Capone Gwendoline (1)

The oil lamp's flame flickered in the dungeon.

Mila crouched in front of the man, the Three-Tomoe Sharingan in her eyes still slowly turning.

The leader's face, hollowed out by Genjutsu, looked like a wrinkled lump of wax in the dim yellow light. His lips moved as he repeated the same name for the fourth time.

"Capone Gwendoline."

The moment Mila heard the surname "Capone," her pupils suddenly constricted. A premonition that had been waiting for confirmation crashed into place in her mind.

She had seen that surname before.

A month ago, Koldo had delivered a document to Barlow. It contained basic information gathered by the Uchiha Trading Company over the years on every known faction, including an appendix.

It listed the five great mafia families of the West Blue. The Capone Family ranked second, its traditional territory consisting of three major islands in the central West Blue. Its operations included arms smuggling, underground casinos, and loan-sharking networks. Its armed force numbered around two thousand. The leader's name was unknown, with only one codename—"the Godfather."

"Gwen." She matched that name with "Gwendoline," and the two pieces clicked together in her mind like a puzzle.

She stood up. The Genjutsu had not been released. The leader still stood behind the bars with empty eyes, staring at the stone wall in front of him, his mouth opening and closing.

Mila never made a habit of releasing Genjutsu. She only let it fade away on its own. It might take a few hours, or as long as several days, depending on the victim's luck.

Roy came running down with a note in hand, his boots beating out a hurried rhythm on the stone stairs.

He had barely begun, "Our people on White Wax Island sent word—" when Mila raised a hand and cut him off.

"I know who it is." Her voice was very low.

"The Capone Family. One of the five great mafia families of the West Blue. They're looking for their young lady."

Roy blinked and took two seconds to process that.

"Gwen?" His voice lowered as well.

"Gwen is the daughter of the West Blue mafia Godfather?"

"Gwendoline," Mila corrected.

"Her full name is Capone Gwendoline."

Mila did not give Roy time to process it any further.

She snatched the note from his hand and glanced over it. The handwriting was rough, written by the captain of the patrol squad stationed on White Wax Island. It said that around three in the afternoon, a group of unknown men in black suits had stormed into the wedding venue. They smashed anything they saw and shoved aside anyone in their way. They had not drawn blades, but they carried muskets. They had already seized control of the scene and were locked in a standoff with the local garrison.

Mila crumpled the note into a ball and stuffed it into her pocket.

"We split up. Go to the trading company and notify Barlow. Tell him to get people to White Wax Island immediately. Bring the prisoners here too. Tie them tight and throw them into the hold. I'll find my brother and Gwen."

Roy ran two steps, then turned back. "Don't make the first move. Things with Gwen might not be what we think."

Mila had already reached the door. Hearing that, she looked back at him.

That look was not anger. Roy had seen her truly furious before: expressionless, eyes hollow, her back straighter than a ship's wheel.

Right now, her brows were tightly furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. She was holding down her anger, but she was still thinking.

"I know."

Orange Town's streets had gone completely dark. The shops along the flagstone road were closed, leaving only the Red Skull Tavern beneath the old banyan tree still lit. The dark red glow reflected by the Uchiha crest on its signboard fell across puddles in the road, only to be crushed beneath Mila's boots.

She turned into the alley beside the market. Joey's shouting and the clinking of glasses from the tavern did not draw her in, nor did she look toward the flashlight beams of the patrol squad urgently assembling by the docks.

Her mind was rapidly piecing together the fragments: Gwen's unflagged little boat, her severed little finger, the calm way she had spread her palm open at dinner, her familiarity with Loguetown's harbor district, that faint hesitation when she had first said, "I've traveled all Four Blues," and the unspoken second half of Barlow's comment that her "vision far exceeded that of ordinary people."

All the fragments came together, rebuilding the woman from beginning to end.

When she pushed open the wooden door to the inn where Gwen stayed, Gwen was sitting at the table, unpicking the seams of an old dress.

A sewing basket rested on her lap, while the loose threads she had removed were neatly rolled into a small ball and placed at the corner of the table.

She wore the cotton house dress altered at Needle and Sail. Her blonde hair had been casually braided into a loose plait draped over her left shoulder. The way she held the seam ripper made Mila understand now: reverse grip, blade pointed outward.

That was not a sewing habit. It was a knife grip carved into muscle memory.

"Why are you here so late?" Gwen put down the seam ripper and stood.

Her gaze paused on Mila's face for a moment, then her tone changed, dropping half a note lower. "Something happened?"

Mila did not sit.

She stood in the doorway and pushed the door shut behind her. Her hand released the knife hilt, but did not move far from it.

"Capone." She spoke those two syllables slowly.

"Roy caught a group of men in black suits. Well-trained, all armed with blades. Their leader said they were looking for their young lady. They're from the Capone Family of the West Blue."

Gwen's lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Their young lady is named Capone Gwendoline." Mila pronounced the full name one syllable at a time.

Gwen said nothing. She placed the seam ripper into the sewing basket, lifted the basket from her lap onto the table, and gently pushed it aside with her fingertips.

Then she raised her hands and began undoing her braid. Her blonde hair fell loose over her shoulders. She moved slowly, carefully combing each strand apart with her fingers, as if dismantling a garment she had worn for many years.

"I am," she said.

Mila waited for her to say more, to explain herself.

Gwen neither explained nor apologized. There was no fear or guilt on her face, only the quiet of something long suppressed finally having its lid lifted.

"You hid it from my brother." Mila's tone shifted from a statement into an accusation.

"You told him you were an ordinary woman in trouble, that you had rowed for days and drifted to Orange Town. No past, no family. He believed you. To stop Barlow from investigating you, he talked to every one of us in the office, persuading us one by one. He took you to White Wax Island to meet Old Man Marcus, then came back and told us he wanted to marry you. How much have you hidden from him?"

The door was pushed open.

Damian stood in the doorway, his dark brown coat open and his hair tousled by the night wind.

His breathing was steady, but the hand that had pushed open the door used at least thirty percent more force than usual. The doorknob struck the wall with a dull thud.

He looked at Gwen standing by the doorway and Mila standing by the doorway, then closed the door behind him.

"I know about White Wax Island. Barlow is already arranging ships."

"She—" Mila pointed at Gwen.

"I know," Damian cut her off.

He walked between the two women and stopped. He looked at Gwen first, making sure there was no blood on her hands and no redness around her eyes, then turned to Mila.

"Talk to me. She's right here. Don't say anything in anger."

Gwen watched Damian's back. When he spoke, his back remained straight and utterly still. It was the same steadiness she had seen beneath the moonlight on the ship returning from White Wax Island.

"Her family barged into the wedding venue and is wrecking the place. Roy and Barlow are heading there. A group is already locked in the dungeon. They came to Orange Town to take her away. She's the Capone Family's young lady."

Damian turned to look at Gwen.

Gwen did not avoid his eyes.

"Yes," she said.

"My full name is Capone Gwendoline."

"How many days did it take you to cross the Calm Belt?"

She froze slightly. She had not expected him to ask that.

"Nineteen days."

"How many days' worth of provisions did you have?"

"Five days."

"What did you eat for the remaining fourteen?"

"Seaweed, and some small fish. I bent the needle from my hairpin into a fishhook."

"What if you encountered Sea Kings?"

"I didn't. The central waters of the Calm Belt are narrower than marked on the charts. I rowed along the edge, and there was a stretch of coral reef I could follow."

Damian nodded, then asked his final question.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Gwen was silent for a while, then picked the seam ripper back out of the sewing basket. Her fingers began to tremble.

She set the seam ripper on the tabletop, moved her fingers away from its handle, and clasped both hands together. Her knuckles turned white.

"I had planned to tell you. The night after we met Old Man Marcus, on the ship back to Orange Town. You were standing at the helm steering, and I thought, this is a man I can trust. I almost told you."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I'm not worthy of your trust."

She spoke softly, but steadily, as though reading the opening of a letter written long ago but never sent.