Gods & Monsters | Bruce Wayne

FORTY THREE - FATE

Carmine Falcone's grey suit looked almost black in the dim light, ash from a thick cigar being tapped into a glass tray sitting on the table beside a short glass filled to a knuckle with whiskey.

The silence was deafening and Carla could hear ringing in her ears from the traffic noise of the city on her journey from Arkham, though she would've gladly taken the endless red lights and scornful, reckless drivers over the company of Carmine any day.

She was sat opposite him in an office a floor above the bar of the Iceberg Lounge, the place filled with the same faces she now recognised. The music was loud but in that small room, nothing could be heard save for the clinking of the singular ice cube against the edge of Carmine's glass when he lifted it to his lips.

"I went to Sonny's grave. There were no flowers there from you."

Carmine stared at her blankly, eyes lifting from the table to her face when she broke the silence after a long two minutes. Her gaze was cold, colder than usual and he recognised the hatred that shone from within her, a hot fury that he felt scorch him for a split second before the cool whiskey numbed the heat.

It wouldn't have surprised Carla to learn that Carmine had forgotten about his son's birthday, and judging by the way an excuse didn't fly so quickly from his chest, it was safe to assume that the date had meant no more to him than any other on the calendar.

"I've been busy."

"So have I."

Carmine didn't hate Carla. Whether anyone would've believed him was another story altogether, but in his bones, he didn't. Nine years had passed since their relationship fell to pieces and they lost the only family bond either of them had left, and although he was certain that his daughter did despise every part of him, he couldn't find that same hatred in himself towards her.

"So I've seen," he leant back in the leather chair, "Running around the city with Bruce Wayne."

Carla's bones shivered beneath her thick skin when Carmine spoke Bruce's name. Those ten letters hadn't always meant anything special to her and they'd often gone unnoticed and even purposefully ignored by her for a while after they'd first met, but now things were different.

It wasn't often Carla passed through a room or walked on the street without hearing someone saying something about Bruce, and while it now made her heart race and even sometimes put a sliver of a smile on her lips, hearing his name come from Carmine Falcone made her want to reach over the table and choke the life out of him for even thinking about Bruce.

"What do you want?" She spat, unclenching her jaw and relaxing her shoulders, arms crossed and nails tapping against her arm.

The smile that curved Carmine's lips was one filled with narcissistic delight. It reached his eyes and lit them up, turning the dull whites bright and flashing something sinister across his face.

"You're stepping up, Doctor. It appears as though my men aren't cut out to face the Batman, half of them coming back to me begging for another chance with one eye swollen shut and their lips split in half. It's your turn now."

She breathed in silently, dread laced in the air she inhaled and filling the pit of her stomach with an empty pain that sucked the soul from her bones. Carla swallowed, staring hollowly back across the table at Carmine who sipped his drink again, eyes still curved with satisfaction.

"You're sending me out there. Not into a court room, not into an asylum, but into the firing line and the fists of a man that's broken half of your army and God knows who else."

"With all due respect, Carla," he tilted his head and cleared his throat, "These people expect less of you because you're a woman. I know what you're capable of, and a lot of them won't want to put their hands on you which gives you an advantage my boys don't have."