Madeline had spent the evening at New York’s newest business, a nightclub called Truth. Considering the visit was equal parts business and pleasure, she was quite happy with how she had handled herself. She’d stayed away from the lure of the drugs and kept solely to alcohol, and even then, she hadn’t let herself get drunk as she had so many times in the past. She’d danced and spent time with the owner as well as others who had shown up for the grand opening. Indeed it had been an excellent night, all things considered.

At the end of the night, she’d waved off Nikolas’ offer at a ride home, insisting that she preferred to walk. It was already starting to drizzle, but Madeline didn’t mind the rain – if anything, she found it soothing. She had been away from New York long enough lately that she had missed it. The busy streets, people rushing every which way. The bright lights and the stark contrast between the rich and the poor, all sharing the same place. Even just walking down the street you could hear a variety of languages being spoken, people from all over the world living, working and visiting this magnificent island.

Madeline was rediscovering not just herself but her love of her home city. Los Angeles had been breathtaking, and she already missed the beaches. Philly was filled with people she loved and a business district that she was envious of. But New York was her home.

What Madeline did regret about the night was her decision to walk home in heels. She took them off after only a few blocks, deciding to walk barefoot instead. She was cutting through a park near her home when she saw him, sitting on a bench, drenched from the rain. At first, she didn’t recognize him – he’d been beaten, and there was blood.

“Alex?” Her shoes were dangling from her fingertips, her hair wet from the rain, she was wearing her signature little black dress. All of that was forgotten in an instant, however, when she realized it was him. Kneeling next to him, she looked him over for other visible injuries, hoping the blood wasn’t only his.

“What happened, what are you doing here? Are you ok?” She peppered him with questions while also realizing that his attackers might still be close by. She looked around for a few moments before calling out for the men she knew were hanging behind in the shadows.

“Nikolas! Timothy! Come and help, we have to get him out of the rain.” Instantly three or four of her bodyguards were coming forward. Nikolas called for the car, and they got the man laid out inside. Madeline cradled his head in her lap as they rode back to her apartment. She’d already ordered that the doctor be called to meet her there.

When he awoke, he'd be laying in the guest bedroom of Madeline's apartment. Once they had gotten him cleaned up they saw that his injuries weren't too bad; a slight concussion had been what caused him to be disorientated. She sat in a chair near the bed, still wearing the same clothes she had the night before, half dozing but awake enough that her eyes would pop open if he tried to sit up. 

Alexander woke up in pain. He felt like he had been run over by a locomotive. He was lying on a soft mattress but his ribs still hurt. As his eyes opened he saw a ceiling and that surprised him. The last thing he remembered before he got knocked out was him lying on a hard wooden bench staring at the night sky, unable to move. Once the room stopped spinning he realized he was in unfamiliar surroundings. Eager to figure out what had transpired since he passed out, Alexander turned his head to look around and that was when he saw her. 

A gorgeous woman dressed in black, sat beside him. The early rays of the sun streaming in from a nearby floor to ceiling window glistened off her legs. His eyes slowly travelled up towards her face, half covered in messed up hair. He didn't immediately recognize her at first. As he tried to get up to take a closer look at his saviour he grunted in pain and collapsed back on the bed. That was when her eyes snapped open and found his. He could never forget those eyes full of intrigue that seemed to penetrate right into his soul and yet somehow held a thousand secrets within. 

He tried to chuckle at the odds of it being her, but the sound came out as a dry cough. Parting his lips slowly despite the pain in his jaw, he whispered with a sombre smile "Waking up to you looking like that, heaven if it didn't hurt so much."  His hand travelled upwards across his bare, bruised chest to press against the dull ache in his head as he continued teasing "I keep finding myself shirtless around you somehow."

His eyes found hers yet again and he knew she had a million questions. Reaching behind his ear he searched for the camel he kept tucked away normally but found nothing. As much as she had probably done for him, he knew he needed something else from her before he could offer her the answers she wanted.

With a sigh, he let his hand fall back to the bed and said "Cigarette."

Madeline was awake the moment she heard his grunt, sitting up in her seat, her eyes meeting his. He made a few jokes, and although they made her smile, the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was too worried about what had happened, and more importantly, why it had happened. She couldn’t help but remember how he had joked about not having as much to fear in his line of work. That wasn't entirely true because men didn’t get beaten for no reason. Not most of the time at least.

He asked for a cigarette and she smirked, shaking her head. She pushed her hair back from her face before standing and moving to the nightstand near the bed, where a pitcher of water and a glass were sitting. She poured some water into the glass and handed it to him, her voice firm as she said: “Water first.”

After waiting for him to drink at least some of the water, she produced his cigarettes and matches. “Try not to catch my bed on fire," she teased before moving back to her seat. She crossed her legs and waited. She wouldn't ask what happened, but it was clear she wanted to know.

Alexander frowned, not having the energy to hide his annoyance when she insisted he drink water first. Sitting up slightly, he held the glass with a delicate grip and took a few small sips. He couldn't lie, the cool liquid felt good in his parched mouth. Placing the glass on the nightstand, he picked up the pack of cigarettes and opened up. Bringing it close to his face, he pulled one out with his mouth and tossed the pack aside. 

Pulling the cigarette out of his mouth momentarily he joked  "If I was going to light your bed on fire, cigarettes would not be involved." before replacing it into his mouth with a playful wink in her direction. As he tried to grab the matchsticks with his other hand he felt a sudden stab of pain in his gut and felt the matchbook slip out of his fingers to the floor below.

With a sigh he turned to her once again with a hopeful look in his eyes and an embarrassed smile wondering if she would help him out. Taking a deep breath, he realized it was time to face the music. "How much do you know?" He asked as his gaze turned distant almost as if he was recalling events long past.

When the matches fell to the ground, she didn’t quite have the heart to laugh. She hated smoking, oddly enough, so she wasn’t inclined to pick them up. At the same time, she knew that if she didn’t he would try to and the last thing she needed was for him to fall out of bed.

“All I know is that I found you beaten up and basically passed out on a park bench. If I hadn’t been walking through the park last night you’d probably still be there.”

Madeline frowned at the thought. She wasn’t ready to admit how worried she had been when she found him, how she’d been nearly frantic until they got him upstairs and realized that he wasn’t as badly beaten as it appeared. She certainly wasn't ready to admit how he'd been on her mind since she last saw him in Philadelphia and how she'd been hoping to see him again soon, although not under these circumstances. 

So, rather than mention any of those things, she leaned forward and picked the matches up off the ground. She stood again, this time moving to sit on the edge of the bed, facing him. She spoke as she pulled one of the matches out and lit it, holding it up for him to light his cigarette.

“I had a doctor come last night. He said you bruised some ribs, so that will hurt for a while. And you had a concussion from the headshots. My men searched the park but didn’t find anything helpful.”

Once he lit the cigarette she put the match out and placed the book on the nightstand. She stayed seated on the edge of the bed, her eyes meeting his, filled with concern and questions. 

"Something tells me it wasn't some random attack. So what was it?"

Taking a long drag of the cigarette he felt the familiar burn at the back of his throat and sensed a temporary numbness from the pain in his head. Letting the smoke roll in his mouth for a moment, he turned his face away from her and let the smoke cascade out of his nose. Turning his head back, he glanced at the flashing embers at the end of the cigarette seemingly lost in thought as he responded. "I offered up my innocence, got repaid with scorn."

An internal struggle occurred in his mind as he tried to figure out if he was ready to reveal his past to her. He had never revealed much about his past to someone else before and yet what more could this woman do to gain his trust. "Before you met me," he began hesitantly "Before Broadway and the clubs I performed at in Detroit or the west coast. Before the bartending gig in LA and before the street performances in parks to make ends meet, I was different."

A bittersweet smile appeared on his face as he reminisced about the past. Taking a short puff of the cigarette, he continued "Young and full of hope. Filled with naive optimism, eager to make a name for myself. I used to sneak into pubs in Phoenix and try to con drunk patrons with cheap tricks to get some money for music lessons. The women in the orphanage, bless their hearts, could never control me. Always getting mixed up with the rowdy crowd and having fun."

Chuckling at the memory of Sister Agatha chasing him out of a pub with a broomstick in her hand, he continued "Whenever the owners caught me they would put me to work, helping out with the drinks to make up for the money I conned out of their patrons. I remember sneaking into this pub filled with factory workers getting off their evening shift after a hard day of labour. Weary patrons aren't easy to con, so I tried to cheer them up. Lead them into a chorus of the popular drinking songs. The booze flowed and purses hung loose."

Pausing to take another drag he scrunched his face as he tried to recall the details of the night. When his hand came down, it brushed against hers and the contact momentarily stunned him. Once he regained his composure, he continued while grazing her knuckles with one of his fingernails delicately. "This guy, Frankie 'Blue Shoes' Malone, from a local record label heard me that night. We talked at his office the next day and I signed a contract without reading it, eager to get my career started."

With a sigh he kept talking "Months turned into years, but he never got me a gig or finance a record. Once I was old enough to leave the orphanage, I grabbed a change of clothes before getting on a bus to LA. I arrived with dreams in my eyes and holes in my pocket." Taking a final drag of the rapidly diminishing cigarette, he dropped it into the half-finished glass of water. His hand returned to hers and their fingers intertwined. 

"Frankie's been keeping tabs on me. Following my journey up into infamy through the clubs and Broadway. When he got wind that I was looking to produce an album in Philly, he sent his associates to encourage me to pay half a million dollars to buy out his contract. I couldn't afford it if I tried, so I refused. After all, the contract 'twas in another lifetime." He said. His thumb caressed the back of her palm as he continued "They found me when I came to New York to close out my bank accounts. Took the 100 grand, reserve left over from the Broadway shows. I bargained for salvation but they gave me a lethal dose. "

His fingers slipped out of hers, reluctant to leave as he smiled sombrely and said "The last thing I remember as I lay on the park bench was recalling how much more comfortable the ones in LA used to be. I suppose the luxury has spoiled me."

Turning his eyes to hers, he brought his hand up while fighting the pain and cupped her cheek. Unable to come up with proper words that could convey the extent of his gratitude he just smiled sheepishly and said "You're right I probably would still be lying on that bench having bled half to death if it wasn't for you. I'm lucky I was stupid enough to practice firing a gun the one time in Detroit when we met and you took pity on me."

No longer able to ignore the pain, he let his hand fall back to the bed, but his eyes stayed lost in hers.

Madeline was silent as she listened to him explain why he had been beaten. Her mind flashed to a different night, one where she shared her own somber history with another man in this apartment. She knew the difficulty in opening up to a relative stranger about such a topic and she wanted to comfort him, but she wasn’t sure how.

The best she could do was listen. She picked up on the little details, the ones that really mattered; his lonely childhood, time spent in an orphanage, how he started singing. His hand brushed against hers and eventually their fingers intertwined as he continued to tell her about how he’d gotten tangled up with someone who was clearly a con artist.

She grew angry as she listened to him talk about how this man was trying to extort him now that he had finally made something of himself. She felt oddly protective over the man, emotions she couldn’t yet fully grasp rising up as their eyes met and he cupped her cheek with his hand.

She rather quickly decided that she couldn’t let his situation go on this way. He was so excited about the opportunity to record this album, she knew how much it meant to him. Now this man wanted to ruin that for him. No, Madeline couldn’t allow that to happen, she knew that. She didn’t know why but at that moment, nothing mattered to her except keeping him safe from further harm.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. "I'm so sorry Alex. He sounds like a despicable man." She reached out and took his hand once more, squeezing it gently. "I assume you haven't told anyone else about this man?" It seemed an obvious answer, but she had to be sure before she could plan out the next steps. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite manage a stop at a pay phone between the park bench and your apartment, what with being unconscious and all." He replied with a goofy grin. His thoughts turned serious and he thought of his options. "Besides who am I gonna tell? The Maldonado family is no longer hosting me and this happened outside the jurisdiction of The Race Street organization."

"Retribution isn't my main problem though" Pausing to rub his temples, he continued "I doubt my new financier will offer me an advance on the record deal if I show up looking like this, but I have to try." Bringing his elbows beside him, he tried to rise as he said  "Speaking of which, I should probably get dressed if I'm going to make it back to Philly today."

With his teeth tightly clenched and his fists squeezed tight to push through the pain, he sat up briefly before collapsing back onto the bed with a thud. Expletives escaped his lips as he tried to relax his breath.  "I think I'm just going to get dressed right here in bed," Pausing to chuckle, he added "I don't want to be presumptuous and have this come off the wrong way, but could you offer me a change of clothes you might have lying around from your ... liaisons?"

At his first comment, Madeline smirked and managed to resist rolling her eyes. However, as he struggled to get out of bed, failing miserably and letting out a string of curses, she couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe that wasn’t nice, he did seem to be in pain after all, but he also seemed to be a very stubborn man which she couldn’t help but be amused by.

“If you weren’t already hurt I think I’d slap you for that one mister.” Either way, she placed a rather firm hand on his chest, her tone more serious as she said: “You’re not going anywhere. The doctor ordered bed rest for a few days. You’re staying right here.” The look on her face dared him to challenge her and when he didn’t, she returned to a smile.

“I don’t bring men back to my apartment.” Well, she’d brought one once but that was a different kind of situation and didn’t need to be mentioned. “However, I’m sure at least one of these men that I hire to follow me around are about your size; I’ll make sure they bring you something when you’re ready. No sooner.” She was actually quite close to many of the men that provided her security, so her comment was more lighthearted than anything else.

Madeline brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek, her eyes lingering on his. “Unfortunately, I already had a trip planned out of town. I’ll be gone for a few days, but I should be back before you’re cleared to leave. I’m leaving Nikolas with you; he’ll be under strict orders not to allow you to go anywhere until the doctor clears you.” And he would make sure no one tried to come back to finish the job. There was no one she trusted more.

Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek softly before standing. "Get some rest. And try not to give Nikolas a hard time." With that, she left the room. Madeline would make sure that Mr. Malone was no longer a problem for Alex but she knew if she told him her plan ahead of time he would try and stop her. She would tell him, eventually. Once it was done.