layout credit to @ingrid
Milan, the prowling ground of slinky, feline Italian women in their scandalous leather stilettos, balancing cups of expresso in their laps as they speed past in siren red sports cars. The men in their pressed silk suits, the sprawling piazzas and operatic songs blaring through open windows laced with clean white linens. Milan is the land of decadence and glamour, both in a state of abandonment and glittering, the shiny new cobblestones blending effortlessly with the Roman remnants. This is a city of utter darkness and the purest light.
It is the height of the Cold War, and a silent battle rages through Europe. The Communists. The Imperialists. A world war may have just been won but a much more terrifying clash of powers is raging. In America, the children are trained for missile attacks, ducking and covering under their desks, and in the Kremlin the Soviet Union's elite struggle to keep a hold on their united front.
In Italy, a paradise free of any worry, rid of its struggles in the second world war and the dictator Mussolini, the most important people of this third war are lurking in the shadows. Femme fatales. Spies. Assassins. Whatever you know them by, they are part of the effort to destroy their opposition. They come from the KGB and the CIA, MI6 and the Italian Mafioso, deadly women with even deadlier secrets and guns to their heads and wanted posters to their names. They hold the launch codes and the red buttons alike, and they will be hanged for treason should they be caught. But in Milan they lie in secret, women with husbands and families, with false names on their passports and a code name they will never reveal. Why here, why now? Over the course of a year the most valuable assets and targets will be filtered through the streets for them to take care of. Assuming they don't cross paths with a rival, of course.
Some women will run, and some will die. It is dangerous work, being a spy, and you must be a certain amount of insane to take it on. After all, what doesn't kill you here comes back for more.
Do you have what it takes to be a savage flower?