Chapter Text
Lucifer had always known that his life would never become a fairy tale. Especially not in a place like this. Not in a world where prostitutes waited on street corners, outlaws collected protection money, and alcoholics roamed freely through the streets.
With a daughter on the verge of adulthood, life felt heavier than he had ever expected. His wife leaving him did nothing to ease that burden; if anything, it quietly added more weight to his shoulders.
By the standards of men of his era, Lucifer considered himself intelligent, forward-thinking, and open-minded. In a time when sons were valued above all else, having only one child—and that child being a daughter—was not a disappointment to him but a responsibility. He was fully aware of what his daughter was capable of, and he supported her without hesitation.
Though he came from a wealthy family, Lucifer had left everything behind in order to marry Lilith. The outcome had been nothing but betrayal. Still, he never spoke ill of her or placed her under suspicion. He carried his silence with dignity. He had built his life again from nothing, shaping every part of it around his daughter.
Clenching his teeth and working tirelessly, he opened a restaurant in the central part of town as a gift for Charlie’s eighteenth birthday. The place overflowed during lunchtime, while in the evenings it attracted those who came looking for trouble. When that happened, Lucifer handled matters personally.
He was not a man unfamiliar with firearms. When it came to his daughter, there was nothing he would not do. Yet he could not be called a man who favored violence. He always warned people politely first, offering them a chance to step back. Only when that chance was refused did he resort to brute force.
“Charlie, table twelve is waiting for the check, sweetie!”
Lucifer was busy counting the loose change at the register while Charlie worked as a waitress in the restaurant. That was generally how the work was divided. The kitchen was handled by another young woman named Vaggie. Although Lucifer constantly forgot the girl’s name, he knew she was Charlie’s closest friend. She wasn’t a local and was quite well educated—much like Charlie herself.
“All set,” Charlie said as she approached her father with the money in hand.
Thanks to Charlie’s sweet demeanor and cheerful conversations, customers often became regulars. They liked her, and as a result, they usually left generous tips.
Lucifer took the money, counted it carefully, and placed it in the register. The tips he set aside separately, as always. They were saving that money for a future goal: one day, to buy Charlie a house of her own.
When the kitchen bell rang, Charlie turned and walked toward the back to pick up the crepes. Lucifer, meanwhile, began helping clear the newly emptied tables, gathering plates and glasses.
However, Lucifer wished this day had never happened. He even wished he had never met Lilith at all. The only things Lilith had truly given him were a few sweet, fleeting months and Charlie. If he had the chance to turn back time, he would have chosen not to marry Lilith, to remain in his family home, and to wait—rather than forcing Charlie into a difficult life like this.
But that was fate. He was condemned to live through this day.
When the doorbells rang, Lucifer turned his head, plates still in his hands.
“Welcome—” he began, then stopped as he looked at the group of men entering.
The moment they stepped inside, the sandalwood- and vanilla-scented restaurant was overtaken by the heavy smell of bourbon and tobacco. Lucifer knew exactly who they were. Outlaws.
It was also clear they were not from around here. As soon as they entered, they scanned the room with calculating eyes before taking a seat at a table for four. Only one of them returned Lucifer’s greeting, acknowledging it with a brief nod of his head—the oldest among them, and clearly the one who appeared to be in charge.
Lucifer paused, the plates still in his hands. Somewhere deep inside, an unnamed unease stirred. This day was not going to end well.
When Lucifer stepped into the kitchen to set the plates down, he met Charlie’s and Vaggie’s eyes. The seriousness in his expression made it clear that this was not an ordinary moment.
“Girls, I’ll handle the new table myself,” he said. He usually said this when troublemakers showed up in the evenings. Hearing it in the middle of the day was rare.
Charlie looked at her father with surprise, then glanced through the small window that opened from the kitchen into the dining area, scanning the table. Vaggie joined her, her expression immediately shifting with recognition.
“I know them,” Vaggie said in a low voice.
“They’re a group from New Orleans. But they must’ve been driven out because of the conditions there. Their name is well known—even in Texas.”
One of Lucifer’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“Is that so?” he asked calmly.
“Who are they?”
Vaggie rested the wooden spoon in her hand against her chin, thinking.
“I think the gang’s name was the Overlords,” she said. After a brief pause, she added,
“They have balls enough to stand up to the mafia.”
Lucifer let out a quiet sigh.
“Let’s watch our language,” he warned, then gestured for her to continue.
“Anyway…” Vaggie went on, shrugging lightly.
“The one they see as their boss is Zestial. He runs things together with his wife, Carmilla. Zestial deals with things like loan-sharking, while Carmilla handles the camps and keeps everything in order.”
At that moment, Charlie picked up the crepes and left the kitchen. Even so, Lucifer knew her eyes kept drifting back to that table as she walked.
“I also know they’ve taken one man in as something like an adopted son, but I’m not sure which one,” Vaggie added.
“He’s a cruel one. I really can’t remember his name… something like Alastor I think. They usually send him to collect protection money.”
Lucifer nodded slowly, processing the information.
“If they come over and say anything, let me know,” he said, his tone calm but firm.
Then he left the kitchen. As he headed back into the dining room, the weight on his shoulders felt heavier.
As Lucifer approached the table, he noticed that one of the younger men—the one with black hair and mismatched eye colors—was absentmindedly playing with the paper flowers on the table.
When he realized Lucifer had arrived, he looked up.
“I wonder which pretty girl made these,” he said casually.
Lucifer’s brows drew together slightly. He knew he shouldn’t react. He was the one who had made those flowers himself. Comments like that were to be expected from men like him.
“What can I get you?” Lucifer asked, his tone brief and professional.
The man he assumed to be Zestial spoke next, his demeanor calm and deliberate.
“We’re trying to adapt to the local cuisine,” he said.
The dark haired man seated immediately to Lucifer’s right felt the need to add, “We just arrived.”
When Lucifer turned his head to look at him, the intensity of the man’s gaze was nearly deep. He held it a moment too long. Lucifer merely nodded.
“I’ll see what we can prepare,” he said.
The blond man added with a faint, unreadable smile, “Assuming I’m certain you can eat everything.”
When everyone at the table signaled their agreement, Lucifer turned away and headed into the kitchen, relaying the order to Vaggie. Then he let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Vaggie studied him. “Are you okay, sir?” she asked.
Lucifer paused briefly, then nodded.
“I just want them leave as soon as possible,” he said quietly.
When the food was ready, Lucifer returned to the table to serve it. At the very least, there was something to be thankful for—they weren’t loud like the other thugs. That was likely because Zestial was with them.
“Are you the owner of this place?” the dark-haired man asked. His gaze was still just as deep. Lucifer struggled to keep his eye from twitching as he answered calmly.
“The restaurant belongs to my daughter.” He silently prayed the conversation would end there.
“Your daughter?” Zestial repeated with mild interest.
“She must be quite authoritative.”
“Or a tomboy,” added the man with the mismatched eyes, chuckling at his own joke. Lucifer noticed the dark-haired man roll his eyes in response.
Lucifer turned his gaze to the man with the different-colored eyes.
“I don’t believe a woman needs to resemble a boy in order to run a restaurant,” he said firmly.
“You’re very devoted to her, aren’t you?” the man shot back.
Zestial intervened.
“Boy, that’s enough.”
The man with black hair—shrugged.
“I’m just curious,” he said.
“I’m trying to understand the mindset of this place we’ve just settled into.” As he spoke, his eyes narrowed and locked directly onto Lucifer.
Without breaking eye contact, Lucifer replied,
“Then I may disappoint you. It seems our perspectives are quite different.”
The dark-haired man sat in the middle of the table. He hadn’t made any effort to join the conversation, but it was clear he was bored by it.
“Thank you for the food,” he said at last.
Lucifer felt almost grateful to him. He was genuinely relieved that the conversation had finally come to an end.
—-
After the meal was finished, they all put their hats back on and stood up. As the group headed for the door, the dark-haired man approached the register to pay. At that moment, Charlie stopped by to drop off the payment from another table and immediately stepped away.
“Is that young lady your daughter?” the dark-haired man asked.
Lucifer slid the other payment into the register without looking up.
“That’s none of your concern,” he muttered.
“It was just a simple question,” the man replied calmly.
“I’m just curious.”
This time Lucifer lifted his head and looked at him. An unlit hand-rolled cigarette rested between the man’s lips.
“You all seem very curious,” Lucifer said coolly.
The dark-haired man shrugged.
“You’d do well not to lump me in with the others,” he said.
Lucifer thought to himself how egotistical that sounded.
“The things I’m curious about are different,” the man continued, a faintly irritating smile settling on his face.
That expression made Lucifer’s brows knit together.
“Stay away from my daughter,” he warned firmly.
The dark-haired man pulled out the money and placed it on the counter.
“Ah, don’t worry. This has nothing to do with your girl,” he said, then turned and headed for the door.
“There’s two dollars more here,” Lucifer called after him. It was an unusually large amount.
“Keep it,” the man replied as he left the restaurant.
Lucifer stood there for a moment, staring after him. He hadn’t done anything to deserve a two-dollar tip.
Still, he didn’t dwell on it. Whatever he could get out of men like that was profit.
Lucifer stood behind the wide front windows of the restaurant, watching them leave. The sky, edging toward sunset, washed the dusty street in a copper glow. The dark-haired man stopped at the edge of the road and lit his cigarette. For a brief moment, the flare of the match illuminated the sharp lines of his face. Then he untied the reins of his coal-black horse and vaulted into the saddle in one smooth, practiced motion.
When their eyes met one last time, Lucifer fought the urge to frown. The man’s words echoed in his mind—the ones he had spoken at the register. The things I’m curious about are different.
Lucifer didn’t know what he meant, and that uncertainty unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He found himself wondering what, exactly, the man was curious about.
A while later, needing to clear his head, Lucifer stepped outside for a short smoke break. The cool air brushed against his face as he spotted Husk leaning against the wooden front of the bar next door, smoking slowly. Lucifer knew his past well enough—Husk had once been an outlaw himself. But he had paid his dues, cut himself loose from that life, and never looked back. He’d eventually settled in Mississippi and opened his own bar, choosing a quieter way to survive.
“You look nervous,” Husk said, narrowing his eyes.
Lucifer took a few steps toward him, his shoulders slightly slumped.
“I had to deal with a few outcast,” he replied.
Husk raised an eyebrow and took a deep drag from his cigarette.
“If they cause trouble, you know where to find me.”
Lucifer nodded.
“I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
“Working with two girls isn’t easy, Lucifer,” Husk said seriously.
“That’s why I’m saying it.”
“I know. Thanks,” Lucifer replied.
Husk paused, as if weighing his next words.
“Did you recognize the ones who came in?” he asked.
“Vaggie said they were the Overlords,” Lucifer answered.
Husk muttered under his breath, as though cursing someone long gone.
“I almost lost all my land because of one bastard from that lot.”
Lucifer couldn’t help a small smile, curiosity getting the better of him, “How?”
“Alastor,” Husk said.
“I ran into him once during a card game. In Texas.”
Lucifer knew the name only by reputation—and only recently at that.
“I’m certain he cheated,” Husk went on.
“No way a man that young could’ve beaten me. On top of that, I ended up owing him.”
Lucifer let out a quiet chuckle.
“Ah yes, the famous Alastor. Cold, cruel, and a gambler. What else?”
Husk shrugged.
“Don’t underestimate him. His mind’s like a snake—quiet, sly, and patient.”
Lucifer thought back to the faces he’d seen earlier.
“The black-haired one with the mismatched eyes?” he asked.
Husk shook his head.
“That’s Vincent. He’s no saint either. There are rumors he’s jealous of Alastor.”
After a brief pause, Husk added,
“Alastor’s from New Orleans. Dark-haired, tall.” He gestured vaguely in the air to indicate his height.
Lucifer frowned slightly. The man Husk described didn’t seem to match anyone he’d noticed at first glance. Then again, which outlaw could you ever trust at first sight?
“Bottom line—don’t get involved with them,” Husk said firmly.
“Or one day you’ll find yourself with nothing left, staring down the barrel of a pistol.”
Only then did Lucifer realize his cigarette was still burning. The ash had crept nearly to the filter. He flicked it away into the distance.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.
He turned and walked back into the restaurant. The unease inside him was no longer vague—it had hardened into a heavy, bone-deep warning.
Lucifer let out a deep breath, as if trying to release the weight that had settled in his chest all at once. He knew those men had set up camp here now. They hadn’t said it outright, but they had made it clear enough—pressing the message into their words with deliberate certainty. The thought tightened his nerves, yet he forced himself to stay calm. How many times could their paths realistically cross in a single year?
As long as they didn’t cause trouble for him or his business, he would leave them alone. That was the sensible choice. The only sensible choice.
Protecting his daughter was his greatest responsibility. For that, he had swallowed his pride, stayed silent, and stepped back when necessary. That didn’t make him weak. On the contrary—it meant he knew when and how to act.
Lucifer had to move with his mind, not his emotions. In this world, there was no other way to survive.