Glass

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I didn't like America's plan. Not one bit of it.

I couldn't really understand her nonchalance now that she had experienced first hand the Mafia's raw power and deadly encounters with them. It was both impressive and worrying that she was not quaking with fear. 

I wanted her to leave and not come back. She was endangering herself. I could do this all by myself. It was very easy. I had to get out of Westmoon. 

But America's nonchalance and sureness drew me. In a deep corner of my mind I thought that maybe there was a sliver of hope for my undeniably despairing situation. 

"America," I said for the fifteenth time. "this isn't a plan. This is just a walk."

"Exactly," she narrowed her eyes. "we're collecting evidence."

"To go back into their clutches?" I shot back. "to be captured again? We have to leave now! Leave and never come back!"

"And what about living?" she asked. "you want to run away and never be able to go to sleep soundly, never knowing who'll attack you the next day?" she looked back up. "Maybe you like to live that way, and maybe you're good at that." she pointed almost accusingly at me. "But we're stuck together as a team now, and I don't want to run away all the time. That's what the Mafia relies on: fear. Maybe if we stood up, they'd be challenged, for the first time."

I couldn't think of a better argument. 

Instead I resigned to her plan, whatever it was. 

Although I didn't think of it much, I did agree with her reasoning. 

----------

We ascended the elevator to the top floor of the casino. My heart hammered wildly and sweat beaded at my forehead. Something told me that I might not get out of here alive.

When the lift opened, the smell of cigarette smoke floated hazily into our surroundings. America stepped out and looked around. 

"There he is!" she whispered, pointing to a table. A thick-set man was shuffling cards and chips in intricate patterns and formations. Like every other worker, he wore a black vest with a white shirt and a purple handkerchief was draped over one of his shoulders. 

I shuffled after her, the stomped down carpet muffling the sounds of my footsteps, if the noise of the crowd did not. 

America started to walk up to him and I got a sick feeling. Was this necessary? Was this right? Romania looked sly and shady, not the type that would become my friend.  Nevertheless, I approached as well. I couldn't leave America by herself. 

"Hello," Romania looked up from his shuffling. "I take it you enjoy this table?" 

"Hi," America waved. "yeah, I'm just showing my friend around." 

"Ahh," Romania's gaze travelled down me like a raptor. Was it my imagination or did I see a glint in his eye?

It's just a trick of light, Zhong Guo. 

"Hello," I tried. The air was acrid and I tried not to cough. 

"How do you do?" He picked up a fresh pack of cards and bridge shuffled them. I glanced at his fingers through the flurry of movement. They were rough, callused and freckled. He had a few silver rings. One gold on his fourth finger. 

I didn't notice that he was talking to me.

"Hey China!" America snapped me out of my trance. "Hellloooo!"

"Yes, yes," I muttered. 

"Romania asked you a question," She explained. "you're obviously daydreaming."

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