Chapter 20
The False Siren at Le Cœur Noir
Part 1 – Sirah’s Confusion
“You ever seen a ghost in lipstick and heels?” he muttered to the barkeep. “’Cause I did.”
The city echoed the song of a ghost-woman—who loved so much she lost herself, becoming the shadow of the one she blamed for the love she never had.
Frankie went back inside the House of Arlington.
“Fratello, I must return to the club. We have business to attend,” said Frankie, picking his coat from the chair.
“Oh yes—we have a special shipment coming through—”
“Boss, I am on it—”
“Cara mia—would you like to join us at another joint, to follow the jazz demons?”
Ophelia took a drag of her cigarette as seductive as she could, then responded:
“Where are we going?”
“Frankie has to take care of business, but it’s singer’s night at Le Cœur Noir. Bella, will you be my date for the night?”
Part 2 – Ophelia’s Obsession with Frankie
Ophelia wasn’t hesitant. She had something to prove, and Frankie’s cold dismissal only ignited her obsession further. Carollo sensed this quagmire and felt the need to exploit it—he knew greed, and he knew women.
Ophelia wasn’t exactly greedy for money, but she was greedy for male attention—for the gaze. That was a tool Carollo could use to his advantage, as the crime overlord he was.
Meanwhile, the Quarter began to whisper of a new siren. Sirah Cabernet caught the juicy murmur in the markets, the brothers, the parlors dripping in whiskey and rouge—that an enchantress was conquering the Quarter.
At first he chuckled, dismissing the tale as pure hokum. Storyville birthed legends nightly. But the details were too sharp to ignore—she dressed and painted herself like Mylène.
Part 3 – Frankie’s Blind Spot
Frankie Giuliani turned his face from Carollo to Ophelia. The gaze in his eyes was not lust—it was pity. As if his eyes asked: Why? What’s wrong with you, and why do you look like her?
This infuriated Ophelia. But when his eyes caught her, he momentarily stared, thinking of Mylène—and for a second he said her name.
That second blinded him. He didn’t see the hollow behind the paint. He didn’t hear the envy bleeding from Ophelia’s voice. He only saw the shadow of his greatest yearning. Her.
Part 4 – Sirah Confronts the Fake Siren
As Frankie snapped out of his blinded stupor, he noticed Sirah Cabernet approaching the table.
What he saw struck him cold—not resemblance, but mockery. It bolted him into laughter.
“I can’t believe you, Ophelia. You look ridiculous—”
Ophelia froze in anger, moving like a cracked reflection. Every gesture mimicked Mylène’s regal presence—the rouge, the gown, the perfume. All tied together as if death itself was playing a joke, trying to dance.
“You think this will save you?” Sirah’s tone was sardonic.
“I do not know what you are speaking of—I have always dressed like this, wore my hair loose with a rose on it—”
“No, you never have. Who are you trying to fool? My Ophelia loves pastels, pearls, and loose dresses. You look like a walking corpse with your face painted so white.”
Ophelia half-smiled, then responded:
“Well—you’re obsessed with a ghost. What can a wife do? Apparently beauty isn’t human or innate. Soon, both of you will forget that witch and only remember my name.”
Part 5 – The Real Siren Returns
The den quivered with Dixieland-styled jazz. Clarinets, trombones, cornets played in syncopated unison when Aimee and Mylène entered Le Cœur Noir.
Aimee’s eyes gleamed green, the black iris pin shining against her ebony curls. Mylène looked like a gothic Venus in red brocade, a feather adorning her locks, satin black-gold trailing—a true vision.
Carollo noticed her immediately.
“Mamma mia! Che visione! Che donna! Sei uscita da un dipinto chiaroscuro?”
“Un uomo avido e ricco—” Mylène whispered.
“Cara mia—we all have to make a living—”
Aimee raised her eyebrow, moving closer to Mylène while staring at Carollo. His aura pulsed—a dark, rotten green.
He was not just a gangster. Not just a Sin. He was a Lord of Crown and Sin.
Ophelia slithered between the three of them, her voice stern, velvety, dripping envy.
“She ain’t the only one men want. She ain’t the only siren, doll. The world will sing me loudly.”
Aimee’s eyes narrowed.
“You in the soul trade, deal?”
Carollo dragged his cigar, blew smoke in her face.
“Only of those who don’t know what it’s worth—”
Part 6 – The Jig Is Up
The trumpeter’s fingers shifted keys—sounding almost like a warning.
Carollo leaned closer to Aimee.
“The Council of Seven watches. You rise—we erase.”
Aimee remembered the prophecy.
“Seven cycles. Twelve princesses. The mirror speaks of what’s coming—”
Ophelia hissed at Aimee.
“They won’t even remember your songs, girl—they’ll remember mine. And you, ghostly woman, you ain’t nothing compared to me.”
Mylène didn’t respond—only observed her with kindness and pity.
There was a shift in the music. Greed was now enthroned. Envy echoed—fragmented in broken mirrors.
Outside, Sirah spoke to Frankie.
“She is not Sin, but a replica. Cheaply made. Ophelia has shown how envy rots the ordinary, making women become ghosts in heels—”
“Maybe it was our fault—more mine—for ignoring my wife,” Frankie admitted.
Inside, Carollo’s goons strategized how to sharpen the myth of the fake siren, weaponizing it to take down their East and West Coast rivals.
Cohen, Al Capone, Costello—they were all pawns on the chessboard of Crown and Sin.
🕯️ Felt the pull? Let her haunt someone new.
If this chapter moved you, pass it on.
One soul. One shadow. One whisper.
Mylène remembers the ones who speak her name.
📜 Take the Legend Further
📋 Copy Chapter Link 📩 Send to a Friend 🧝♀️ Join the Legend
#VelvetMirror #NirvanaNoir #MyleneLives
Leave a Reply