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“Oh no, that’s fine,” he said, laughing lightly at that piece of obviousness. “I wouldn’t think about imposing on a romantic meal. I just have a few hours to burn and I’d rather spend them being useful to someone.”

Shiro flashed her a smile and they continued to walk. He didn’t know how long it would take to get to her apartment, but she seemed confident enough in showing him there rather than taking a detour to pick up a bag. Shiro juggled some of the tomatoes as they walked since the motion had caused the little squishy balls to roll about. He thought he’d had them balance quite aptly, but he hadn’t really accounted for the bounce of his steps. He lifted his left forearm, producing a slanting barrier for the tomato and encouraging it to slide back down into a more stable nook. He was relieved when everything seemed balanced again because the last thing he wanted to do was drop any of her ingredients. She’d offered a plate to him if he helped her in the kitchen, which was when he began to wonder about portion sizes. Despite his size, he could pack away more than your average person, but even so it almost seemed like Lorelai was cooking for a small army with the amount of food she was bringing home. Maybe she was bad at portions, or maybe she was efficient enough to think ahead for leftovers. Shiro walked on with a smile as he thought about that.

Lorelai was not your average person and she had an odd way of taking, Shiro had noticed. She was very formal and very polite, almost as if she had been raised in a completely different time period; the good old days some would say. Shiro always imagined that those people were bitter old white men; zealots and bigots, harping on about times when women knew their place and when the colours didn’t mix. It made him a little uncomfortable to think about, and he automatically began to feel even more sympathy for the woman as if she was a victim of those times. It was obviously very closed-minded of him to assume such, so he thought to ask her about her past maybe when they were finally at her apartment.

“Not much further to go now I suppose?” he remarked idly.

“No,” Shiro said frankly, obsidian eyes focusing somewhere between the road and the ingredients. “I’m from Japan,” he offered as if it would put her mind at rest about his origins. It was surprising how many people couldn’t tell the differences between the Japanese, Chinese and Korean - for a start. “I travel all over the globe for business. Here just happens to be a hot-spot,” he added with a final smile.

It was all well and good to smile and nod and pretend that he was some innocuous visitor to this city. No one ever suspected anything of him; he was so slight and inconspicuous that he was basically a shadow on the wall. That was just a trait of being a criminal though. A good criminal. Ballsy, brassy, brainless individuals are the ones that are caught, sentenced and killed while people like him and people like Levi lived in a culture of crime right up until the day they died from old age, cancer or betrayal. With all that had happened in Kobe lately, what with the Yamaguchi suspecting traitors in their midst, it eased Shiro’s conscious to spend more time abroad. Shiro wasn’t doing anything particularly untoward, it was simply his intentions that were questionable. The Yakuza didn’t give two fucks about what happened within the Cosa Nostra and since Shiro’s actions were directly involved in his role as a consiglieri, it wouldn’t matter to the Yakuza that Shiro was helping Levi commit a sin against his own Family. On the other hand, one could just call it revenge, what Levi was doing. The relationship between father and child wasn’t too well known, only by those that were close enough to William or Levi to actually see the tension there. Thus, it was perfectly reasonable to assume that given what the Patriarca, ran by Carlos Nicoletti, had done to Levi’s father, that Levi had some rights to revenge. Honourable folk within Cosa Nostra – of which there were a surprising number – would have given a nod in favour of what Levi was up to in the circumstances. Unfortunately for them, however, they were just being fooled.

Levi didn’t care about his father, not so much more than what he could get out of him anyway. And William had never cared for his son much more than he had the night he’d confessed that he’d wanted an heir to Levi’s mother. It wasn’t clear whether William was proud of his heir or not, but it was true that Levi was like the man’s double. Maybe, in some strange way and despite their aggression to one another, William was secretly proud of raising a clone to undertake his legacy. Like Levi, one never did know fully what William’s plans were. Shiro had only met that man a half-dozen times and he’d been baffled about what to think. Perhaps the one way they differed most outstandingly was the way they socialising and dealt with their people. William was something of a tyrant to most – someone to be feared rather than respected and loved. A paramount lesson to be learned in their line of work was understanding and effectively walking on the line between love and fear. Too much leniency and you risked mutiny. Too little and you risk being hated. William had taken that risk and it had cost him a life’s sentence in the slammer. He’d pissed off the wrong people and they’d overthrown him the minute he was vulnerable. Shiro couldn’t imagine such a thing ever happening to Levi though, not because he was better at forming relationships, just that he didn’t have as many.

The Italian’s philosophy? Don’t draw attention to yourself and you won’t become a target. Still, Levi did draw attention to himself. He had a temper, a short tolerance threshold for idiots, a desire for power and a weakness for money. Gino Valachi had been one person that had taken notice of the hot-blooded Italian and that was, according to Levi, not a good thing. He’d never explained to Shiro exactly how he was going to handle that problem, however. He told the man to have patience and to relax, reminding him that he wasn’t the one with his head on the block. Well, of course not, Shiro had always made arrangements to avoid implicating himself in these kinds of things. The least the Japanese man could do was pretend that Levi and he were just friends – as weird as that was. Though, Shiro never agreed that running a business on faith was such a brilliant idea. He was the methodical sort, relying on facts, figures and proof rather than gut-instinct and self-conviction. Those kinds of things seemed immature and blatantly arrogant to him. Sure there was something to be said about the unpredictability of people and their trends and attitudes, but a business measures what it can and acts accordingly. Levi’s suggestion of ‘chill out, I’ve got this’ did nothing for Shiro’s anxiety levels, but at least he could sort of trust that Levi was smart enough to have a back-up plan.

When Shiro and Lorelai reached her apartment building, he looked up at the door and wondered just how they were going to access the door as encumbered as they were. Then, Lorelai surprised him. She set one of the bags down and began a series of acrobatics to pull the door open wide enough for a body to get past. She gave him the indication that she wanted him to head in first and so he did, ducking in as he did so. Once inside, he slid out a leg, catching the door’s weight with his calf muscle so she could collect her items and enter as well. They headed through the lobby and to the elevator and Shiro glanced across at her, smiling awkwardly as they waited for the elevator to arrive. He supposed it was just as well that they no longer chat, he didn’t want to explain what kind of business he was in that took him all over the globe anyhow. Shiro had a cover story, of course he did, but he didn’t like lying. He didn’t like the feeling it gave him, like someone had punched him in the stomach. It wasn’t that he was scared they would catch him in a lie exactly either. Shiro’s poker face wasn’t as polished and practiced as Levi’s, but he was pretty good at it. He just felt bad about lying to people unless it was for their own good. That was practically the only way he could get by, convincing himself that if anyone knew who or what he was, they would be the ones getting hurt here. Shiro sighed unconsciously at the thought.

Their ascent was silent, and maybe they hadn’t meant for it to feel awkward, but Shiro certainly didn’t feel all that comfortable. He felt a little bit of regret bubbling within, forcing guilt into his stomach and making him feel a little nauseous. Or, maybe that was just the elevator ride in general; sometimes it did that when coupled with jetlag. Since his flight over yesterday, he hadn’t really slept; clocking up a maximum of three or four hours. Never the one to let people struggle alone though, the Japanese man did all he could to be chivalrous in the manner of helping Lorelai push buttons and open doors. He was nervous even about this small task, however. These days women were overly proud of what they deemed as their independence, and would take his assistance as an affront to their gender equality. Shiro didn’t help Lorelai because she was a woman, because she was somehow a lesser creature and wouldn’t be able to function without a man in her life, he helped her because it seemed necessary to help someone. Fortunately, Lorelai didn’t seem to mind all that much as he struggled along beside her, offering her a hand here and there as he could right up until they were in her apartment.

The unassuming white door was opened with a click and as they entered the blank space that made up the kitchen-come-living-space, the lights came on as if by magic. Shiro couldn’t help but scope the place out as Lorelai led him through to the kitchen area, which seemed sparse and clinical in light of the botanist theme of the apartment in general. He followed her orders, placing the items as carefully as he could down on the counter and then piling them neatly into their individual categories; tomatoes with tomatoes, mushrooms with mushrooms, etc. Of all the plants within the apartment, though, one caught his eye in particular. A fuchsia with pink blossoms and emerald leaves was sitting proudly in its porcelain pot on the side of the counter. It was a large fuchsia, not one the Japanese man recognized, but he did his best to study the foliage and the bell-shaped flowers to see if he could recall a name. He did this as Lorelai talked at him and asked him questions of his worldly travels. There was a wistfulness to her voice which suggested that she had always loved to travel the world and couldn’t for one reason or another. Shiro gave her a short glance, obsidian eyes friendly and passionate before he continued to study the fuchsia.

“I think it depends on the individual,” he began rather matter-of-factly, pale olive hands studying a single blossom – definitely a double-petal variety. “For instance, if they like to study rare plants, maybe they would find it appealing to travel to the rainforest or Madagascar, or perhaps they would like to see the Eden Project in the UK.” Shiro shrugged his shoulders then and let his attention shift from one bloom to the other, from the fuchsia to Lorelai. “As much as I like plants, I think my favourite place to visit is… well… home. I’m more often abroad than not, so, it feels quite nice to just go back home and travel around, to see how much things have changed and have not.”

A small smile set itself in the man’s features as his thoughts travelled across the sea to Japan. The whole of Japan had this otherworldly feel to it, but its fifth largest city, Kobe, took this unearthly quality to another level. The city itself is divided into nine districts or wards, each one harbouring a distinct yet analogous environment. The tradition of the old and the prosperity of youth are combined with absurd harmony; the novel tastes of the West are leeched and mixed with Eastern pride; nature flourishes in amongst urban developments and wasteland scars from wars, earthquakes and tsunamis; its population of 1.5 million people are nestled between the coast and the mountains; and it all marinades under a sentient sky changing as drastically with the hours of day and night as it does with the seasons. Very much like the land he had been brought up in, Shirosame Hiroumi was a man of complete contradictions. He loved his homeland, but not necessarily what made home, home. People say that family make a home, but Shiro didn’t always get along with his family.

He was born to the Shirosame family, to the don of the Yamaguchi-gumi, Shirosame Kinoshita. The Yamaguchi-gumi, Kobe’s personal brand of criminals, is one of Japan’s most infamous organizations. The Yamaguchi make up just fewer than fifty percent of the Yakuza’s total membership and are the wealthiest, if not one of the most well-organized group of Yakuza. Despite a brutal reputation of assassinations and dealings within the sex industry, the Yamaguchi are also responsible for providing unprecedented relief for the victims of both the Kobe Earthquake of 1995 and the Tohoku Earthquake of 2011. A similar thing could be said of the Mafia in Italy. Cosa Nostra had its origins in protecting villages from bandits over a hundred years ago, and later helped to defeat the French. The Mafia had noble origins, noble intentions and in many ways, they still did. They often helped people who could not find justice in any other way. When the earthquakes struck in Kobe in 1995, the Yakuza were there to help clean up the mess and get people back on their feet. Of course, it could be argued that these forces were there as devils dressed as angels, helping civilians to get back on their feet making money so there was something to steal. Indeed, this could have been the truth of the matter, but if it was, so what? That was the Human condition – you only ever look after yourself.

As his mind came back to Canada, Shiro looked across to Lorelai again and decided that now might be the perfect time to question her about her origins.

“So what about you,” he began, smiling. “Where abouts are you from?”

Shiro nodded along and smiled as Lorelai made her observations. He had to agree, how could he not? His experiences had taught him nothing else. He was always excited to go a new place himself, no matter why he was going there. Shiro loved to explore and he was the curious type, so, he had to get his nose stuck in to everything. It was rare that he ever travelled outside of work obligations, but even so, Shiro made a point of getting to know the area he was travelling to and made sure to devote a few hours to leisurely exploration. Right after learning about the geography of a place came picking up the culture, the language and of course, the food. It was fair to say that Shiro’s heart was ruled by his stomach. He had a proficient palate as it was, which just encouraged him to find new taste sensations and try anything. Shiro wasn’t shy about eating anything or trying anything once for that matter. Some cultural delicacies could make eyes water and the hair on the back of one’s neck stand on end, but no matter how disgusting or bizarre it seemed, Shiro gave it a go. His own country had weird food, such as natto and fugu and eating insects and live octopus, so why would he pause before trying turtle jelly in China and balut from the Philippines?

Shiro’s smile only really faded when Lorelai began to explain about where she was from. Perhaps it was her self-deprecating nature, but he couldn’t help but be disappointed by the lack of detail she went into. She said that she was from some little farming community in Hoshkosh, some boring place where people seemed to live out their lives and never leave. She made it sound perfectly drab, but Shiro couldn’t understand why. Yes, perhaps, the world with its vastness could make these simple, closed-off towns look a little pale in comparison, but every little place had its beauty. He rather wished he could tell her that and perhaps he would, if he could ever get over his paranoia that was. Shiro was in the business, in the livelihood in fact, where a lack of information was usually suspicious. Lorelai didn’t look like she was packing a hammer of the Gods between her knees, or hiding the secret cure to the world’s energy crisis, but that was the funny thing about perceptions wasn’t it. Levi would say that Shiro was overly cautious and quite distrustful, but just because you are paranoid doesn’t mean there is nothing to be suspicious about. Shiro was alive today because of his careful and overly-prepared attitude.

When Lorelai made a mention of preparing the vegetables, Shiro nodded and set to work on the task. He was better with bigger blades, truth be told, but if he concentrated he could cut these vegetables into perfectly uniform slices and cubes. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t been too forthcoming as to how she wanted the vegetables prepared, so, Shiro looked for her and decided to ask.

“How would you like these prepared exactly?” he began, taking knife in hand and testing its cutting edge against his thumb. “Squares? Slices? Does it depend on the vegetable? What are we making anyway?”

It was very important for the man to listen to her instructions if he was going to get it right. The last thing Shiro wanted was to ruin her food, even if her no-good boyfriend probably deserved as much. Still, he didn’t know anything about her relationship so he had to remind himself to behave. As sweet as Shiro looked, he could be quite the vindictive shark and he was, perhaps, too skilled at making people pay for their sins against him. Shiro took to slicing the mushrooms first, deciding that he needed his eyes to see what he was doing. Sometimes, mushrooms could be a little bouncy and while the knife seemed sharp, you never did know if it was going to suddenly take off and you’d end up cutting your thumb instead. Same could be said about the tomatoes really; their skin was pretty durable and strangely elastic. Onions were easy enough to slice through, but cutting them into fine squares took the kind of skill that Shiro was lacking, so he was happy to just cut out some rings. The knife went through the peeled onions with a satisfying crunch. As for her continuing the conversation about not knowing that her boyfriend would even like this meal, Shiro quirked a brow. It seemed off to him that she didn’t know what he liked, had they never gone out to eat before? Hell, Shiro knew what Levi’s likes and dislikes were even down to the drinks menu and they weren't dating.

“A young relationship then I take it?” Shiro asked before his feet darted up and he found himself eating his own toes; figuratively. “Sorry, it’s not really any of my business is it.”

At this point it seemed appropriate to put his head down and just get to work. There was a small chance that she wouldn’t take that comment of his to be an insult, but again, it was a small chance as Shiro saw it. Someone may have thought that he was curious about whether or not Lorelai and her mysterious boyfriend were still in the honeymoon period and so it didn’t matter that they knew nothing about each other. Unfortunately, that was not how Shiro had meant it, so it was unlikely to him that that was how someone would take it. He had no right to judge, but, it was impossible for him not to. It was just the kind of character he was, a kind of habit he found impossible to break. It might have been an almost insufferable personality trait, but, Shiro found the use in it. It was handy to judge people enough to learn what was there and use that knowledge to put them into segments, create a plan of attack based on the information those behaviours typically were. Of course, you did need to get the right kind of information before you could categorise people like that, so a certain level of diplomacy was a must. Shiro could be diplomatic, but then again, he could also be quite brash. He just hoped his apology would be enough to halt her from shooing him out of her kitchen and her apartment right away because he felt weirdly dedicated to his task of chopping vegetables.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city…

After a whole hour of ****-ups and excuses, the sour Italian was left to stare at his documents alone in his office. A couple of dipshits had brought their weekly reports to this attention and well, to say the numbers were as low as the morals of a judge with a taste for young boys was putting it mildly. Levi had not been delicate with his words tonight when talking with his underlings, and he’d sent them out of his office with their confidence in shreds. He could still hear his employees though, like they hadn’t even shut that damn door. He’d heard Lorelai’s words too; he’d felt them tingle inside his head little over ten minutes ago like someone had let open a window and a stray wasp had flown inside. He always found the telepathy annoying, but there was a sense of danger to be anticipated because the will of a wasp was never clearly understood. A sting won’t kill you unless you were somehow allergic, but the only way to really find that out is to get stung in the first place. He wasn’t sure if Lorelai could make his head explode just by the pressure of her telepathy forming in his head, but she did tend to talk a lot and it did make him wonder about the possibilities. Hell, he could manipulate just plain darkness into a variable force, basically pulling something from nothing, and who would have thought that was possible?

It was probably something to do with Lorelai distracting him that made it easy for the Italian to fly into a temper. Everyone knew he didn’t take bad news well, especially when there was money involved, but they hadn’t expected the bollocking he’d dished out. Sure, no one was expecting the Leviathan to pat them all on the backs and tell them that next week would be better, but he was about a whisker away from throttling them all and they knew it. He’d been in a shitty mood since Shiro had sent him that text about being late, something about his plane being delayed, and even though Shiro couldn’t control the weather, Levi was determined to blame the shitty shark for everything tonight. It was the shark’s fault that the internet connection was being intermittent; it was the shark’s fault that the phones wouldn’t stop ringing; it was the shark’s fault that his minions were all a bunch of ****-eating dumbasses; it was the shark’s fault that some clients were being light-handed in their repayments; and it was most certainly the shark’s fault that Levi had a headache.

“Porca vacca,” Levi growled under his breath, eyeing the heavy difference between what had been coming in and what had been going out.

Ordinarily, one block being higher than the other made smiles and cheers break throughout the office, but when it went the wrong way, it meant disciplinaries and ball-breaking. Clearly something was going wrong on the outside, but the fact that it had been allowed to go wrong at all was a problem on the inside; at least as far as Levi was concerned. Granted, the report showed that the ****-up was a recent problem, only two days old, but the effects were going to be long-lasting if they didn’t jump on it and get it solved. Levi gave his orders to make an example of the client who’d failed to pay, resulting in the loss of profits, and word would be kept from getting back to the Patriarca if they could help it. Any small kind of slip in management and the vultures would be in, circling above his head. Levi hadn’t done anything in particular to warrant such a keen watch, but Nicoletti and his gang of idiots had every reason to suspect him given they’d worked to put his father in the joint for the rest of his life. Levi and William bared teeth and snarled at each other like dogs fighting over flesh, but that was typical of Italians. You might fight like **** against one another, but you’re still family.

Levi sat back in his chair and sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. If it wasn’t bad enough that work was being a giant pain in the *** tonight, he was also worrying over Lorelai. Well, maybe worrying wasn’t the right word, but he was concerned given what she’d told him. She had a guest over and felt the need to tell him in case he felt like an impromptu visit. Levi wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he assumed that she was probably with someone who had no idea about the supernatural ****. She’d mentioned a Robin once, Levi remembered, but he couldn’t remember much about that conversation. All he could recall was the sense that she was bringing it up to make him jealous, push his buttons and see if she could drag some kind of sentiment out of him. She might have been pretty disappointed when Levi had shrugged it off because he refused to play that game with her. The only things he was ever possessive over was money, territory and his stuff; since Lorelai was neither of those things, there wasn’t a reason for him to act like a jealous lover just because she had a male friend. Besides, Levi was just a male friend of hers as well and there was little else between them but loyalty, affection and utility.

Levi’s thought circled around why Lorelai might have a guest over and why she’d talked at him like she always did, probably putting too much focus on the part of her comment that mentioned when he had the time and want to see her. She always had such a way with words and Levi was too disposed to thinking about bitches playing games to realise that Lorelai was being practical, not vindictive. He always got a little sour with her when she said certain things, things that very much sounded like she was accusing him of things passive-aggressively or trying to subtly manipulate him with words like, ‘we don’t go out in public much’. There were loads of reasons why they didn’t go out together much and it was predominantly because he didn’t have the time or didn’t have the energy to run pointlessly around the city when he’d closed up shop for the day. Besides, did she even like going out? She never seemed to go anywhere besides her apartment, Pru’s Saloon and the various Vampiri regulars; sewers, catacombs, caverns. Lorelai may have suspected Levi was lying when he gave excuses, probably thinking that Levi was ashamed to be seen with her in public or some dumb **** like that. The girl was always putting herself down and probably thought that rat crap had a higher standing in society than she did. That attitude of hers kind of annoyed him as well, but Levi made the mistake of shrugging it off and trying not to let it bother him rather than confronting it and trying to convince Lorelai that she wasn’t worthless.

Since she was on his mind and work was clearly going nowhere tonight without him busting down doors and/or busting skulls, Levi decided that he would take a break and go check up on her. Not that she needed to be checked-up on and not that he needed to check-up on her at all, but he did and she did, so, he was going to. It didn’t need to make any kind of sense, and logic was perfectly easy to ignore when you focused on rage and nothing else. Blanking his minions, Levi stormed out of his office, down through the corridor of muttering and shivering minions, and into the elevator. Luck would have it that the elevator was clear of idiots, so he had the whole journey down to the ground floor to growl to himself about how they were all worthless, and think up reasons why he shouldn’t just burn the building down with them all inside as he left. In the end, as he stomped through the foyer, Levi convinced himself that he didn’t want to waste the Scotch in his drawer, so he wasn’t going to kill them all tonight. He also knew that he wouldn’t be able to conceal that murderous glint in his eye if he had to march back to his office to collect the Scotch. As far as he was concerned, they got lucky this time.

Levi could have called Caro or Barzetti or one of his drivers to take him to Lorelai’s apartment, but walking in the cool air was the better idea. He would need to chill his **** if he was going to turn up and introduce himself to whomever it was she was squirrelling away. In fact, it felt pretty awkward to the Italian to consider turning up at all if he allowed himself to think about it. What would he be walking in on and what would be his excuse? Levi couldn’t very well play dumb and pretend like he had no idea she had company, and if he had any sense or integrity or respect for her privacy, he wouldn’t turn up at all. Seriously, why was he turning up? She could have just been chilling with a friend of hers and he had no right to walk in on that. There was no reason to walk in on that! On the other hand, Lorelai might have invited some random stranger into her house and was about five seconds away from being knifed in the back. The irrational, probably not so likely scenario, was enough of an excuse to steel Levi’s conviction though and he marched to her apartment and up to her front door. He knocked once before letting himself in, because, well, **** it. That’s why.

Levi wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see on the other side of that door and he was half tempted to make a bit of a show out of his arrival so he didn’t have to see anyone in their bare skin. You never know. Lorelai had proved herself to be a tad looser than the Virgin Mary he had imagined of her a while ago after all. And besides, Levi had made it quite clear that there was nothing romantic between them, so, as far as he was concerned, she was free to **** whoever she wanted. It was a little curious for his thoughts to go straight to the gutter, but, Levi was preparing for the worst and that, apparently, was the worst scenario his brain could conjure. Whatever Levi was expecting though, it didn’t come close to what he saw. Lorelai was in the kitchen with some girl with long black hair, chopping vegetables and chatting. It took him about three seconds to recognise the scent of shark mixing in amongst plants and onions though, and when he had, heavy brows dropped over umber eyes and Levi closed the door sharply behind him.

“What in the **** are you doing here?”

Shiro turned at the familiar voice, jumping slightly as well. His grip on the knife hadn’t wavered and he turned to Levi looking about as stunned to see him as Levi had been to see the shark.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Shiro managed, his voice croaking from the shock.

Levi’s eyes travelled from the knife to Shiro and then briefly to Lorelai, thinking that maybe his scenario about some stranger stabbing her in the back wasn’t all that daft after all. Shiro was perfectly capable, even if he was just a Human, and Lorelai was so soft she would ******* let him too. As Levi glared at Shiro, conviction in his eyes, he could see those obsidian orbs dancing to a plethora of secret thoughts. It wasn’t a lie that Shiro was stunned to see him here, and clearly the Gods or whatever were having a good ******* laugh at their expense tonight. Levi left Shiro to contemplate why Levi was actually here and he looked over to Lorelai to register her reaction to all of this because it was, after all, some weird-*** triangle of association. The cat was out of the bag now as far as Levi was concerned because he knew Shiro knew enough to put two and two together and make four. Levi didn’t visit random women in their homes and if he did business with anyone, Shiro would know about it first. So all that left was the inevitable; this was that girl the Japanese man understood to be wrapping Levi around her finger.