Chapter 24 : Professional Crossover
The call came at 1:47 AM.
I was reviewing territory reports, half-asleep, when the burn phone buzzed. Selina's number.
"Hello?"
"Darek." Her voice was tight. Wrong. "I need help."
I was already moving before she finished the sentence.
"Where are you?"
"East End. Corner of Miller and Fifth. I'm—" A sharp intake of breath. "I'm hit. Grazed, nothing serious, but I can't go home like this. They might be watching."
"I'm coming. Stay hidden."
"I was thinking somewhere else." A pause. "Your warehouse. If that's... if that's okay."
She was asking to enter my territory. My base. The center of everything I'd built.
"Come. I'll be waiting."
Twenty minutes later, Selina appeared at the warehouse service entrance. Even injured, she moved like a shadow—silent, careful, professional.
But I saw the blood on her arm. The way she favored her left side. The careful control masking pain.
"Terry," I called. "Clear the office. No one comes up until I say."
He took one look at Selina and nodded without question. Within a minute, the third floor was empty.
I led her to my office and closed the door.
"Let me see."
She peeled back her jacket, revealing a makeshift bandage already soaked through. The bullet had grazed her upper arm—not deep, but enough to bleed freely.
"Sit," I said.
The first aid kit was under my desk—a habit I'd developed after the Marco operation. I cleaned the wound as gently as I could, feeling her wince with each touch.
"What happened?"
"Job in the East End. One of my regulars—a warehouse that processes stolen electronics. Easy score, done it twice before." She hissed as I applied antiseptic. "Except this time, someone was waiting."
"Ambush?"
"Not exactly. More like... new management." She watched me work, her expression a mixture of pain and something else. "They call themselves the False Face Society. Masks, organized, brutal. They've been expanding in the East End for weeks. I thought I could avoid them."
"You thought wrong."
"Clearly." She winced again as I wrapped the bandage. "There were eight of them. I took down three before the fourth got lucky. They're not amateurs."
I finished the bandage and sat back. "Who's backing them?"
"That's the question. Someone with money, resources, organization. They've been recruiting aggressively—taking over smaller operations, absorbing or eliminating anyone who won't join." Her jaw tightened. "They crossed into territory I consider under my protection. Hurt people who depend on me."
"This sounds familiar. This sounds like what I did to Marco. Except these people don't have a code."
"Tell me everything you know about them."
She did. False Face Society—named for the masks they wore, featureless white things that made them look like ghosts. Appeared about six weeks ago, started small, grew fast. Their methods were efficient and ruthless—no room for negotiation, no mercy for resistance.
The East End had always been chaotic, a patchwork of small operators and independent players. The False Face Society was changing that, consolidating power with a speed that suggested serious backing.
"You've been tracking them?"
"Gathering information. Waiting for the right moment to act." She shook her head. "Tonight was supposed to be reconnaissance. Find out where they store their goods, who their lieutenants are. Instead, I walked into a trap."
"You think they knew you were coming?"
"I think they're more sophisticated than I expected." She met my eyes. "I've been operating in that territory for years. I know every corner, every shadow. They found me anyway."
The implications were troubling. Someone had resources, had organization, had intelligence. Someone was building an empire in the East End the same way I'd built one in the Narrows.
The difference was, they didn't seem to have a code.
"I could handle this alone," Selina said. Her voice was careful, vulnerable in a way I'd rarely heard. "I've handled everything alone for years. But I thought... maybe a partner would be better."
I understood what she was really saying. This wasn't just about the False Face Society. This was about trust—letting me into her world, her territory, her life.
"I'm in," I said. "Whatever you need. We'll figure it out together."
She took my hand. Her grip was strong despite the injury.
"Thank you."
"That's what partners do."
We sat in the office, her hand in mine, the city quiet outside. The weight of what had just happened settled around us—not just the violence, not just the danger, but the step we'd taken. The barrier she'd lowered.
"You should rest," I said eventually. "There's a couch. We can plan in the morning."
"I should go. Find somewhere safe."
"This is safe." I squeezed her hand. "Stay."
She hesitated. The calculation behind her eyes—weighing risk, weighing trust.
Then she nodded.
I helped her to the couch, found a blanket in the supply closet. She was asleep within minutes—exhaustion and blood loss finally catching up.
I sat in my chair, watching her breathe.
"She came to me. She could have gone anywhere, called anyone, but she came here."
The weight of that trust settled on my shoulders. Not a burden—a gift. Something precious and fragile.
I didn't sleep. Partly watchfulness, partly something else—the need to be present, to guard, to protect.
Dawn came slowly. Gray light crept through the grimy windows, painting the office in muted tones. Selina stirred, eyes opening, momentarily confused.
Then she saw me. Still in the chair. Still there.
"You stayed."
"Of course."
Something shifted in her expression. The walls lowering another fraction.
She rose, crossed to where I sat, and kissed my cheek. Quick, almost shy—completely unlike the confident woman I knew.
"Thank you."
Then she was all business again, the vulnerability tucked away.
"We need to talk about the False Face Society. Their leader wears a distinctive mask—black instead of white. I've heard people call him Black Mask."
"Black Mask."
The name triggered something in my meta-knowledge. Roman Sionis—wealthy industrialist, obsessed with masks, violently insane. One of Gotham's more dangerous villains.
But I couldn't tell her that. Couldn't explain how I knew.
"Tell me more," I said instead.
She outlined what she knew. The organization's structure, their known operations, their methods. I listened, asked questions, filled in gaps where I could.
By mid-morning, we had the beginnings of a plan.
"We'll need more information," I said. "Surveillance, informants, documentation. And we'll need firepower—this isn't a job for subtlety."
"I have contacts in the East End who might help. People who hate False Face as much as I do."
"Good. I'll talk to Terry about resources on our end." I met her eyes. "This is going to be dangerous. More dangerous than Daggett."
"I know." She smiled—tired but genuine. "That's why I called you."
She left through the window, as she always did. I watched her go, then turned to find Terry in the doorway.
"The woman from before," he said. Not a question.
"Her name is Selina. She's... a partner."
"Partner." Terry's expression was carefully neutral. "That what we're calling it?"
"That's what we're calling it."
He nodded, accepting. "We going to war with someone?"
"Possibly. I'll brief you this afternoon."
"Looking forward to it, boss."
He left. I sat in the empty office, still smelling her perfume, still feeling the ghost of her lips on my cheek.
"False Face Society. Black Mask. The East End."
I'd built an empire in the Narrows. Now I was about to help build one somewhere else—with someone else.
"Partners."
The word felt right.
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