𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺 𝚃𝚆𝙾 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚈
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The reckoning is fathomed in 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃. Three months after the heist, the chase isn't over, it's just the imminent beginning. Meanwhile, Harry and the te...
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ THE SECOND *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ CHAPTER SEVEN *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ THE HEART- SHAPED CITY *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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[[ VERA. ]]
There hadn't been anymore but the sound of chatter. The sea of chatter never halted. I stepped out of the car where Max parked the mystery machine adjacent from the building as my heel clicked against the pavement.
I gasped slightly caught in the middle of opening my door swiftly when a camera with a fluffy mic attached to it had been thrusted towards my face. A bright ring light nearly blinded me as I hovered a hand over my face.
"What do you have to say about civilians who check their phones everyday, wondering about the current news that is the mafia that broke into the bank of NYC?"
"Oh, they're out of their minds surely. But there's nothing wrong with that." I laughed, shrugging. Max had nodded once at the camera man, silently waiting for the crowd of reporters to give us way.
"You know what, excuse us." He said with annoyance when they hadn't gotten the message, only more of the reporters coming to swarm around us, as they had hovered their mics and cameras in our direction.
"You gotta let us through, man. What in the world are you doing? And you?" Ace complained from behind him.
"We're not answering any questions, neither are we obligated to. Though your trust in the mafia's gravely appreciated." Harry dismissed curtly. He always had our backs with a sworn oath since the get-go.
Dixie glanced over at me, as she clasped my hand. I was caught in the undertow momentarily, the tension in the car brimming like a steaming pot. Well, something like that. Though that was sheerly evident in us all, this tension. The path we walked wasn't foretold unfortunately. We all went through something that couldn't be explained to these reporters, nor understood word for word, and it was the crumbling landslide of emotions on edge that we all carried silently since the hijacking of the bank in upper Blue Velvetina, New York City.
Our emotions were overlooked upon the naked eye of these wish-washed streets, these porcelain buildings, and these simpering people. This place was a fucking zoo. These people were ruthless, sorry people who confided in luxury and everything golden. They served as no threat, but they were no saints either—just numbed to this society. And who were to raise their voice when no one was to blame? No one.
