young god I marquis du gramont

kill of the night

kill of the night - gin wigmore

the street's a liar
i'm gonna lure you into the dark
my cold desire
to hear the boom, boom, boom of your heart

/

'you and i both know this ends in blood' - anonymous

-

vincent

Vincent remembered very little about what happened on December 15th 1998. But he knew the crucial importance of that day.

His mother, Camille, had been in hospital for 8 hours before he was born. 3 before his father even noticed her disappearance, until his servant alerted him. He wouldn't have noticed without the poor servant. His father had the man murdered after. Just for fun, he suspected.

Vincent was born in Hôtel-Dieu, one of, if not the oldest hospital in France. He was a small little thing, weighing less than 4 pounds, barely alive as he clambered out of his fleshy prison and into the world. The first face he saw was a masked doctor, then a nurse, then his mother. She looked so relieved to see he was breathing.

He wasn't with his mother for long. Vincent remembered the hospital lights; they were bright and he cried out, frightened by the noise and the constant buzz of unfamiliar sights. Then, he laid his little eyes on a man, clad in black with an elegant top hat. He would discover in the future that the man in question would turn out to be the abusive shit he would call his father. He said something to someone else, another nurse. She nodded. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted. He felt hands under his arms before he was lifted into the air, dangling like meat in a butcher's window.

He wasn't returned to his mother. Instead, he was thrust into the arms of another woman with dark blonde hair. The man from outside, the one who frightened him came and dressed him in a silk cloth. And that was how he was raised; spoiled, rich but with an inbred weakness. That he was nothing more than a commoner. That his secret could be discovered at anytime. That Vincent would no longer be the Marquess du Gramont but would revealed for what he truly was; a fraud.

His father made sure that he knew that every day of his life. That if he didn't live up to the set expectations, they would reveal his shameful secret. All his life, Vincent had lived with no consequences to his actions. But if he was discovered, if they found out who he actually was, they would come for him. They would drag him screaming into the depths of hell.

Vincent snapped out of his thoughts as Francesca chuckled to herself lightly. Vincent imagined how satisfying wrapping his hands around her throat and watching the life drain for her eyes would be. He erased the image from his mind. There were much more urgent matters to deal with.

'Nobody would believe you, Mademoiselle Mallilos'

She smiled sadistically.

'But of course they would, Marquess. You see, I have certain documents that prove your birth was to a commoner and in the event of my death, my people will send said documents to the Table'

She circled him, observing his body image and his reaction to her comment. He showed none but she could feel it, radiating off his like a stench. Fear.

'I wonder what they will do to you. You've been a busy man, Monsieur Bisset; it seems that I am not the only person who you've threatened to kill'

Vincent's mind raced.

'What you do want?'

'Why, Marquess, it's awfully offensive of you to demand something from me, wouldn't you agree?'

Vincent shoved the anger that was boiling at the bottom of his stomach down. It sat there, swirling in furious strokes in his body like bad whisky. The marquess adjusted his mask, running a finger along the edges to distract himself.

'How may I be of assistance?'

Francesca could hear his sarcasm through grit teeth.

'That's better. Now, I want you to stop whatever operation you are running on John Wick. He is under my protection. If you wish to continue, I will have no choice. And additionally, I would like to enlist your help in John's escape. He needs a way out and people to make sure that he stays out. John is too... how can I say this.... drawn to danger. I will not let him be put back into that danger again'

Vincent sighed, now running his hand through his slicked hair. She was asking too much, yet it seemed like a small price to pay. But the Table would have his head. Either way, Vincent wouldn't make it out alive. But there was something in her brown eyes that made him trust her. A bitter yet warm feelings. Something told him that she was not completely heartless.

And he would use that to his advantage.

The man reached out suddenly and grabbed her wrist. Francesca stepped back in shock, pulling her hand away but Vincent kept his grasp. She turned to look at him, cocking her head sideways and staring at him as if he had gone mad. He might have been. But in the cold of the night, he could feel her pulse. Her face lit up in the dim fairy lights. She shivered at his touch; frigid against her skin.

Head tilt. Dilated eyes. Quickened pulse.

A cruel smile slid up Vincent's face. He let go of her. Francesca grabbed a knife out of her hair; her locks glided down, framing her face. She looked beautiful.

'Well, with that convincing offer, how could l refuse?'

Francesca knew something was wrong. Vincent Bisset would never give n that easily. She had read his file; she knew that his tenacity was unmatched. There was nothing that the man could not do. Yet, he let her push him around. He followed her lead. As if he were a dog on her leash. She smiled. She had gotten him exactly where she needed him.

He had started walking. She wondered how he remember the way around the garden. She herself had been here countless times and even she couldn't memorise that path. He stopped, casting shadows on the grass. She couldn't see his face.

'Are you coming, Mademoiselle?'

She joined him, taking his hand. Even though both were blinded by careless and ruthless ambition, there was a humanity between them. A sentiment that they would eventually lead to their downfall.