A bitter chill settled over Gotham that night. The streets pulsed with the steady crawl of headlights—civilians driving home from long shifts, others heading out in search of distraction. 

Beneath that ordinary rhythm, crime moved just as faithfully. In shadowed alleys and behind tinted windows, deals were being struck and something—always something—was being stolen.

Big Lou rode up in an elevator that did not belong to him, inside a building he had no business entering without permission. It wasn’t one of his properties. It wasn’t neutral ground. And he certainly hadn’t secured an appointment.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Armed guards escorted him down a narrow hallway and through a set of double doors into a lavish office washed in low, amber light.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lou?” Sophia Falcone asked from behind her desk. A glass of whiskey rested in her hand as she tilted her chin upward, cool and unimpressed. She flicked her fingers toward the guards, silently dismissing them.

“To see you, of course,” Lou replied smoothly, stepping closer to the desk—and more importantly, the bottle of whiskey sitting atop it. “We are family, after all.”

Sophia opened a drawer behind the desk and pulled out an empty glass, extending it toward him. Just as his fingers reached for it, she drew it back.

“You don’t just show up unannounced,” she said flatly as she droped the glass on the desk instead of handing it to him.

Lou ignored the warning in her tone. He reached out his hand once again, grabbed the bottle, and poured himself a drink without asking.

“So… what brings you here?” Sophia asked once he finished pouring. Lou dropped the bottle back into the bucket of ice with a dull clink, then plucked three cubes between his thick fingers and let them fall into his glass one by one.

“I already told you,” he said, swirling the drink lazily. “I came to check on you. You haven’t reached out since our little run-in with the Red Bat.”

He lumbered over to a couch near her desk and lowered himself into it, the cushions protesting under his weight. The nickname was a deliberate—half a jab at the crimson bat emblem on Red Hood’s chest, half a nod to the way the man operated like a bloodthirsty version of Batman.

“Cut the crap,” Sophia replied evenly, not the least bit rattled. “If that’s truly why you’re here, you can leave. As you can see, I’m doing just fine.” She gestured vaguely around the office. “If not, get to the fucking point. I’m busy.”

Lou’s gaze drifted over her desk. “Busy,” he echoed under his breath. From where he sat, it looked more like a late-night spiral than hard work—paperwork pushed off to one side, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, a sweating bucket of ice cradling the whiskey bottle. 

He couldn’t tell whether she was trying to drown herself in the drink or set a record for most cigarettes smoked in a single sitting.

“…Right,” he muttered with clear sarcasm.

He pulled his eyes back to her and leaned forward slightly. “The Red Hood is why I’m here tonight.”

Sophia had already drawn a cigarette from the pack. As he spoke, she flicked open her lighter. A brief flare of flame lit her features as she brought it to the tip, one brow arching in silent interest.

“It’s a good thing we accepted his offer—the smart move, too,” Lou said, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “That unhinged bastard actually killed the Joker.” He let out a short scoff. “Guy’s completely insane.”

“We didn’t take his deal just to protect the business,” Sophia replied, smoke curling from her lips as she exhaled. “We did it to protect the family. And ourselves.” She tapped ash into the tray. “If Batman can’t rein him in, what makes you think we could? Crossing him would’ve been suicide.”

She rotated her chair halfway toward the massive window behind her desk. Gotham’s city lights shimmered against the glass, reflecting faintly in her eyes.

“Especially now,” she continued quietly, “that he’s made it clear to everyone what happens when you test him.”

Lou let out a low breath. “I’m just glad we’re not on his hit list. Compliance beats resistance any day.” He swirled the ice in his glass. “Nobody runs an empire from six feet under.”

Sophia turned back toward him, and without another word, they both lifted their glasses in a subtle, mutual acknowledgment.

“The Joker’s death shook everything,” she admitted after a moment. “Not just the underworld, Gotham itself. No telling what that lunatic’s next move is. I won’t lie… it’s got me on edge.”

“Well,” Lou said, leaning back into the couch, “he made an example out of Black Mask before finishing the Joker. If that arrogant prick still decides to push back instead of playing ball, what’s stopping Red Hood from taking his head too?”

Sophia studied him for a beat, cigarette poised between her fingers. “Maybe there’s more going on in that head of yours than I thought. Was starting to think your brain might be clouded by cholesterol”

Lou’s eyes narrowed slightly. The comment sounded just close enough to an insult about his size to make him bristle.

“Either way,” he went on, ignoring it, “Joker’s gone. That leaves a vacuum. And if Black Mask follows…”

“—Then we step in,” Sophia finished smoothly. “With Red Hood’s backing.”

“Expanded territory means expanded revenue,” Lou said, thinking it through aloud. “Which means his monthly cut grows too. Especially once we absorb the businesses Black Mask’s been squeezing.” He gave a small nod. “Fair exchange.”

“Game is game,” Sophia replied, raising her glass once more.

They clinked their drinks from across the room—two crime bosses toasting not just a profitable arrangement, but the beginning of a new order in Gotham.

– – –

[Harley Quinn POV]

Not everyone celebrated the news of the Joker’s death. While much of Gotham buzzed with shock—or relief—and Batman grieved in his own quiet, complicated way, Harley Quinn simply refused to believe it. 

Not this time. Not for real.

She sat at the very top of a powerless Ferris wheel, legs dangling over the edge of the cart as the amusement park stretched out beneath her in dark, silent stillness. The rides were shut down for the night, the lights dead and without power. From up there, the whole place looked like a graveyard of memories.

And all she could see were the good times.

The way Mr. J had thrown his head back laughing as the wheel spun. The cotton candy. The fireworks they’d set off just because they could. Every inch of the park felt haunted by him.

Beside her sat her closest friend, Pamela Isley—Poison Ivy—who had quietly used her vines to carry them up to the highest cart on the wheel. It was her way of helping Harley grieve. Of giving her space to feel it. To face it.

Tears slipped down Harley’s powdered cheeks as she stared out at the empty park, her smile faint and fragile.

Pamela couldn’t help but think back to that morning—to the moment she’d told her.

Harley had only heard about the chaos at the bridge. The explosions. The Red Hood. And Joker being taken. Abducted, she’d assumed. Like always. Because Mr. J always came back. He always had a punchline.

But she hadn’t seen the early broadcast. The one that confirmed it.

Joker was dead.

“Mr. J is dead?” Harley had repeated, head tilted slightly, blue eyes wide and glassy as she looked at Ivy.

“They confirmed it on the news,” Pamela said gently, holding out her phone. Social feeds were flooded. Headlines. Clips. Speculation.

Harley took the phone with trembling hands.

Her breath hitched. A gasp tore from her throat as she covered her open mouth, staring at the screen like it might suddenly change.

“This… this has gotta be a joke,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That’s it. That’s what it is. Puddin’s pulling the biggest gag of all time.”

Denial wrapped around her like armor.

She went about the rest of the day in what passed for normal—talking too fast, smiling too wide, laughing at nothing. Pamela recognized it for what it was: shock dressed up in red and black.

Later, Ivy had gently asked if there was anywhere Harley wanted to go. Somewhere that might help her process it. Somewhere that might make it real.

That was how they ended up perched inside a Ferris wheel cart long after the park had closed.

“Not even Batsy would go that far,” Harley muttered, hugging her knees for a second before her usual pout began to resurface. “He’d never actually kill Mr. J. But this Red Hood guy? Total meanie. I don’t like him one bit.”

“He’s definitely built himself a reputation,” Pamela replied calmly.

At her silent command, thick green vines slithered upward, wrapping securely around both of them. The metal cart creaked as the plants lifted them even higher—above the Ferris wheel itself. 

The vines twisted and flattened, weaving together into a sturdy cradle that mimicked a seat, giving them something far more stable to sit on than rusted amusement park equipment.

Harley sniffed, then ran her fingers along the smooth wood of her bat, stroking it almost absentmindedly before giving it a few light practice swings.

“Now that Mr. J’s gone,” she said, voice shifting, “I gotta be ready. What if that means I’m next, huh? A gal’s gotta look out for herself.” She swung the bat again, imagining the crack it might make against a certain red-helmeted head.

“Relax,” Ivy said gently, reaching up to toy with one of Harley’s pigtails. “You’re not exactly his type. I doubt you’re on his radar.”

Harley stared out over the city lights beyond the park. “Still… Gotham’s never gonna feel the same without Mr. J.”

Pamela gave a small nod, though inwardly she felt something far closer to relief than pity. She had always believed Joker’s hold over Harley was poisonous—twisted, manipulative, destructive. Loving him had cost Harley pieces of herself over and over again.

If anything, Ivy was just grateful Harley wasn’t spiraling into some revenge quest over him.

“Y’know,” Harley said suddenly, looking down from their impossible height, “it’s so high up here I can practically feel my brain untangling. Like the bad thoughts are just floating away.”

She sounded lighter. Clearer.

“Then let’s not waste that clarity,” Pamela suggested. “How about we go grab a drink?”

Harley’s eyes lit up instantly, a spark of her old mischief flickering back to life.

“Ooooh, now you’re talkin’! Better to drown my sorrows than swim in ’em, right?” she chirped.

The vines coiled snugly around them once more and lowered them smoothly back to the ground in one fluid, controlled descent—like nature itself was cradling Harley through the fall.

– – –

Since Black Mask’s arrest and subsequent bail, Li’s workload had skyrocketed. She spent her days making calls, scheduling meetings, and trying to persuade the company’s legal investors—many of whom were hesitant to continue doing business with someone who was speculated to have broken Joker out of jail.

As secretary of their cosmetic empire, she had done everything in her power to keep those investors from pulling out. She patched over doubts, rebuilt trust where she could, and even sweetened deals with a few company favors. Every move was calculated to stabilize the business, to keep it afloat amid the chaos.

By the time she finally made it home, exhaustion weighed on her like lead. All she wanted was a hot shower and a chance to collapse into bed. She tossed her keys onto the counter and started toward the living room.

Her hand reached for the light switch, and as the room flooded with illumination, she froze.

There he was—Red Hood—seated in her living room again. But this time, there was no book in his hands. His fingers were laced together, and one leg swung wildly over the other as if showcasing his boots.

“Oh great… it’s you again,” Li said with a flat tone, showing no surprise—or annoyance—at his presence.

“Is that how you greet the man who saved you and your boss from a fiery death at the hands of a crazed clown you freed yourselves?” Red Hood replied, lounging casually in her living room as if it were his own.

“…”

“Maybe I should’ve just let that clown run wild before showing up,” he added, the words teasing but carrying an edge of truth.

Li’s lips parted, and after a pause, she said, “Thank you.” His head tilted slightly, a satisfied nod acknowledging her acknowledgment. “If that’s all, then you can leave,” she added.

“Well, that was blunt,” he replied with a smirk beneath his helmet.

“This is basically breaking and entering,” she shot back, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. “I don’t mind calling the police… though that would be a hassle.”

He studied her for a moment. “You’ve had a long day, and have stress written all over you,” he said.

She nodded subtly, knowing her bluff would probably get him to leave; calling the police was the last thing she intended.

He rose from his seat, taking deliberate steps toward her, boots thudding softly against the floor. “It must be exhausting, being the secretary to Black Mask—wiping up after him, covering his messes… which are frequent, I hear.”

His voice dropped into something colder, and a lot more serious, like a negotiator pressing hard on a weak spot. 

“Why not accept the deal I proposed last time? It’d save you from Roman’s bullshit—and save the empire you work so hard to keep afloat. Otherwise… it could be destroyed, or handed off to someone sure to mismanage it.”

Li’s stomach tightened at the implication. “Why me? To betray my boss? That’s… unthinkable,” she replied. She knew exactly what he was doing—manipulating her to prevent another power vacuum, forcing her to take control of the empire before rival factions claimed it. 

She didn’t care about territories, only the business—and small areas she knew she could protect, where her products would remain untouched and her work uninterrupted.

And deep down, she also realized something else—that the only reason he had saved her that night was for this purpose. She didn’t know he was actually the alter ego of the man she was currently seeing.

“Can I trust you to keep me safe from the other sharks circling, just waiting for a chance to grab a bite?” Li asked, her voice laced with a mix of caution and curiosity.

“You can,” Red Hood replied smoothly. “Though some of Black Mask’s territory will need to be divided, it’s just business at the end of the day. Everybody profits. No needless bloodshed. No factions killing each other just to flex power.”

Li considered this carefully. “Alright… if you actually manage to get Roman out of the picture, I’ll think about your offer.” Betrayal wasn’t something she ever thought she’d entertain, but if Black Mask’s reckless ways leads t hos demise, who was she to ignore the opportunity?

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, his modulated voice hiding the smirk beneath his helmet.

And then—suddenly—the lights cut out. Darkness swallowed the room.

Li fumbled for her purse, searching for her phone, only for the lights to flick back on a few seconds later. Red Hood was gone. Not that she was surprised—anyone familiar with Gotham knew that disappearing acts were practically an habit amongst the bat vigilantes.

From a rooftop not far away, Jason glanced down at a small device in his hand. “Nothing like pulling off a smooth Houdini,” he muttered in reference to a magiciam’s disappearing act as he slide the portable EMP back into his utility belt with a quiet satisfaction.

With Li now on his side, eliminating Black Mask from the equation felt like a formality.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep