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ITALIAN MONASTERY, A MONTH BEFORE HEIST.
VERONA HAD BEEN DYING TO GET SOME NORMALCY BACK IN HER LIFE. Most of her days in Italy were spent in the Professor's how-to-get-away-with-a-robbery lessons and sticking her head in a textbook for hours, eager to absorb all the information she could. She wanted to be prepared this time— in case anything went wrong, she would be there to fix it. Florence believed she was digging herself into a deep hole, putting too much pressure on her shoulders, which would come back to bite her in the ass later on. And he was most likely right.
Verona found herself basking in the chilly, fresh air in the back of the Italian Monastery, while kicking around an old soccer ball with Cincinnati, Denver and Stockholm's son. She tended to watch over him to give the two parents a break for awhile— and the trust they had for Verona was unmatched. Either she would read him stories, chase him around the yard, or play a game. It felt nice to have even an ounce of something normal going on in her life.
What she didn't notice, was Florence gazing at her from afar, leaning against the wall across the yard. A small smile had crawled up onto his face, a longing look burning in his eyes. He wished every day could feel like this— watching Verona drown in jubilance. All he wanted was to keep that smile on her face, no matter the cost.
"I thought you were a tennis girl?" He commented, the sound of his voice making Verona jump slightly, which allowed for Cincinnati to kick the soccer ball into the makeshift net. She let out a small chuckle, putting out her hand to high-five the young boy, who was giggling at the fact that he had won-- and Verona wouldn't dare mention that she hadn't been trying whatsoever to guarantee his win. As a kid, she was never allowed to win. And look how she turned out. Damaged with daddy issues.
"I used to play soccer with the kids next door to me." Verona responded, doubling over to catch her breath. She gestured for Cincinnati to run back into the house, which he did with no questions asked. Verona then threw the ball over to Florence, who caught it with smirk lingering on his lips. "Show me what you got." He couldn't hold back the eye roll, but placed the ball on the ground nonetheless.
"Just so you know, I played all throughout my childhood." He mentioned, shrugging his shoulders, a cocky grin etching its way onto his face. It was now Verona's turn to roll her eyes, before telling him to 'kick the damn ball' which he did.
The two of them began running around, scoring goals and cursing at each other playfully. It felt nice to feel normal. It felt almost like they weren't about to risk getting murdered or put into jail till they rotted slowly. Every time Verona would manage to sneak by him and score, he would yell out that she cheated, not wanting to accept defeat. The landscape was filled with laugher that carried all throughout the capacious Monastery.
