LOCATION:ROME IN THE CONTINENT OF ASHVEIL
The name seemed to hang in the damp air of the tavern like a toxic fog.
"Valerio, shut it!" a scarred thug from a back table suddenly barked, his voice laced with a sharp edge of panic. "This can be bad for you. Keep your mouth closed!"
The man in the velvet coat—Valerio—flinched slightly, but he didn't look away from the photograph, nor did he look away from the young woman who had just effortlessly dismantled three of his best enforcers. He swallowed hard, ignoring the warning from the back of the room.
"Grey is one feared criminal," Valerio said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper. He looked up at Natasha, the confident smirk he had worn moments ago completely gone. "So feared that even King Ashveil stopped going after him. Some call him the Bringer of Death. Others call him the Black Devil. He has many nicknames in the dark corners of this world."
Natasha adjusted the strap of her travel bag, her gaze remaining entirely steady. "Do you know anything about his power?"
"That is a mystery," Valerio replied, a genuine shiver running through his shoulders. He glanced toward the shadowed ceiling, as if afraid the man they were speaking of was listening from the bricks. "Some even say that if you try to understand his power... you will end up going mad. Or mindless. Like your soul just gets scooped right out of you."
The words gave Natasha actual chills. A cold sensation prickled at the back of her neck. She had faced dangerous opponents before, but a man whose very power could break a person's sanity was a completely different tier of threat. She tightened her grip on her bag.
"Do you know his location?" she asked.
Valerio shook his head quickly. "Am afraid not. He doesn't stay at a single location. He's a ghost, lady. And you better not find out where he is if you want to live."
Natasha let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, looking down at the blurred photo in her hand. "Looks like I still don't have a clue about this man," she whispered to herself.
Seeing the desperation flash across her face, the paralyzing fear in Valerio's chest began to recede, instantly replaced by the natural, greedy instincts of an underground broker. A slow, opportunistic smirk crept back onto his lips. He leaned against the sticky counter of the bar.
"But... I know someone who might have the info you need," Valerio murmured, his eyes glinting with avarice. "But it's gonna cost yeah some grands."
Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly. "How much?"
"A thousand would be enough," he replied smoothly.
"A thousand?!" Natasha squeaked, her polite tourist persona fracturing for a second as her jaw dropped. "That's way too much! For just a name and a location?!"
Valerio simply shrugged, tapping his fingers idly against the wooden counter. "In the underground, information is life, girl. If you think it's too expensive, then I guess I can't help you. Good luck hunting a ghost on your own." He began to turn away, playing his cards perfectly.
Natasha froze, her mind racing. A thousand grands was a fortune—money that was supposed to sustain her on this long journey. But as she looked at the broken table, the terrified faces of the thugs in the tavern, and the haunting photograph of Grey Rosanate, she realized she didn't have a choice. If she walked out now, the trail went dead.
She let out a heavy, defeated groan, shoulders slumping.
Natasha let out a heavy, painful groan, her shoulders slumping as she reached into the hidden inner lining of her travel bag. With dragging movements, she pulled out a thick, tightly bound stack of currency. She stared at it for a bittersweet second before slamming it onto the sticky wooden bar counter.
Valerio didn't waste a heartbeat. With the practiced speed of a seasoned underground broker, his hand flashed forward, swiping the currency off the counter. He flipped through the edges of the stack, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he verified the authenticity before tucking the heavy bundle securely into the inner pocket of his velvet coat.
The greedy smirk returned to his face, but as he prepared to speak, he leaned over the bar, signaling for Natasha to come closer. The ambient noise of the tavern had completely died down, the remaining thugs watching the transaction in a tense, breathless standoff.
"You aren't going to find Grey wandering the corridors," Valerio whispered, his voice low enough to escape the ears of the men in the back. "A man like that doesn't live like a common rat. If you want his schedule, you need to speak to the man who manages his appearance. We call him Enzo. But around here, his nickname is The Tailor."
Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly, absorbing the name. "A tailor?"
"The elite of the underworld don't buy their clothes off the rack, girl," Valerio murmured with a sharp nod. "Enzo handles the bespoke attire for the highest tier of criminals in Rome. He knows their measurements, their appointments, and exactly when they are coming into town for a fitting. If anyone knows where the Black Devil is going to materialize next, it's him."
"Where do I find him?" Natasha demanded, her voice dropping its frantic edge, replaced by the cool focus of a true Pursuer.
Valerio glanced toward the heavy iron doors at the back of the tavern. "You need to go deeper. Leave this sector and follow the western aqueduct tunnels until the stone transitions from rough brick to polished marble. That is The Velvet District—the luxury under-city where the wealthy and corrupt come to play."
He paused, his eyes turning dead serious. "Once you reach the district, find the courtyard with The Fountain of Tears—an ancient, dried-up Roman monument built into the catacombs. Across from the fountain, look for a parlor with a single, unlit iron lantern hanging above a black wooden door. Knock three times."
"And the password?"
Valerio leaned in until his lips were just inches from her ear, his breath hitching slightly as he uttered the phrase. "Sweet Potatoes."
Natasha repeated the words silently in her mind, letting the weight of the phrase settle.
"If this lead is a lie," Natasha said softly, the underlying strength in her voice making the velvet-coated broker blink in surprise, "I'll come back for my money. And the ceiling won't be the only thing that breaks."
Without waiting for his response, she gripped the strap of her heavy travel bag, turned on her heel, and marched toward the exit. The crowd of scarred thugs parted before her like the sea, their previous hostility completely replaced by a quiet, cautious respect. She pushed past the heavy doors and vanished into the damp, labyrinthine tunnels of the Roman underground.
The journey through the subterranean depths was long and suffocating. For nearly an hour, Natasha navigated the twisting stone aqueducts, the sound of dripping water echoing rhythmically against the rough, moss-covered brickwork. The air grew progressively cooler, carrying the faint, distant scent of expensive tobacco, exotic perfumes, and high-grade wine.
Slowly, the environment began to transform.
The jagged, uneven stone beneath her boots gave way to smooth, pristine slabs of dark, polished marble. The flickering, low-grade lanterns of the outer slums vanished, replaced by elegant, ornate iron sconces that cast a warm, golden glow across the expanding tunnels. The architecture widened, opening up into grand, subterranean boulevards carved directly out of the ancient bedrock.
Natasha stopped at the precipice of a massive, arched stone overlook.
Spread out beneath her was a sprawling, hidden metropolis illuminated by thousands of dim, amber lights. Silk banners hung from the balconies of stone villas, and the sound of distant, elegant music drifted through the air, interspersed with the low murmur of high-society chatter. It was a place of immense wealth and profound corruption—a paradise built entirely in the dark.
She had officially reached the borders of The Velvet District.