My Bloody Valentine

34. Adrian

34

ADRIAN

I watch Maya's delicate hands temper the dark chocolate, her movements precise and graceful. In my private kitchen, the metallic scent of our special ingredient mingles with the rich aroma of cocoa.

"The shell needs to be thinner here." I guide her wrist, showing her how to tap the excess chocolate from the mold. "It's the perfect balance between delicate and sturdy."

"Like us," Maya says, a knowing smile on her lips. Her fingers brush against the fresh scratches on my forearm from our latest hunt.

"That hedge fund manager will make an exquisite addition to our Easter collection." I press my lips to her neck, tasting the lingering sweetness there.

Maya hums in agreement, carefully filling each shell with our signature filling. "The bitterness of his fear paired beautifully with the Madagascar vanilla."

I admire how naturally she's taken to our craft, her culinary expertise elevating our creations to new heights. Where I once worked alone, we now move in perfect synchronization. She understands the artistry required to transform base emotions into sublime confections.

"The rabbits need that hollow center," Maya suggests. "It adds depth, makes people question what's missing."

"Like the void that they all carry inside." I wrap my arms around her waist as she pipes delicate decorations onto each piece. "Until we fill it with something meaningful."

The timer chimes, and Maya retrieves our latest batch from the tempering machine. The chocolate gleams like polished obsidian, hiding its crimson secrets. We've become partners in every sense—in the kitchen, in the hunt, and in life and death. Our Easter collection will be our finest work yet, each piece infused with the essence of carefully selected donors.

"Taste." I offer her a spoonful of ganache, watching her eyes flutter closed as the flavors bloom across her tongue. Her gift for sensing emotions makes her the perfect collaborator, able to detect every nuance we capture in our creations.

My phone buzzes as Maya continues her careful work with the chocolate. A text from Gabe lights up the screen—a photo of Amelia's latest piece being installed in his jazz club. The sweeping abstract curves in deep burgundy and midnight blue perfectly capture the soul of jazz.

I smile, remembering how Gabe's eyes lit up when he saw Amelia's work. He'd been hunting for the right artist to transform his club's atmosphere, and Maya's suggestion of her best friend proved perfect in more ways than one.

Amelia's art speaks to the same shadows that drive Gabe when he's on the hunt. Where I am precise and methodical, Gabe embraces chaos. His kills are messy, passionate affairs, like Amelia's bold brushstrokes that bleed across the canvas.

"They balance each other," I murmur, watching Maya's skilled hands work.

"Hmm?" She glances up.

"Gabe and Amelia. Her light keeps him in check. And he allows her to explore the deeper parts of herself through her art." I show her the photo. "Look how the red bleeds into black here—like blood in water."

Maya nods, understanding. "She's been different lately. More... free. Less afraid of what people think of her work."

That's what happens when you find someone who truly sees you. Gabe may be rough around the edges, but he recognizes the beauty in Amelia's twisted pieces—the ones galleries deemed too disturbing to display—just as I recognized the perfect partner in Maya's ability to taste emotions.

"Their installation opening is next Friday," I note, typing a quick response to Gabe. "We should bring a special box of truffles to celebrate."

I'm reviewing inventory reports when Detective Carter walks into my boutique, his badge glinting under the crystal chandeliers. Maya tenses beside me, but years of practice keep my expression neutral.

"Mr. Vale. We're investigating several disappearances connected to local restaurants." Carter's eyes scan the pristine display cases. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course not, Detective." I gesture to the tasting room. "Maya, would you fetch us some coffee?"

As Maya heads to the back, I text Gabe under the counter, "Police. We need backup."

Carter pulls out a notepad. "You worked with Marcus Reynolds before his disappearance?"

"He reviewed my collection." I offer a practiced frown. "Terrible business, his disappearance. The industry's still buzzing about it."

The bell chimes, and Gabe strolls in, Amelia close behind. Perfect timing.

"Adrian! Those paintings we discussed arrived." Gabe's casual tone betrays nothing of the urgency that brought him here. "Oh, sorry—didn't realize you had company."

"Detective Carter, this is Gabriel Dawson, owner of Blue Note Jazz Club." I make introductions. "And Amelia Stone, our resident artist."

Amelia immediately engages Carter about her upcoming installation at Gabe's club, her cheerful enthusiasm drawing his attention. Meanwhile, Maya returns with coffee, strategically placing herself between Carter and my office.

Gabe casually mentions his regular police contacts, dropping names that make Carter straighten. The detective's questions become less pointed, more perfunctory.

We're a well-oiled machine—Maya's professional credibility, Amelia's disarming charm, Gabe's strategic connections, and my careful responses. By the time Carter leaves, he apologizes for taking up our time.

"Smooth," Gabe mutters once the detective is gone. "But we should lay low for a while."

I nod, watching Carter's retreating figure through the window. Having the right partners makes all the difference.

I pour aged whiskey into four crystal glasses, a celebratory toast after Detective Carter's departure. The amber liquid catches the boutique's lighting, reminding me of preserved specimens in my private collection.

"Did you see his face when I mentioned Captain Rodriguez?" Gabe lounges on my leather couch, arm draped around Amelia. "Man nearly swallowed his tongue."

Maya perches on my lap, sipping her drink. "The coffee was a nice touch. Nothing says 'we have nothing to hide' like offering refreshments to the cop investigating your murders."

"Speaking of hiding..." Amelia traces the rim of her glass. "That hedge fund manager's wife commissioned a piece. Asked me to capture his essence." She shares a wicked smile with Gabe. "If only she knew I'd watched him become art of a different kind."

"Your latest paintings do have a certain visceral quality." I savor the whiskey's burn. "The red you used in 'Midnight Symphony' came from a particularly inspiring session."

"We should celebrate properly." Gabe's eyes darken with a hunger I know all too well. "That upscale bistro on Michigan Avenue," Gabe swirls his whiskey. "The owner likes to corner his female staff after closing. Money and connections keep him untouchable, but..." His lips curve into a cruel smile. "I bet he'd add a unique flavor to your spring collection, Adrian."

Maya shifts against me, her excitement evident in her quickened breath. "I've reviewed his work. He lacks depth. Perhaps we could help him find some."

"A double date, then?" Amelia's fingers intertwine with Gabe's, her delicate artist's hands against his calloused musician's grip. "I've been wanting to try that new technique we discussed."

The four of us share knowing looks, bound by our secrets. We are broken in our own way, finding a home in our shared madness. Where others might see monsters, we see family.

"To partnerships," I raise my glass, feeling Maya's warmth against me. "In business and pleasure."

"To art in all its forms," they echo, and we drink to the beautiful darkness we create together.