hell is a woman.

LOCATION: Millennium Biltmore Hotel ⏤ Los Angeles, CA

OPEN TO: Abel Costello / @abel-costello​

The Moreau Foundation’s third annual charity gala ⏤ a lavish spectacle with entertainment provided by recipients of the charity’s programs and scholarships ⏤ was the hottest ticket in town. But with all of the joys that a social event brought came drawbacks. Tonight, it wasn’t the issue of a sudden wardrobe malfunction or the dull company of an unimportant donor. It was Piper’s new assistant, Melissa.

Seeking even a moment’s reprieve from the younger woman’s incessant commentary and general incompetence, Piper set off into the crowd that had gathered for the pre-dinner cocktail hour. This was the first and last time she’d fire and hire an assistant right before a major event. Melissa, for her magna cum laude Communications degree from Piper’s alma mater and all of her endearing sycophantic tendencies, had not learned in her three weeks trailing Piper’s Louboutins how to keep her cool around celebrities and influential figures or when to shut up. For that ⏤ and for the velvet dress she’d elected to wear to the gala, which clashed horrifically with Piper’s gown ⏤ she’d have to go. Later, when the philanthropist could donate some charity in the form of constructive feedback without the risk of being captured in a grainy cell phone video and blasted on TMZ.

It took everything in Piper to not be pulled into the mass of boozing executives, lawyers, and professional millionaires; compliments and requests for her company echoed after her, calling for her to join in on the social posturing. But her persistence was nothing if not ironclad. The foundation’s CEO wouldn’t have gained the status or accolades she held without it.

Wandering down a back hallway, passing uniformed event staff as she went, Piper found what she was looking for: a place to take shelter. Trying the handle of the door at the end of the corridor, she found it unlocked and stepped out into the cool evening air. The view from the balcony was unremarkable, but the balcony itself was sufficiently covered and out of the way. The perfect hiding spot. For now, at least.

Piper combed through the contents of her clutch for a lighter to ignite the cigarette set between her crimson lips. Maybe the hit of nicotine would calm her down more successfully than the flute of champagne currently warming her stomach. 

Sensing a presence ⏤ of someone, something; the sensation of one’s gaze burning into ivory flesh exposed by her backless gown ⏤ she turned suddnely to see another figure in the dim light. A man, ensconced on the hidden balcony with her, only a few feet away. She didn’t recognize him. “Fucking Christ,” Piper breathed, pulling the cigarette from between her lips. “What is this, some sort of prank?” she sneered. “Or do you get your jollies skulking around and scaring years off of people’s lives?”

Spiraling downward would only make things more difficult on the family. His father had been dead nearly a month now. The holidays were fast approaching – Luca’s twenty-third birthday was right around the corner. But all of the things that he would normally look forward to seemed so dim. Luca had been drinking a lot – more than usual. He’d told himself that he’d do it at home, in private, so that his wellbeing wasn’t a concern of anyone else’s. The last thing that he wanted was a lecture. Still, that didn’t stop him from venturing out into the cold, with a flask full of vodka tucked into his jacket. He’d snapped at his security, insisted that they leave him the hell alone. Going for a walk in thirty degree weather was the logical thing to do in his inebriated mind. Only a few blocks away from his apartment, and Luca had already downed most of his flask. He’d have to go back for more soon.

He heard footsteps behind him – assuming it was his security, Luca rolled his eyes, feeling the anger flare up before he could bottle it back up. “Can’t you just fuck off for thirty fucking min–”

He spun around, stopped himself whenever he saw that it wasn’t his security. He hiccuped.

“My bad.”

Piper had to hand it to her private investigator ⏤ their intel was good. And not just good, but reliable. Or maybe it was Luca Costello who was the reliable one; for all of his youthful gallivanting around the city, no doubt driven to drink and drugs by the loss of his wife-to-be and father, he did seem to retrace the same routes. It didn’t take long for her driver to get eyes on the youngest Costello. It took even less time for him to discreetly deposit Piper on the street with one member of her security team tailing at a favorable distance. 

The heels of her boots were far less discreet. With each step, they announced her presence to anyone nearby: the group of men in sports jerseys passing by, the couple exiting a nearby convenience store, the raccoon rifling through a trash can at the curb. Even Luca caught on, swiveling around with a look of disdain reserved for someone else.

(Maybe also for her, by association.)

“Luca Costello. That’s no way to speak to a lady. Especially a lady who was nearly your aunt-in-law,” Piper said, baring her teeth in a smile rivaling one of a predator closing in on its prey. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to be out without security?” She stepped closer, her heels increasingly menacing with each move toward the young man. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s a war going on in this city.”

It was a stark contrast, how different from her sister Piper was and it wasn’t lost on Hadley. The warmth of Penny, her maternal she was, how helpful and welcoming she had been, these were all things that the younger Moreau didn’t seem to possess. But hard times often brought out different things in people and it was probably the case with Piper.

“Of course.,” she said, slowly getting her hand down and back to her side. Of course, with a kid, Hadley was more prone to carrying germs and despite Piper not knowing, it was best to not insist. “Almost two years. I was lucky to have your sister.” A moment passed before she talked again. “I’m sorry about your niece.”

“Aren’t we all lucky to have Penelope.” Piper’s smile was strained. The mere mention of her sister prickled the back of her neck. Going long without someone bringing the woman’s name into the conversation was impossible, especially now that Morgan was behind bars and her dear sister was tasked with running her husband’s criminal enterprise. Still, every mention set Piper’s teeth on edge. It was nothing if not a reminder of the work that was to be done.

Her expression sobered at Hadley’s mention of her niece. What an excellent opportunity to forge some semblance of a “bond” with a loyalist over death. And not just any death, but that of the family’s sacrifice to establish what would be a useless, ephemeral treaty with the enemy. The death Piper had caused not by her own hand but the lucrative incentive of cold, hard cash, dangled in front of a trusted connection. “I appreciate the sentiments. It’s been difficult, as you can imagine. Paisley is ⏤ was ⏤ so young. It’s an unfathomable loss.” Sniffling, she allowed a moment to pass to indicate a struggle to speak further on the matter. 

“Two years, though,” Piper continued, bringing them back to Hadley’s role within the family. “That’s a fair amount of time around here. I’m sure you’ve seen quite a bit. Heard quite a bit, too. I admire those who serve others. It’s not a common thing these days. Loyalty. I do hope my sister and brother-in-law have treated you well.”

“One can always dream,” she added with a small laugh. If she was not pregnant, Charlie would be behind that bar, mixing them drinks until they were both feeling the drinks a little bit too much. Five years ago, it would have taken a lot of them to make her feel like that, but since Jackie, she cut back a lot of the drinking and partying. But with everything going on right now, she could use a stiff drink and not just water and juice. Charlie knew that it was not one drink once in a while that would harm the baby, but she still did not take any chances.

“Sorry, can’t get you any sort of fries. But there’s a particularly good bourbon on that top shelf.” It was one of her favorites.

The mention of what happened to her niece, both of them, was enough to make the smile from her face fade. Sinclair’s was secure, a fortress, she knew that because Jack considered it as such, but it was easy to understand why someone would think otherwise. “This place is secure, with or without the security system. With the number of men, women and arms in the basement, it would be foolish to come for anyone inside of here. A lot of things changed after what happened here, Morgan and Jack made sure of that.”

Piper considered Charlotte’s tip about the bourbon. It seemed awfully tempting, but she didn’t want to take a second away from their exchange, not while she was at the benefit of watching the brunette react to the implications she’d made about the bar ⏤ and not just about the bar as an establishment, but as one under Charlotte’s management. Or lack thereof. What had happened to Paityn was a negligent approach to security, especially if the place was housing the volume and type of weapons everyone had seemed to mention in passing. The family business.

“It was also foolish for someone to shoot Paisley at the altar, but look how that turned out. Now that she’s dead and Morgan’s behind bars... let’s hope those changes amount to something. Otherwise, you’ll have quite a mess on your hands. ” Piper pursed her lips and turned to assess the shelf. There was only one bourbon bottle on the top shelf behind the bar, presumably the bourbon her sister-in-law had alluded to. She plucked it from its perch and poured them both a respectable amount before setting the glass not intended for her before the other woman. “It’s not coffee, but it’ll do. Drink up; I’m sure you need it after chasing those kids around.”

After making sure her family was safe, there was another matter to attend to. Her sister was running around town actually working with the family even though she’d been obstinate every step of the way growing up. Why now? What made this time any different? There was a necessity in finding out what the thought process was behind it all. The ulterior motive, if there even was one. Perhaps Piper had finally given in and decided that her family was more important than the silly feud they’d harbored growing up. Penny knocked heavily on the door to Piper’s place as she waited for someone to answer. 

@pipermoreau​

The knock at the door took Piper by surprise. She wasn’t expecting any company ⏤ not at this hour, while she was draped in a silk robe and nursing a nightcap before she retired to bed. The ice clattered in her glass as she rose from the couch, abandoning the Moreau Foundation community outreach reports she’d been reviewing as she slipped steadily into the warmth of a vodka-induced haze. One glance through the peephole delivered another surprise: her sister, standing expectantly outside in the hallway. 

For a moment, she considered walking away and spending her evening in peace. But it wasn’t like Penelope Sinclair to drop by without a reason, or at all, so Piper reluctantly unfastened the locks and opened the door, wanting to know just what had inspired this visit. “Penelope,” she announced, standing firm in the doorway. “What brings you here? Unannounced, and at this hour.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, a brow lifting in curiosity when she mentioned worker bees being protected. “What worker bees?” As far as he was aware, security was only to be used for direct family members. Most of those in their employ were capable of handling themselves should shit hit the fan. Though that didn’t mean they were closing the doors of Sinclair’s to anyone who wasn’t family. He assumed some had stopped by to help where they could. That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested to hear Piper’s take. Make sure there wasn’t anything else flying under his radar.

“If you wanted to avoid impending doom, my advice would’ve been probably avoiding Chicago all together.” He stood, enough to lean over the bar and grab himself a tumbler, using the “gun” to fill his glass with water. Bash held it up, returning her “toast.”

As he took a sip, he lowered himself back on the stool, fingers lacing together once he set the drink on the counter. “Listen, Piper… I know you’ve never really been close with the family. I don’t hold it against you. We don’t have the cleanest record, do we? And you have your philanthropy, isn’t it?” He pursed his lips, nodding to himself before continuing, “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a bit conniving, aren’t you? You’ve always been. I’ve seen it since I was a kid, even with as little as you’re around. And I admire it, truthfully.”

“So… if you ever need your back scratched…” The rest of the sentence was finished with the quirk of his mouth, flashing his teeth as his head canted to the side. We’ll scratch yours if you scratch ours. Piper was family, intelligent family. It was worth putting the offer on the table. She knew people. He was sure of that.

“You know... the people,” Piper replied, trying to recall the names of the various people she’d encountered since she’d arrived at the bar. (God, she was bad with names. But faces ⏤ those were a different story. She never forgot a single one.) Truthfully, she had no clue as to who was staying and who was sticking around for the short-term, but it didn’t much matter. They were here, weren’t they? At some point? “The bartender. The tenant. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker. I’ve seen them walking around.” She gestured vaguely as if to dismiss the conversation. Enough energy had been expended on the lesser-beings.

There was a bitter taste on her tongue as Sebastian stood to help himself to a glass of water. He was right; avoiding Chicago altogether would have saved her some troubles. But it also would have prevented her from immersing herself in such fun. “Touché.” Were it not for Paisley’s murder, she would have already run out of reasons to still be in Chicago. Thankfully, the completion of that contract had kept her motives clean to any on-lookers. Even with the distance she’d placed between her brand and the Sinclairs’, the murder of a young niece was reason enough to extend her east coast sabbatical. Death put things into perspective, one could argue, and the loss of Paisley opened up the possibility of reconciliation. 

Yeah, right.

“The plan was never to stay for long. You should know that.” Piper sighed then ⏤ deeply, with the intent of conveying her exhaustion ⏤ and swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, allowing her presumed regret for the events of the wedding to permeate the air between them. But her little performance was interrupted by the deliverance of something more refreshing: honesty.

What was it that Sebastian was hinting at? It sounded like a business proposition. It also sounded a touch like bait. Her smile grew thin at the mention of her work. As if running guns was more legitimate than crafting a legacy in the non-profit sector. Did he realize how many charities and foundations for the arts were registered in California alone? “Some say conniving; others might say strategic. I’ve had to be, ever since I was a little girl. Because of your mother, and your grandparents. God rest their souls.” She could feel something winding tight in her chest. Anger. It had been swallowed down and repressed for so long that it had turned her insides black with a sickness. 

Elijah tsked at her lowkey accusation of him abandoning his job. Hell, if he were a security detail he’d be working extra hours just to keep himself from wanting to bang his head against the wall. At least keeping outsiders from causing damage to their establishments could result in beating someone up for a reason rather than boredom.

“Not security. I live upstairs.” He let the statement settle for a moment to see if it clicked that him and Shiloh were roommates. Standing from his bar stool, he managed to swiftly hop the bar to get to her side since she’d stopped her search for alcohol. Just because she’d decided not to multitask didn’t mean he would.

Scavenging the right cabinets, he found the glass and combination of liquids he was looking for in a matter of seconds. It was helpful to know where everything was based solely on frequency of attendance and observation of their bar tenders. He may not have had the exact same skill as them, but he could whip up at least an acceptable drink in comparison.

Sliding a glass her way, he filled up a second one for himself and took a sip. If she didn’t want it then he’d just chase his first one with it.

“Name’s Elijah. I work for the Sinclair’s. Practically also family at this point.”

Piper gave her company a once-over, assessing him. Sizing him up. It was curious that he lived upstairs. Didn’t her nephew, Shiloh, also reside over this pitiful establishment? Perhaps they were roommates. Perhaps they were more. Unfortunately, she had neither the energy nor the care to spend much time ruminating on the minutiae of his life (or her nephew’s for that matter). Given his apparent learned skill of being able to swiftly climb over the bar, he spent a fair bit of time here. It was only confirmed as she watched him mix a drink without careful consideration for the bottles he was grasping.

When he slid a glass across the bartop toward her, her brow furrowed. Piper hadn’t paid much attention to the ingredients, believing that he had taken her advice to pour himself a drink. Peering down, she tried to assess the color of the cocktail to better gauge what it was that he was attempting to give her. Hopefully not poison.

“Practically family. That’s a new one.” She lifted the glass to sniff its contents. Her nose wrinkled and she set it back down. She’d get to asking him what he’d concocted after she figured out what his role was. There was implied trust if he was living so close to a key location. (They wouldn’t have rounded everyone up to hang tight in a venue that wasn’t secure for more reasons than just business.) “What do you do for the Sinclairs to be practically family?”

Elijah had been feeling restless lately, more so than usual. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to add to the chaos and havoc that Chicago had fallen into, or if he just was extremely bored and that seemed to be the only form of entertainment these days. Either way, it left him tossing and turning in his bed when he was trying to actually get some sleep.

Giving in to his bodies refusal to succumb to the finer things, he found himself climbing out of bed and throwing a makeshift outfit on. His feet halfheartedly slipped into some sneakers and a sweatshirt was thrown over his head. Slowly and quietly so as not to wake his roommate, he made his way to the door of his apartment that connected to the bar Sinclairs below. Perhaps he wouldn’t be looting or setting fires tonight, but drinking wasn’t entirely off the table.

As he made his way downstairs, he could already hear some shuffling coming from within the bar and part of him wondered if someone was stupid enough to attempt to break in to Sinclairs when it had become the safehold for most of the Sinclair family and their loyalists.

Making his way even more quietly down to the bar, he found a flashlight that was available for such occasions. Switching it on, he flashed it over to where the bar was located and saw a head of red hair. While it could be a number of people, he managed to identify this particular head as Piper Moreau.

The redhead spoke out and Elijah couldn’t help but let a half smile grace his lips as he crossed to the bar and sat on one of the stools that were placed there. “If you’re an opportunist then you’d be seeing the glass half full but here we are with no glass in sight.” He was teasing her, coaxing her into pouring him a drink just to get under her skin a little. He enjoyed teasing the Sinclair family and their respective family members; whether they reacted well to it was an experience all its own.

Piper turned and squinted in the dim lighting at the figure that had seated themselves at the bar, a captive audience to her search to something strong enough to level off her burgeoning frustration. She didn’t recognize him. He was young, and confident enough to approach her. Or dumb enough to. Likely the latter, she figured, as he conflated opportunism with optimism. Was he joking? She prayed he was, and Piper wasn’t the praying type. “...Right.”

“I don’t, thanks for the offer though.” Sebastian managed a small smile as he slid on to one of the bar stools. He’d had enough already and he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of putting himself in an alcohol induced coma when there was a city-wide blackout.  

He placed the flashlight on the counter, letting the beam aim at the ceiling and create a cone of light that illuminated the space around them. “Glad to see you could make it. Wasn’t sure you’d be too willing to shack up with all of us here. Seemed crowded for your tastes. But I guess it’s probably better than most of the other options right now.”

Piper had always reminded him of a cat who’d just caught its prey, licking its paws with satisfaction as it looked on at the lesser beings. Never having a real presence in the family, lingering along the edges. He sometimes wondered if she wanted more; he often betted she didn’t. By now, Sinclair’s had quieted, the younger of the clan already in bed and the others grappling for information, or sleep, or alcohol, or all of the above.

He was on his way out. He couldn’t stay there; not after the twenty-four hours he’d had. He need a break, to be alone. He needed the room to fucking breathe for a second. Yet he buried all of the strain, forcing an amiable demeanor to rise to the surface. There’d be time for somber drinking later.

“Suit yourself.” 

Turning about the bar, Piper set her flashlight on the counter in a similar fashion to that of her nephew. The area glowed with the light from the two torches, illuminating her process: brandishing a rocks glass from the rack and fluttering her fingers at the rows of bottles before selecting a bottle of top-shelf whiskey, which was mid-shelf by any decent bar’s standards. If Sebastian didn’t want to partake, it was his loss. Granted, it was probably for the best, given his prominent role in the family organization: the crown prince, set to inherit the keys to the kingdom ⏤ especially now that Daddy Dearest was sitting pretty in an orange onesie behind iron bars. 

Piper’s face split into a bemused grin as she poured herself a drink. Not only was he the heir apparent, but he could see right through her. Sebastian, my dear, she thought, replacing the cap on the bottle, I promise I’m not as transparent as you think. “Oh, it is too crowded for my tastes. The children, the hangers-on, the low-level worker bees we are, for some reason, expending resources to protect.” 

Her voice, laced with bitterness, was steadily growing in volume so that anyone in the vicinity of the bar could hear her indignation. As if they couldn’t already detect it from her body language. She’d always been somewhat hands-off with her sister’s family. Sinclair-adjacent, if anything; never fully aligning herself with them given their various criminal enterprises. (Arms trafficking didn’t chart well with charitable donors ⏤ who would have thought?) It didn’t make sense for her to be silent and complacent. Pivoting to full fucking Mother Teresa would throw up red flags. It wasn’t the Piper Moreau they knew. But there were small concessions to be made, such as showing up to the gong show under the guise of protection, solidarity. 

She didn’t have to go quietly, though. And there was a benefit to stoking the fears of those around here. 

For her own entertainment, of course.

Hadley was taken off guard by the woman’s words. She had seen Piper before, quickly at Paisley’s wedding, but they had never spoken and there was no doubt in the woman’s head that the Moreau sister had no idea who she was. 

With the state the city was in, she could understand why the older woman would be so crude. She did not know who Hadley was and seeing a stranger in what was surely a safe place for the Sinclairs must be unnerving for sure.

“Hadley. I work here as a bartender.” She was a little bit more than that and she knew it. Hadley was a family friend, at least of Penny and Priya. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Moreau,” she said, extending a hand.

Piper glanced down at the extended hand between them. This Hadley woman knew who she was ⏤ but of course she did; anyone worth their salt would, given both her status and the proliferation of tabloid gossip and news coverage of her foundation over the years ⏤ and she knew nothing but the state of her employment. A bartender. How pitiful that the Sinclairs were going out of their way to protect such low-ranking staff. Unless there was more to Miss Hadley West than met the eye. (Piper assumed no.)

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Her smile belied her lack of warmth. “I would,” she added, implying accepting the introductory handshake with a nod of her head, “but don’t shake hands. Germs, you know?” Or blood ⏤ Paisley’s, dripping from Piper’s manicured fingers. “Can’t be too careful.” A beat passed between them; nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. “So how long have you worked here?”

The kids were finally down for a nap. Getting them to settle them, mostly Jackie and Mila had been hard. Everything was new and exciting to them and they did not want to miss a second of this. Eric had been easier, falling asleep in Charlie’s arms as she walked him around the room. But the other suddenly had the energy for an army, something that Charlie was lacking. She was exhausted, the first trimester sucking so much energy from her and the stressful times not helping.

Making her way to the bar, the woman was hoping for a moment alone but it seemed that someone else had the same idea. Although she was not there for a drink, unlike the redhead that was there. Piper Moreau. Charlie did not know the woman, at least not much. Since the wedding, they had cross paths a few times. She was different from her sister and Charlie still had not made her mind about the other woman.

“The only thing I really want right now is a very strong and hot coffee. Guess that’s not happening soon.” There was a small tired laugh that followed that obvious statement. “Is everything okay for you? Do you need anything?”

Chris. Carla. Charlie. Charla. Piper stared at the brunette, trying to recall her name. She was Jackson’s wife, the mother of the ragamuffins that had been running amok, and the manager of the very establishment in which the family and its circle were currently barricaded. This was, decidedly, her turf. But Piper didn’t feel ill at ease in her presence. There was nothing intimidating about the woman ⏤ especially now as she stood before the redhead, asking after her comfort. It was downright saintly, and even more frustrating, she exuded the kind of feminine energy captured in a Boticelli painting: maternal essence, soft features, flowing hair. Christ, even her voice was melodic.

Piper resisted the urge to gag.

“With this kind of outage? No, I highly doubt that’ll be happening anytime soon.” Christina. Carlotta. Charity. Piper drummed her fingers on the bar. It would come to her eventually. "No, I think it’s about as good as it’ll get for me here. Unless you have saffron risotto from Le Calandre and a bottle of vintage shiraz hiding somewhere back here. Hell, I’d settle for truffle fries. But... here we are.” 

Piper smiled, trying to mirror the expression on the other woman’s face. But it wasn’t quite the same. It was empty, devoid of any reciprocal friendliness. “You know, I would’ve thought that a place like this would have a back-up generator or some sort of contingency power source after what happened here to my niece. All it’d take was one blown fuse to make your security cameras defunct. And that’s the very least of our worries here. Right, Charlotte?”

At first, Hadley had stayed home with Theo but when her parents heard about the blackout in Chicago and how chaotic everything suddenly was, they insisted on picking Theo up. The city wasn’t safe and they were too happy to remind Hadley of it. If only she came home with her son. She could go back to school and become something. Such talks were hard, the judgment of her life hard on the mother. But Theo was safe and that was all that mattered. 

As soon as her parents picked up her son, Hadley made her way through the hellish streets of Chicago. There wasn’t much she could do, but whatever could be done, she knew it would by a Sincalir’s. Maybe she could help dispatch things or people. Or just keep an eye on things. All Hadley knew was that she needed to be useful somehow.

“Is there any ways I could help?” she asked, once she step foot inside the bar.

Piper had kept her coat on for the first half-hour she’d spent at Sinclair’s ⏤ not because it was particularly cold in the beloved family establishment, but because she hadn’t decided if she was going to stay. Certainly, staying to watch madness spread among her sister’s family was favorable to the thought of locking herself away in her ivory tower with the men she’d contracted to shield her from the inevitable.

She had removed her scarf ⏤ signaling progress in the decision-making process ⏤ mere minutes before the doors to the bar had opened to admit yet another person. This particular individual was not a Sinclair, but someone within their network of associates. Unaccompanied. Young. Pretty. Not a wife or girlfriend of anyone in the family. Piper would have connected those dots at the wedding.

Baffled but somehow unsurprised by her earnestness (those at the fringes were always in search of in-roads), Piper laughed. “Who the fuck are you?”