Batman Legacy: Book One
Copyright© 2025 by Uruks
Chapter 4: Night of the Bat
Gotham Botanical Conservatory – Night
The gala at the Gotham Botanical Conservatory was as decadent as ever—champagne fountains, moonlight through stained glass, and every politician in the city pretending not to know each other’s secrets.
Bruce Wayne moved through the crowd like a ghost in a tux.
He recognized half the people here: CEOs, city councilmen, socialites, sharks in pearls. He nodded politely, smiled with precision, but he didn’t stop. He wasn’t here to make small talk.
He was here because this was the cage Gotham’s elite built around itself—and he wanted to see who held the keys. Thankfully, the Wayne name still carried enough weight to open doors, though not all welcomed it.
Harvey Dent did.
Bruce did his bit, enduring useless mingling and making up some story about studying at colleges abroad to explain away his six-year disappearance. He played the part of the foppish playboy and most people didn’t give him so much as a second glance. Being shallow was easy – he’d grown up with all the elites of Gotham to serve as his teachers. When he could no longer stand all the handshakes, small talk, and laughing at stupid jokes, he stepped out onto the balcony for air, scanning the skyline.
“Thought I’d find you lurking in the dark,” came a familiar voice behind him.
Harvey had grown into his jawline—sharp suit, confident smile, ambition smoldering just beneath the surface. He was District Attorney now. Gotham’s “White Knight.”
“Two years since the grand return, huh, Bruce,” Harvey said, raising his glass. “I’d say you chose the right time to stick around. We’re cleaning this place up—one bastard at a time.”
Bruce smirked. “Still the idealist.”
“Still the cynic,” Harvey shot back, laughing.
Harvey strode over with two drinks in hand, sharp as ever in a navy tux. His smile was real, but his eyes were tired.
Bruce accepted the drink as they clinked glasses.
“By the way, Bruce. I was wondering if you’re serious about meeting that reporter I told you about, Vickie Veil,” said Harvey, his familial concern almost a match for Alfred’s. “Last time I talked with her, she definitely seemed interested. I know you probably don’t like the idea of dating someone from the press, but honestly, the girl’s a bombshell. And as far as I can tell, she’s legit, at least for a journalist. I’d think about making a pass at her myself if I wasn’t currently spoken for.”
Bruce arched a brow, a teasing glint in his eye. “I haven’t had much time for catcalls lately, but now that you bring it up, I am curious about your new girlfriend. What’s her name again?”
Harvey’s grin softened into something more helpless, like he’d willingly fallen into a trap. “Selina Kyle. She’s ... well, it’s hard to put into words. You’d have to meet her first.”
Before Bruce could reply, the atmosphere changed.
He felt it before he saw her.
A scent—faint jasmine, heat, and something metallic. Then a presence—light footsteps, not timid, but measured. Someone used to being watched.
Selina Kyle stepped onto the balcony like the city had opened the door just for her.
She was tall—elegantly so—with the posture of a queen and the sway of a thief. Her black gown clung to her like a whispered secret. The fabric shimmered subtly when she moved, catching the moonlight in all the right places. Her curves were full, deliberate, a body sculpted for both attention and agility. Her proportions struck a dangerous balance—slim waist, the sweep of full hips, and a proud, flawless chest above, the daring neckline of her gown framing the cleavage like a challenge.
Short dark hair framed her pale face in clean lines, angular and arresting. But it was her eyes—icy blue and unblinking—that held Bruce’s gaze.
They didn’t just look at you.
They read you.
“Harvey,” she purred, curling her arm through his. “You’re neglecting your date.”
Harvey chuckled, oblivious to the sudden shift in temperature. “Selina, this is—”
“Bruce Wayne,” she said before he could finish. Her smile curled like smoke. “Back from the dead.”
Bruce stepped forward and took her hand. Her fingers were soft, but her grip held power. Purpose.
“Miss Kyle,” he said. “I’ve heard things.”
“Most of them true,” she said. “The rest are probably just boring.”
Their hands lingered a beat too long.
Selina turned her head slightly, keeping her eyes on Bruce. “You move differently than you used to.”
“You watched me?” he asked.
“I watch everyone,” she replied. “But only the interesting ones.”
Before Bruce could respond, the door behind them opened again.
Rachel Dawes stepped into the moonlight.
She wore a sleek, crimson gown—elegant but modest, practical. Her hair was pulled back, her earrings understated. She was all strength and simplicity—a contrast to Selina’s deliberate decadence.
Rachel’s eyes moved instantly to Selina.
Selina noticed.
Harvey smiled, oblivious. “Rachel! I was just telling Bruce about the DA’s latest headaches.”
“I’m sure,” Rachel said, eyes flicking between Bruce and Selina. “And who’s this?”
“Selina Kyle,” Selina said, offering her hand before Harvey could. “Investor. Philanthropist. Complicated woman.”
Rachel took it, cool and brief.
“Rachel Dawes. ADA.”
“Ah. You’re the other woman in Harvey’s life.”
Rachel shook her head and chuckled. “You don’t have to be worried about me, Selina. Harvey and I are just old friends.”
Selina’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Well, then. If things are that friendly, maybe you and I can swap boytoys some time. I’ll let you have Harvey for a bit if you give me a shot at dear Bruce here.”
Bruce blinked. “Excuse me?”
Rachel arched a brow. “That’s cute.”
Selina tilted her head. “I try to be.”
“And as fun as that sounds, it wouldn’t work anyway,” said Rachel, somewhere between annoyed and bemusement. “Bruce and I aren’t dating. I consider him a friend like Harvey.”
Selina gave a knowing smile. “Your eyes on him say otherwise.”
Everyone’s eyes widened.
Selina laughed as she took a drink. “Please, ignore me. I tend to say edgy things after a few drinks. I hope everyone can forgive me.”
Harvey chuckled. “You sure know how to bring the house down, Selina.”
She leaned into him, kissing his cheek warmly—though her eyes flashed teasingly to Bruce for a split second. “You know I just like to keep things interesting.”
Harvey was putty in Selina’s hands judging by the goofy grin he gave her.
Selina aimed an apologetic look towards Rachel. “I hope you won’t hold my teasing against me, dear. Trust me, I mean no harm.”
Rachel sighed tiredly. “No harm, no foul.”
They exchanged smiles that weren’t really smiles.
Bruce cleared his throat. “Well. This isn’t awkward at all.”
Harvey laughed. “Relax. We’re all on the same side.”
Rachel seemed to be trying to avoid Bruce’s gaze. Selina’s smile deepened.
Bruce could feel it—two storms circling in the same sky. Rachel’s quiet fire. Selina’s teasing threat. And him caught in the middle.
He didn’t hate it.
He looked at Selina one more time before she turned back to Harvey, and whispered something in his ear. Harvey laughed. Rachel rolled her eyes and took Bruce’s arm, steering him back inside.
As they passed through the doorway, Selina glanced over her shoulder at Bruce.
She didn’t wink.
She didn’t speak.
She just looked—and for a moment, Bruce felt like she saw him far too clearly.
The music had quieted. Waiters in black vests circled with champagne flutes and silver trays, but the energy in the room had shifted since Selina Kyle’s exit. Rachel had retired for the night as well. Bruce stood with Harvey Dent near the long stretch of balcony overlooking the Gotham skyline, both men nursing half-drained glasses.
“So, Selina. You look your serious this time,” observed Bruce.
Harvey shook his head hopelessly. “She’s different from the other girls, Bruce. More interesting, more mysterious. And way sexier. I think I want this one to last ... maybe more than just last.”
“I’ll bet,” said Bruce with a nod. “But you better watch yourself. Selina seems like the kind of woman who’ll keep you on your toes.”
Harvey cracked his neck. “It’s mostly casual for now, but it has room to grow. I’m not saying she’s not trouble. I’m saying she might be my kind of trouble.”
Bruce allowed the faintest hint of a smirk. “You’d do well to keep both eyes open.”
Harvey chuckles. “Trust me, Bruce. It’s easy to keep both eyes on Selina with her looks.”
Before Bruce could respond, the crowd near the ballroom entrance parted—not abruptly, but with the practiced unease that accompanied power.
Carmine Falcone had arrived.
He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t need to.
White three-piece suit, white tie, hand-rolled cigar balanced between two thick fingers. A pair of suited bodyguards flanked him like shadows, but it was The Roman himself that held the room with his presence.
He made his way toward Bruce and Harvey, offering smiles like weapons sheathed in velvet.
“Mr. Wayne. Mr. Dent. Fine evening, isn’t it?”
Harvey’s smile vanished. Bruce said nothing.
Falcone extended a hand toward Bruce first.
Bruce let the silence hang for a moment longer than was polite, then shook it with just enough grip to be civil—but not warm.
Falcone turned to Harvey.
“Gotham’s White Knight. The press really does love you, don’t they?”
Harvey didn’t take the offered hand.
Falcone chuckled, unbothered. He brought the cigar to his lips and exhaled smoke that curled like ink in the chandelier light.
“I’m not here to make trouble,” he said smoothly. “Quite the opposite.”
Bruce gave him a steady look. “Then why are you here, Carmine?”
Falcone gestured toward the crowd.
“City’s changing. You can feel it. Politics, crime, business—it’s all shifting. Fast.” He turned back to them. “Smart men know when to adapt.”
Harvey folded his arms. “If you’re here to ask for favors, you’ve got the wrong crowd.”
“I’m not asking for anything,” Falcone said calmly. “I’m offering. Connections. Resources. Stability.” He turned to Bruce. “You’ve got a hell of a name, Mr. Wayne. But names don’t keep the wolves out.”
“And you’re offering a leash?” Bruce asked, his tone flat.
“I’m offering protection. Mutual benefit.”
Harvey stepped forward, voice ice-cold. “Yeah, more like hush money.”
Falcone’s grin didn’t budge. “Call it a peace treaty. Between old Gotham and new.”
Bruce’s stare hardened. “Old Gotham doesn’t get to choose how this city changes. It had its chance.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Falcone flicked ash from his cigar.
“I see.”
He looked between them—two immovable men, unbought, unbowed.
“Shame,” he said. “Could’ve been something.”
Then he turned and strolled back into the crowd, unhurried, untouched by the rejection. One of his bodyguards gave Bruce a long look before following.
Harvey exhaled through his nose.
“You just made a very dangerous man feel very insulted.”
Bruce didn’t take his eyes off Falcone’s retreating form.
“Good.”
Wayne Manor – Night
The Wayne limo rolled up the long gravel drive in a muted purr. Outside, the night pressed close, damp and heavy, carrying the smell of rain-soaked leaves. Bruce stepped out, bow tie loosened, the faint clink of crystal and laughter from the gala still echoing in his mind like an unwelcome song.
Alfred was waiting at the front steps, hands behind his back, posture as precise as ever. “Welcome home, sir. I trust the evening was tolerable?”
Bruce’s mouth curved in a small smile. “Tolerable enough.”
Alfred tilted his head, a trace of mischief in his eyes. “And Miss Rachel? One can’t help but notice the way she looks at you. It might be time you stopped making the poor girl wait.”
Bruce paused in the foyer, gaze softening. “Maybe you’re right. She’s been patient. It’s been two years since I came back to Gotham. Maybe I should ... finally ask her.”
But even as he said it, another face intruded — a sly smile, eyes that seemed to see too much, the low music of her voice. Selina Kyle. He couldn’t recall another time he’d been so instantly drawn to someone. Not even Talia had sparked that kind of electric pull.
Alfred, sensing the hesitation, arched a brow. “Something troubling you, sir?”
Bruce’s gaze dropped briefly to the floor. “I met a woman tonight. Beautiful. Intoxicating, even. There was ... something about her. I can’t explain it.”
Alfred tilted his head, just enough for the hint of a smile. “So I take it you’re reconsidering Miss Dawes, then?”
Bruce shook his head quickly, as if to clear the thought. “Doesn’t matter. She’s with Harvey. And I don’t have time for Rachel either. Not now.” His voice dropped lower, the fondness draining, replaced by steel. “All the preparations — the last two years — they’re done. The city’s at its breaking point. Falcone even had the nerve to show up at the gala tonight. The bastard thinks he’s untouchable.”
His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. “Gotham’s waited long enough.”
Alfred’s sigh was quiet, but resolute. “Very well, sir. The time has come.”
Bruce turned toward the back of the manor, his footsteps measured and deliberate. Down the marble hall, through the old study, and behind the grandfather clock — the minute hand frozen at 10:48 — a hidden latch clicked. The panel swung open to reveal a narrow stone staircase, spiraling down into shadow.