This is the sequel to 'Ace of Spades.'
Do not read unless you've already finished the first installment.
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❝This world is cruel.❞
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Bound by the tethers of rage and revenge, you went off to s...
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2022
The bag of groceries in your arms was heavy: you rolled your shoulder, trying not to let the straps of your duffel bag slip as you walked.
It was quiet in the neighborhood, the night light gentle along the empty street; dangerous for women, but not for you -- a stark contrast to the busy hustle of the city center you'd just come from. It was all salary-workers at this hour, school kids; on the way to the station you'd even gone past a rally of sound vans parked at an intersection, their flyers, shirts, and posters screaming about the Joker's influence on their economy.
Italy was vastly different from the United States. Where there was peace, there would always be violence; the cost of solace was blood, naturally.
Your mouth twisted, but you tucked your head into the wobbling grocery bag you were holding and sped up. This hadn't been your first protest, and you were sure it wouldn't be your last.
On your way back to Law's mini-hideout -- a little hole in the wall in a bad part of town; dirt cheap but dangerous -- you made straight for the next intersection and turned, stopping only when a large crowd of protestors cornered you into a nearby mart.
You paused, eyes flitting to the side, and you saw a reflection of yourself in the grocery store window. Even with your face mask on and your hoodie up, anyone could recognize those heavy bags under your eyes in a mile radius. Not to mention the signature beaded necklace you wore around your neck -- bright red and marbled. No matter what Law would say, you would never remove it, not even if it cost you your mission.
When you finally returned to the apartment, you kicked the door closed; it took a couple of times before the rusty hinges finally cooperated, and you dropped the grocery bag on the nearby table. Padding over to the dank living room, you leaned against the headrest of the couch and peered over Law's shoulder, finding that he was watching a news clipping of a recent inmate that had been released on early parole -- supposedly for good behavior. You didn't know Italy operated under the same terms as the U.S. when it came to prisons, but you supposed it didn't matter much.
"I think Kid tried to conta--" You fished for your burner, only to stop when Law coldly lifted his hand, silencing you. He pointed to the screen; eyes glued to the glowing surface, "Shut up and watch this."
You were irritated at his snappy tone, but you didn't comment on it as you squinted at the hazed image of the inmate. Once you got a better look at him, however, you felt your blood run cold. Not out of fear, but pure, unadulterated rage. Once more reminded of what had happened in your youth, you clenched your fists down on the blade by your hip; tempted to tear into something -- anything to dispel that pent-up wrath you felt.
That man -- the very one on the screen was one of the traffickers that had taken Lola.
You bent over the couch, holding your head as fragments of your past came to light; Lola's echoed scream, the sound of Ace's head thumping against the marbled floor -- the disembodied crack of your mind as it shattered into a million pieces.
