(Sequel to 'The Games that Daddies Play')

Prologue: The Then and Now

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DC: The plot is my own, this is officially an AU story. It's a sequel to 'The Games that Daddies Play'; if you haven't read that first, you're gonna lose all kinds of meaning in this story that follows. Please read that one—plus it's fun and filled with smut and who doesn't want that? Also, Allegra is my own OC. Anyone that sounds familiar from the comics or movies aren't mine. This story will have very coarse language, and sexual content; and it has disturbing themes, so you've been warned.

A/N: For those who've read the first story before reading this one, I welcome you again to my twisted humor and perverted writing. I doubt I'll rewrite this prologue because personally, I kind of like how it's been done but I never know; I don't really plan these things; I just do what makes me happy at the time. I have a few good things planned for this sequel so keep an eye out! :D

(there will be more dialogue in the next chapter.) :D

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The world is cruel.

She learned that when she was young, but never really knew what a terrible life she had until the world opened her eyes to a father who shouldn't have loved her as much as he did, to a mother who was neglectful of the things her husband was doing to the poor daughter when she wasn't even five years old.

Even to the time when she killed him, Allegra didn't pay heed to the horrible socially inappropriate acts being done to her when she was ten years old. The lack of appreciation, the lack of hearing a simple thanks or congratulating the young girl on taking such a heavy load made her angry. She killed her father with a potato peeler, severing his manhood, and then shooting him in the head with his own gun. Not even then did the two-sided Detective Davenheart ever thank her for the mercy she'd taken on him.

Left with her drunken mother, Allegra learned skills that no child should ever learn. She grew to be an exceptional two-bit, dime-store thief, pickpocketing unsuspecting rich folk on the subway; stealing chips off racks and candy bars became child's play by the time she turned fifteen.

It marked her professional career when she burnt her fingerprints, knowing criminals were always caught because of the simplest half-print of a thumb could be traced. Fueling her scandalous ways was an addiction to something more attainable than drugs like heroin or cocaine, even cigarettes. Having been used to her father's manipulative ways, having felt pleasure during these sessions and having the feeling of self-worth, Allegra was empowered through sexual acts; it was this to which she became addicted, and in her trivial need for it, she lost what little morality was left.

Allegra kept herself hidden under different aliases as she escalated from having sex with those she met in a bar, selective of those she could find most willing to give her what she craved the most—a time when she felt most in control, but simultaneously could be without. A simple run-in with a stranger in the bar, or a person she met on the train began to be child's play, and resulted in very little satisfaction.

What she craved most was the excitement. Male prostitutes lost their appeal, even if they did hold her off until she felt most in need of a high, a chance for escape...that one moment she felt most attractive...the same feeling she'd felt most desirable in her father's eyes.

Until she was seventeen, Allegra hadn't the slightest clue that what she did to the little kids her age when she'd been eleven was doing the exact same thing her father did to her behind closed doors. It'd been called something quite different—a little game. The games her father played were as frivolous as the games Allegra 'played' with the boys on the playground—they begged and plead like her, but like her father, Allegra found the same euphoric moment in which they suddenly gave in and she felt empowered. The only reason she was never caught was her great influence on the boys—despite what she had done to them, they never told.

That sense of control, that overwhelming power hungry moment—how she craved it. The heightened pleasure, the uncontrollable moaning...it was addicting, indeed.

When Allegra turned eighteen, the tables turned; she moved out of her mother's house, pitying the woman for the inability to see life. She then met Maroni, a starting man who was second up from being the new head of the Carmine Falcone family. Maroni and Allegra hit it off in the cab, and a year later, Allegra had become a big part of his life as he was to her—but they didn't see eye to eye. Allegra only saw him as business; he began to fall in love with her alias, by the name of Katie.

Five years working for him, being his pet under the table and liking every romantic moment they had, Allegra became bored. What Maroni offered was nice, but the heightened pleasure was gone. What he offered was something she no longer wanted. Then she found out about his other connections—his wife, and the other mistress. Seeing his betrayal, Allegra left the Falcone gang, but not before being shot and stabbed, giving her the scars on her back that she'd never see fade away.

Allegra was angry; bored with her life. Excitement was felt only in the hum drum of a dull sex life. The homeless bodies on the street no longer fought her when she advanced. Anyone that recognized her would run, and while the chase made Allegra feel very much alive, the result was the same lent, gutless sex she always had. It was no longer challenging, no longer sensible, or anarchistic. It was aggravating how she could no longer be appeased with what had normally satisfied her in the beginning.

What she wanted was chaos—a step away from normality. What Allegra learned as a child was nothing compared to her adult life. A therapist by the name of Dr. Leon, declared that she beheld hypersexual disorder, and a condition called SRD, which stood for Sexual Rage Disorder, causing Allegra extreme emotional rage, aggression, self-destructive behavior, and homicidal tendencies when she didn't get the satisfaction she desired most.

What Allegra wanted wasn't sex therapy, or a way out...she didn't want to escape it.

Feeling distant from the world, letting the pain ease from her self-injuries, the cuts only a small route of escape rather than the large portal that would only connect through fierce, illicit sexual experiences, Allegra went to a tavern for a drink.

A brawl broke out, and while Allegra had noticed a few people looking at her, she paid no heed; she knew she was beautiful in every sense of the word, and with it, she was able to attract even the most hard-asses of the decade, entreat them into an alley and then she had her way with them. They were unsuspecting fools, thinking her charming, then realizing the truth when they no longer could be heard, screaming for mercy, begging for death, just for her to end it right then and there.

As the brawl broke out, Allegra claimed sanctuary beside the door, keeping from the meddlesome fools that were arguing about who was right about the football games and other non-whimsical nonsense. Before she completely knew what was happening, a trash bag was placed over her head, blackening her sights, lifted over a shoulder and even as she fought, she was carried out of the tavern.

When Allegra hit the floorboard of a dark-tinted van, she opened her eyes and looked upon a man with whom she would find that spark of life once more. The scars on his cheeks, the blackness in his eyes, the green tint of his hair, and the mischievous cold in his voice made Allegra realize they would be doing business soon.

It was a week later when Allegra met the man who called himself the 'Joker'. She never revealed her name, going by the stripper name she adopted, 'Allegra Von'. What they had was a mutual understanding; she'd do what he said and she would be offering a little on the side to fuel her addiction. Allegra was ready to cancel contracts until he had one certain thing about him that stood out from all the other men and bosses for whom she'd always worked.

Aside from their rough sex, their knifing scars, and their disturbing role-play, and just the way he could handle her—knowing every piece of him would make her hormones jump like atoms on a hot plate—what made him different than the rest of the men was his humor.

He was laughing at her past, claiming that while her past was morbid, she should not be ashamed of it. It wasn't natural for Allegra to feel her father loved her more than most fathers loved their daughters because he raped and molested her from the time she could remember until his untimely demise: He thought it was funny. He thought it was a joke. Around him, Allegra didn't feel like she was a freak—and their humor coincided evenly; they were almost the same.

And for this, Allegra smiled, and gladly took arms with him, becoming initially his valuable, pickpocketing, scandalous employee; named later as his accomplice. His Lieutenant. And by the press, his romantic interest.

The public may speculate what is and isn't. The Joker and Allegra may deny their love for one another, no matter how deep in a psychosis they may be.

One thing has been proven certain from the past. And if the history truly does repeat itself, one can be assured that if Allegra is separated from the only thing that satisfies her addiction, the lamb will slaughter the lions to get what she craves the most.

Consequences be damned.