“Starfish spaghetti.” The chef said. He laid out a plate of said food (which was quite the acquired taste), long pasta wrapped around the limbs of a starfish.

  Gareland took a hesitant bite. The sauce almost masked the borderline inedible taste of the seafood, and the pasta provided a cover for the similarly foul texture. It was difficult to swallow, incredibly so, but she persevered, gagging it down the whole way.

  “How is it?” Lorenzo asked. He ate it with no issue, clearly accustomed to it.

  “It’s…” She said, trying to think of something.

  “It’s okay, I know it’s not for everyone.” He said, “But there’s an important lesson to be learned here -” He put a finger up professorially, “Sometimes you have to do things you don’t like for the sake of appearances.”

  For context - they were at a dinner, less than a month after the events of last chapter. It was important for Lorenzo to consolidate support amongst the key members of the Families, and this was the perfect opportunity. His goals were to show off his authority and magnanimity at once, treating everyone present to a lavish meal which would be unthinkable elsewise. Ten courses, and they were only on the first course after the appetizer.

  “But this is really bad.” Gareland said. At the least, the odor was neutral, thank goodness, but even the prospect of taking another bite was unthinkable.

  “Well, they’re bringing the steak out soon.” Her father said. Sure enough, another chef exited the kitchen of the ball room they’d co-opted for the meal. “You’re different.” Lorenzo said.

  “Sì,” The chef said. He was half-fox, and visually quite striking. Red fur, with black accents on his snout, “Your previous chef fell down in the kitchen. And this,” He said, placing the silver platter down, and unveiling the strips of bloody steak, “Is our bistecca. With a red wine reduction.”

  “Ooh, gimme gimme,” Gareland said, reaching for the plate, “I wanna try it.”

  “Enjoy.” The waiter said, bumping into Lorenzo, before he bowed, “Sorry, sir.”

  “Wow, that’s delicious.” Lorenzo said. His plate was the spitting image of refined etiquette - three strips neatly placed with a tasteful drizzling of sauce on top of them. His fork was perfectly perpendicular to the outer edge of the meat. He was so engrossed with his meal that missed what Gareland was doing.

  “Very delicious!” She agrees with her father between bouts of shovelling the meat into her mouth. Well, even saying shovelling would understate how feral she looked. She took the strips directly from the serving platter and shoved them into her mouth without cutting them to size at all, instead letting her teeth do the work.

  “Boss -” One of Lorenzo’s enforcers came to the table. His rank was easily identifiable by the blue tie he wore. He was briefly caught off guard when Gareland held a piece of meat in between her teeth and started ravenously shaking her head like a crocodilian. “You’ll want to see this, in the kitchen.”

  “You better not be wasting my time.” Lorenzo said, standing up and looking at his daughter, “Wait here, dear. I’ll be right back.”

  “Right this way, boss.” The enforcer said. He took him in the kitchen, which was more like a giant granite oven in the way it was designed. Behind even the main cooking stations, in the giant icebox, the same waiter from before, the fox, was tied to a chair. There were two other enforcers beating him senseless, and a dead waiter on the floor.

  “I guess you weren’t wasting my time.” Lorenzo said, taking out a cigar and stuffing it in his mouth, “Any of you boys have a match for my cigar?”

  One of them knocked the other with his elbow. The second one got a match from his jacket pocket and struck it against the sole of his shoe, “Here, boss.” And as Lorenzo went to sit down, he dared not miss another social cue, and pulled a chair for his boss to rest on.

  “So,” He said, puffing the cigar and ashing it over the floor, “You know what I’m about to ask you.”

  The lupine man just laughed, coughing up some blood, “And you know how I’m gonna answer.”

  One of the muscle-heads stepped forward, but Lorenzo put his hand up behind him, “I don’t, actually. And if I was in your shoes, I’d be thinking very carefully about what I have to say.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The fox gulped nervously as Lorenzo blew his smoke in his face, “I… Killed him - But I swear, it was quick and clean!”

  Lorenzo chuckled, leaning back in his chair. His chuckles grew into a full on laugh, then he bent at the belly, his laughter amplifying until it was a cacophony, not unlike an avalanche. “Quick and clean, huh? Why’d you do it?”

  “I can’t say. Kill me if you have to -”

  “‘Kill me if you have to,’ he says.” Lorenzo mocked him. “Don’t worry, you’re not leaving this room alive. Your cooperation, or lack thereof, just determines whether your death will be ‘quick and clean’.”

  His prisoner snarled, turning his maw down and away. There was a pregnant silence, as no one wanted to speak anything. Eventually, he turned to face forward, “Check your pocket.”

  Lorenzo did so, and as he did so, his smirk fell from his face. He did a double take, and to his shock, the pocket was not empty. It was cut, and the fabric, as well as the contents, were gone. He kept a pocket watch there, made of a black metal, with a purple and blue stained-glass face. It was the final memento mori from his father. There was even his dried blood on the chain.

  “Where is it?” He asked, looking back to his men, “If either of you broke it while you were roughing him up -”

  “I have it.” The tied up man said, “And that’s why you can’t kill me. It’s not here.”

  “Bullshit.” Lorenzo said, walking over and grabbing the lupine man by his scalp, “You haven’t been gone more than ten minutes.”

  “I handed it off to an associate at the back door.” He coughed, “We’re gonna split the earnings.”

  “I’m going to personally split you, if you don’t tell me where it’s going.” The older man said, “You know, it’s not powerful. It’s expensive, yes, but not ‘run away and change my very distinctive face, because that is what it will take to escape the consequences’ expensive.”

  “But it’s sentimental, isn’t it?” He asked, raising his furry… Well, eyebrow was not the correct word, but he had some sort of muscle that suggested the ghost of an eyebrow was once there. “So, you won’t kill me.”

  —

  “Father?” Gareland asked. She was enjoying some type of salad that came with the fourth course, “Who’s that?”

  Next to Lorenzo, the same foxy waiter from earlier took a seat. He was bound at the ankles, but so as to not appear too strange, his hands were free. He was allowed to eat a small bit of leftover bread and oil.

  “He…” Lorenzo realized he never got the man’s name, “He’ll be leaving, shortly.” He dodged the question. “Anyway, let’s enjoy the rest of the meal.”

  —

  It was three days later, now. Lorenzo had told Gareland to stay at home, but she snuck into the carriage he was in, hiding off the back luggage shelf. She kept her sword close, praying it gave her strength. Her father and the weird hoodlum he was associating with were talking about something, and… Was that laughter? Gareland though, Surely not. But then again, they have been nicer to each other since ereyesterday.

  After a half-hour, the carriage stopped, and Gareland and her family departed. She followed behind them, out of sight and earshot. They were in a large city now, Ashland, if she remembered correctly. They snaked between buildings, in alleys and even over the canals the city was famous for.

  “He should be here.” The foxman whispered, approaching a door attached to a seedy looking building. He knocked out a call rhythm, and sure enough the response came soon. “It’s me, Guido.”

  ‘Guido’ must have opened the door, and Gareland barely darted in at the last second behind her father. It was one of the few times she thanked Paace for her small size and quiet locomotion. The entrance was dimly lit by some candles, and no uncovered windows. It also stank, and generally was full of filth.

  “Who’s this?” Guido asked, he was clearly a smoker of some sort, “He’s the buyer?”

  “Yes…” The foxman lied, “He’s here to buy the watch.”

  Guido stopped, and everyone else as well. He turned around, and for a moment, Lorenzo thought he caught on to the deception. “No shit, pagliaccio. What else would he be here to buy?” He said, before he continued to the living room.

  If the foyer was dark, this room was pitch-black. Gareland could see a little better, she was a fairy after all, but even she had to strain to see anything but the glimmering pocket watch.

  “It’s nice.” Lorenzo said, reaching his hand out, “Let me inspect it.”

  Guido looked over, and his ‘associate’ nodded. So, Guido gave the watch over, letting the chain fall off of his hand like water, or sand as he did so. Lorenzo made a great impression of someone inspecting a watch for defects, even going as far as to hum in appreciation when his character was satisfied. But it was just then Gareland noticed some other glint. Guido was pulling out a pocket pistol from his waistband, only barely visible to her enhanced senses.

  “Father!” She shouted, “He has a gun!”

  “Gareland?” Lorenzo asked, getting shot in the leg for his error in judgement.

  Guido took out another weapon, keeping them on the couch. “Whoever’s there, don’t move. I’ll hear it, and I’ll off your father.” He then addressed the two sitting across from him, “You thought I was an idiot? He may be small fry here, but I know the look of a big fish in a small pond when I see one. You set me up.”

  Gareland was not complying with the man’s wishes. She could hover, and thus it should be obvious that he couldn’t actually hear her. As his paranoia-fuelled mind decided what he should do, the fair crept around him and got behind him. Then, not thinking of the consequences, she wrapped her delicate arms around his neck, squeezing with all her might.

  “You little -” Guido shouted. He eventually managed to wrestle her off, throwing her across the room due to her tiny, light frame. Before he could do anything else, his former associate lunged over the table between them, knocking them to the floor in a heap.

  It became clear soon enough that neither had the upper hand. Guido was older, and far larger, but the foxman was part fox, and thus had the drive of a carnivore behind his comparatively wiry musculature.

  “Grab the gun, you wench!” He shouted, barely holding the larger man down, “I’m struggling over here!”

  Gareland did so, not sure what else she could do, finding the pistol easy enough. It felt heavy enough to be the loaded one, and she came back over where the two were grappling.

  “What are you waiting for?” The fox asked, “Shoot!”

  “I - I - I -” She stammered.

  “Gareland,” Lorenzo said, trying to maintain a calm, fatherly facade, “I’m so sorry you got involved in all this. I only ever wanted you to see the surface, but you have to do what he says. Please, dear.”

  So, sobs wracking her voice, with all the accompanying snot and tears, she fired, killing Guido as her first ever gunshot hit him square in the head.

  Immediately, her father stumbled over to her as best as he could, falling upon her and scooping her up in his arms. He cried into her as she, too, cried, “I’m so sorry.” He pleaded with fate that this was a dream, or an illusion, but it wasn’t. His daughter had just ended a life for his sake, but the thing that disturbed him was his reaction: he should’ve felt disgust, fear, or even some measure of sorry, but the predominant emotion swelling in his chest was pride.

  “I guess I have to clean this up.” The lupine man said, standing to his feet.