringlet out of her face. “I don’t think the pigs were out for dinner.”
He sighed long-sufferingly, and not the least bit genuine. “I admit, I got a little too big for my britches! As luck would have it, I seem to have met this lovely dame ready to help!”
The absolute audacity this man had would’ve been funny, if Giovanna had a sense of humor. Instead, it just annoyed her.
“Oh really? And where is she now?” Giovanna replied with a tight, sardonic leer to match that smug grin of his.
“Why, I should say right in front of me! With her lovely little daughter, I presume?” His gaze sharpened with the admission, predatory and dangerous. Too dangerous. He strolled over with all the contentment of a puppetmaster, yanking strings.
Glossy wingtips left red, sopping footprints leading away from the gruesome scene of dismemberment. “- I would hate for such a cher fleur to witness something unsavory at an impressionable age.”
Damnit.
The honeyed words slipping sinfully from quirked lips played Giovanna like a fiddle. He knew she had reservations about using bullets in front of Bella. Saw that hesitance written all over her face. Like the devil, he twisted weakness and morphed it into his advantage.
Bella had seen bodies. It was almost impossible for Giovanna to hide them, and she regretfully brought work home on rare occasions.
It’s not the victim, seeping out life and propped up against the back of the alley-wall that concerns Giovanna. Blessedly, the butcher was probably saving most of the processing for the bayou, where all evidence was found. Bella had seen the results of Mafia-style compromise, and she was numb to it by now.
It was killing. Killing, Gia drew the line at. Bella was still partially innocent, and she couldn't bear to snuff out the precious flames of childhood like her father did. Just a little longer, she would shield Bella. Perhaps then, her daughter would have a happier life than she did.
It was a fleeting hope, but one she held on to for Bella’s sake. That pure, good intention, probably her only good intention, was now a serrated blade that this son of a bitch cut her with.
When the only response was Giovanna gritting her teeth, the man took it upon himself to fill the silence again with his over-exuberant mannerisms. “ Thank heavens her mother is a kind soul! I’m sure that helping a pal lay low is exactly what her benevolent personality craves!”
He chuckled, and there was an undertone there that pointed to something sinister. Giovanna would rather die than say she was intimidated, but she now understood why so many in New Orleans bared their windows at night.
“Isn’t that right, dear?” He hummed, and adjusted an infuriatingly pristine monacale. How, she couldn’t even guess. Seemed like everything but the monocle was stained.
Giovanna, again, would’ve laughed at the absurdity of it all. Her. If anyone in Chicago so much as breathed the wrong way, they got wiped off the map.
Apparently her reputation didn’t stretch down here.
“Is it? We catch the first train back to Chicago in an hour. I got nowhere for you to lay low, pal .” She drunk in the falter of that infuriating cockiness that seemed to ooze from every pore of his clean-pressed, burgundy suit.
“Well, that certainly complicates things.”
“No shit.” Giovanna groused. A half-hearted glare she got in return conveyed the butcher’s displeasure for the language and sarcasm.
Did she offend his delicate sensibilities? Well that was too fucking bad.
To actually reprimand her at a time like this for swear words told Giovanna all she needed to know about how wacky this person’s priorities were. As if the dead man five feet away wasn’t already enough of a reminder.
Distantly, she started to hear the drifting return of cop cars, presumably setting up a perimeter.
She couldn’t help but grin at him. He was cornered. Stuck in a dark alley with proof of his capital crime, seconds were quickly fleeting away.
That sweet retribution was wiped clean off her face when the man puffed out his chest, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “You know, as much as I find pleasure in my lovely radio studio, it is the most opportune time to visit Chicago!”
“It’s the middle of fucking january and snowing.”
“Snow! I would very much like to see that as well!”
It then clicked what exactly this man was implying, and Giovanna had never wanted to strangle someone so much in her life. Even when Lucy stole her baked ziti recipe.
“Are you off your rocker? There is no way in hell- ”
“Cher, as much as I find that spark entertaining, now is not the time or place!” He held up a slender finger, speckled with crimson.
The police were getting closer, and that crumble in the killer’s eyes, Giovanna knew all too well. Desperation was starting to seep in, as the possibility of rotting away in death row inched closer with every shriek of the sirens.
“Now, now! I’m only asking to accompany you on this rather convenient trip out of Louisiana! Once we disembark in the windy city, I’ll be out of your hair!” He consoled, the condescension back and leaking out of his sentence- like he was doing Gia a favor.
“Or I could just wait here until the police find you, and then I don’t have to ride the train with a goddamn nutcase.” Giovanna fired back. To be completely honest, her arms were getting tired of holding the pistol up, and this had to be a personal record of holding someone at gunpoint.
The problem was, she refused to lower her guard- especially with Bella still too scared to make a peep and nosing into her calf.
Also, it was generally just a rule to not be vulnerable with a serial killer.
“In which case, you would miss the train,” Giovanna raised a brow, like that would be an issue. She could just buy two more tickets for the next morning.
“-and do you really think the lovely police force would believe a woman who happened to stumble upon the bayou butche r and survive without a scratch? I do make sure loose ends are eliminated, darling.” He preened at the name, preened . Like narcissus worshiping his own reflection.
“Being a part of the fairer sex, dear, the police would sooner convict you of affiliation than believe you held your own against a male whose publicly known to disembowel much bigger prey.” He reasoned, parroting back the words society had thrown at her so many times.
“Not to mention that you don’t look innocent of anything in the slightest.” The finisher was rather bluntly added, but Giovanna took pride in her hardened appearance. The world of men would rather eat her up and spit her out, but she grew armor. She had teeth from her years of dealing with the shitstains of the midwest. The mafia had taught her much, but most of all, it made her realize she had to work twice as hard to get a lick of respect.
The outward scars and suit was just proof she had taken all the beatings and trials with valor, and emerged stronger. “Thanks, asshole.”
She hated that he was actually making sense. For the first time tonight, she was keenly aware of the deep shit she was in.
When Giovanna first walked into this, she didn’t think it would involve commitment. Intimidation, probably. Crying- if she wanted to take her time. The man before her wasn’t physically imposing. He was easy to underestimate with his lanky form and crooked smile.
It was those black eyes, cold with lack of empathy for everything he saw, but burning with an intense passion that gave away the true danger he posed.
He was no sloppy animal, trying to satiate a misguided lust like Giovanna often delt with. No, he was a different breed of killer all together.
Something she couldn't put her finger on, and that is what made her stomach twist with unease.
The police had to be only a few streets down now, and it was clear from the tapping of the man’s polished shoes that he was getting impatient.
Every instinct Giovanna had was screaming at her to wait for the police, and forget this encounter ever happened.
Well, almost every instinct. There was that muffled voice, that truth which nagged at the back of her mind. The one that urged her to listen. The butcher’s words fueled it, made the conflict louder.
Wait for the police to do what exactly?
Accuse her of being involved? Take her little girl away?
Having a gun on her presently only made the outcome bleaker. Pretty little dolls, damsels in distress, didn’t carry loaded pistols.
“Mama?” Bella whispered, talking for the first time since they had happened a glance down this alley.
It was quiet, like a cherub, with pleading paranoia that sent Giovanna further toward a decision.
She looked down at the head of red coils, poofing around the lily-white face like a precious dandelion.
And her heart wrenched at the thought of being pulled away from Bella. The police would surely put her in an orphanage if things went according to the butcher’s musings, the musings that felt more like reality the longer she dwelled on it.
Giovanna couldn’t live with herself if that happened. Wouldn’t live with herself.