Chapter 92: The Roman Ready to Act

Ivy's face suddenly darkened; she immediately turned her head and glared at Ma Ma Zhaodi to the side.

"Even if I had asked you to leave just now, you certainly wouldn't have been willing to go, so you can't blame me for this—but you can give me the flowerpots. Come back to pick them up whenever you have free time; I will definitely take good care of them."

Ma Ma Zhaodi extended his hand. Batman stood silent beside him. Ivy looked back and forth, sighed deeply, and finally gave up on the idea of fighting here. She handed the vines in her hands back to Ma Ma Zhaodi.

"If it weren't for these children," she said while standing up, issuing a threat: "you would be learning the fury of nature right now."

"I do respect nature to some extent," Ma Ma Zhaodi replied. "In light of this matter, I hope nature won't get angry at me—come visit again when you have time."

One does not strike a smiling face; Ma Ma Zhaodi's demeanor truly prevented Ivy from feeling too much anger. In the end, she merely pouted and walked out the door with Batman.

"Remember to attack him hard for me. He's so damn shameless, so damn despicable."

Bang! Ma Ma Zhaodi closed the front door.

I can't take it anymore, I really can't. Batman is purely evil.

Ma Ma Zhaodi burrowed into his quilt, musing thus. Batman knew Poison Ivy could sense her plants being pulled from a human body, and he knew Poison Ivy would definitely come for him because of this—he had originally intended to use this point as bait.

Fortunately, I was wearing underwear when I went to sleep today; if it were someone who likes to sleep naked, they would be wishing for death right now.

Thinking of this, he wrapped himself in the quilt into the shape of a caterpillar, and only then fell asleep peacefully.

Several days later, inside Arkham Asylum, Poison Ivy sat on one side of a square table. Another person sat opposite her. The light was not bright; that person's face was hidden in darkness.

"Everyone opposed this idea."

Suddenly, a large hand wearing a gold watch reached into the light and pushed stacks of bundled green bills off the edge of the table: "We have certain rules; we cannot cooperate with people like you."

"If it weren't for Batman's unexpected intervention," Poison Ivy sighed, "just imagine how much more we could have accomplished."

"Young Lady Ivy, if there is one thing I have learned from business—"

The face of the Roman with three claw marks suddenly appeared in the light; his expression showed neither regret nor disappointment.

"That is, everything always has an accident."

Gotham Prison, midnight with wind and rain.

The iron prison gate creaked open with a metal key; the rusted hinge joints turned, emitting a harsh, sharp metallic grinding sound.

A burly, tall figure, surrounded by several guards holding shotguns, slowly walked out of the cell door. Even with handcuffs on, a physique like a small mountain was enough to make people feel awe and fear.

Yes, it was "she"; this was a female prisoner whose physique rivaled that of a burly man.

The warden unlocked her handcuffs with a key and sneered contemptuously: "You have been granted early parole, huh? You will be back."

The provocation received no answer; the figure like a small mountain remained silent like a mountain.

"Boom!"

Amidst the thunderous claps of lightning, pale flashes of electricity occasionally streaked across the sky, briefly illuminating the dark prison in the night and the warning sign at the main gate bearing the four large characters "Gotham Prison."

The newly released tall prisoner walked out the gate and into the sudden rain, whipped and disordered by the gale.

Two beams of glaring light cut through the rain curtain. A black luxury sedan abruptly stopped at the prison entrance; the car door opened slightly.

"Get in. He is waiting for you."

The Roman's apartment was similarly shrouded in this night of rain and thunder, but the interior of this high-end apartment was warm and bright. The Roman stood in his room, calmly gazing at the rainy night outside the window.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

He turned his head slightly and asked behind him: "Any news?"

"They are on the way, Mr. Falcone."

After the brief exchange, the Roman spoke no more. Some time later, the room's main door was knocked on again.

Falcone opened the door; outside stood that burly figure, with large patches of wet water stains still on his coat and hat.

"Everything went smoothly?"

"Yes, Mr."

A smile appeared on Falcone's face. He spread his arms, completely disregarding that he was still wearing an expensive custom-made suit, and embraced that burly figure tightly.

"You have been gone for too long, my daughter. The family needs you now; I need you, my Sophia."

"I missed you, Dad."

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Dense gunfire echoed in the basement, blasting the target into shreds.

"Morte! (Go to death!)"

A blonde, fat woman holding a glass of wine in one hand and a gun in the other, with a cigarette in her mouth, held a lightweight. 22 caliber pistol in one hand and fired an entire magazine directly at the target standing in the basement. Even so, the depression and anger in her heart could not subside.

Since losing her son, Carla Vitti had always been like this: full of anger, unwillingness, and loneliness.

Suddenly, a large hand pressed down on her shoulder.

"I rang the doorbell; you did not respond."

Carla Vitti turned her head to look. A sharply defined female face appeared before her eyes: fiery red curly hair, a high nose bridge. If one set aside her overly burly body, this face might have been seen as Greek beauty style rather than a muscular-barbie style.

"I hope I am not disturbing anything of yours?"

Carla did not even put down the gun in her hand; she stepped forward two paces and embraced this niece she had not seen for a long time, who had been imprisoned for many years.

"Aunt Carla?"

Sophia was somewhat stunned, but she still bent down to embrace her aunt.

"Sophia, darling—your father didn't tell me you were coming home."

"I swear, sometimes I really want to kill that Carmine (your dad)."

Carla released Sophia and showed the gun in her hand to her niece, a gloomy and resentful light flashing in her eyes: "Do you see this gun? It is a. 22. During the incident when your brother Alberto was killed on New Year's Eve, I 'forgot' to hand it over to the police."

"The one used to kill my son Johnny during Halloween was the same type of gun as this one—I will use this gun, Sophia. I will use this gun to deal with that scumbag called the 'Holiday Killer'."

Sophia was not surprised by her aunt's anger. Falcone had already told her everything that had happened during this period, and moreover, she herself was not unfamiliar with blood and death.

She asked calmly: "Does Father know about this?"

All he received was Kara's disdainful reply.

"Heh, he knows now, doesn't he, Sophia?"

(End of this chapter)