La Caccia ~Prologue~
Title: La Caccia
Author: rin_no_himitsu
Rating: T+ [NC-15] (might go up, if I gather up the courage to write smut)
Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler
Genre: Angst/Mystery/Romance
Pairing: Sebby/Ciel
Warnings: AU, assasin!Sebastian, 20-year-old/mafioso!Ciel, OC: Detective Baron Stone, violence
Word Count: 942
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. If I did, well, Ciel would be in dresses more often. <3
Summary: Ciel Phantomhive, second-in-command of the Moretti family, gets approached by Detective Baron Stone when a series of murders are committed. They appear to all have been done by the same man - a man who has something to do with Ciel's dark past: The Devil.
A/N: haru_haru_21 's birthday fic. Happy belated~! <3 Inspired by Baccano! The Mafia part, at least. See what my obsessions have done? "La Caccia" is Italian for "The Chase". :)
“No…no…please! Please! Don’t do-GAHH!!!”
Red decorated the walls and ground of the dark alley as the helpless man sunk to the ground. His killer stood over him, bloody knife in hand. He reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief wiping the offensive liquid off his blade.
He took out his Swiss Army knife and knelt down. His eyes roamed over the corpse’s body, settling on its large, hairy hand. With quick precision, he cut a circle into the flesh, followed by a five-point star. Blood slowly seeped through the professional cuts as he stood back up. The corpse’s cold, dead, accusing eyes stared into his. ‘Sorry,’ he thought, ‘I can only feel sentiments for one person, and it’s not you.’
xXXXXx
A small pub stood on the corner of a secluded street, situated on the outskirts of Vegas. Nobody ever visits the borders of Vegas - away from the lights, money and sex that attract so many tourists every year. That’s what makes it such a hot spot for organized crime groups to build their headquarters.
Now, this small pub that we’re talking about isn’t really a pub. Of course, it is one on the outside, but certain individuals know that it’s where the Mafioso of Las Vegas gather to exchange information.
Smoke wafted around the room, making the handsome young man sitting in the corner cough. He was never one who enjoyed cigars or cigarettes, and in fact he quite disliked the things. He coughed again, pulling down his hat.
The bell jingled, and a few people looked up. In walked Detective Baron Stone, a gruff-looking man in his late thirties. He had the collar of his coat pulled up. Scanning the room, he saw the man in the corner glance up from under his hat. They gave each other the slightest, almost imperceptible nod.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stone.”
“Hn,” was the reply. Not wasting any time, the detective slipped a manila folder to his younger counterpart. Although he had been here many times before, he still felt uncomfortable in this joint. It gave him the creeps, especially when he knew that half of the people in here would probably kill him the minute they found out he was a cop. He hated this part of the job. And the fact that sometimes, even the police had to go to the Mob for help.
He watched his companion look through the folder, patiently waiting for him to finish. The young man sitting across from him would be considered handsome among his peers. He was not muscle-bound; no, rather he had a soft, almost feminine frame. Detective Stone wondered how he got involved with all the thugs taking part in organized crime, and more importantly, how he survived in that danger-filled business.
“Detective,” he spoke, voice low, “Why are you asking us to help you with this? I thought that you cannot participate in a case you have connections with.”
The detective hesitated, trying to think of the right words to say. It didn’t look like it, but he knew that the person sitting across from him was probably the most dangerous man in the pub. How silly it must seem: a thirty-something year old man afraid of a mere twenty-year-old boy.
“That’s only the rule for…us. You…you are the Mafia. The rules don’t apply to you.” He paused, and his companion gave a nod, signalling that he should continue. “We-the police have done everything in their power. A-and I was thinking…it would interest you, because it concerns you. And, uh, even if you don’t want to accept this case when I’m asking on behalf of the LVPD, would you say yes if it was a favour for a, er…friend?” He mentally winced at the last word, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.
“Hmm.” The young man seemed to be contemplating the offer. “Elaborate on this ‘branding’ the killer does.”
“The killer always leaves a mark on the corpse-his signature, I guess you could say. There’s nothing very specific about it, some are larger than others, and they were found on different places on the body. Always somewhere you could see it, though. Most of the time he uses a switchblade-probably a Swiss Army knife, since those are so common-to cut it in the flesh; but if there’s a fire or something hot nearby, he uses an actual iron branding tool. Like the ones farmers use to brand cattle.
“The actual brand is most likely something you’ve seen before: I mean, most people these days have. It’s Satan’s symbol, a five-point star inside a circle.” The detective thought he saw the young man’s eyes light up with interest, and that gave him confidence to keep going. “This isn’t the first time we’ve seen it. This murderer has shown up lots of times in the past, and he’s killed an unknown number of people. We believe he’s an assassin-for-hire. His victims don’t have anything in common except for the mark he leaves. Because of said mark, we’ve named him-or, more accurately, the newspapers have named him-”
“The Devil,” his companion finished.
Detective Baron Stone had never been more terrified of anything in his life. His young companion was furious, he could tell. His eyes were flaring, as if emblazing black flames surrounded him. The way he spoke was strained. Detective Stone had no doubt the seemingly harmless man in front of him could destroy the entire building-hell, the entire street, right then and there. (How, though, he had no idea.)
“Non ti preoccupare, I’ll take the case, friend.”
That was the power of Ciel Phantomhive.