"Ow." I whine as Delilah the stylist accidentally pricks me with the needle. It had been an hour since she had arrived with a whole closet, she had me up on a small stepping stage she brought in my bedroom and made me stand still in front of the full length mirror.

She peeks her head from behind me and looks at me through the mirror, her nose scrunched. "Sorry." She apologizes with a small laugh. "Can you move now?"

I get off from the stage and walk around, feeling better than I did when she first put the pins in the dress. Now I could actually move without feeling like any little movement I made would rip the seams right off. I nod. "Better." The dress was a deep red and had diamonds and sequins. It dipped low on my chest and had long sleeves, perfect for the weather.

I still had no idea why I needed a dress although it was clear they were preparing something. My birthday is in a couple of days and Harry said Vincent would be released the same day. However, none of that mattered to me. I wasn't in the mood for a party, all I kept thinking was how much I miss home and how much I want to go back.

Delilah brings out a box full of jewelry, the repeated brand of Cartier on most of the tags. She places a bracelet and some rings on my hands, very minimal and subtle but also very elegant. "Think of how you're going to want your hair and makeup to look, I will be back to fix you right up." She smiles at me. After carefully taking off the dress so as to not get poked with the needles, Delilah takes the it and leaves.

Harry had been keeping his distance since yesterday and I wondered why. Maybe he was still upset over what happened with Rick? It was hard to tell what Harry was feeling, he showed no emotion and the constant furrow between his eyebrows made him appear as if he was angry, even though that wasn't always the case.

Needless to say, I got the feeling that all this lavishing with dresses and jewelry was an attempt to let me know of the upcoming birthday party. I wasn't in the mood for a party, not after what I went through. Do they really expect me to believe or accept the fact—so they say—that this Vincent man is actually my father?

I lived 18 years of my life in Mexico with my parents to fall for that too easily. On the chance that that was actually the case, I wasn't just going to run into this strange man's arms. This place is strange to me, there is no doubt in my mind that I will be twice as uncomfortable as I am now.

Zayn hadn't been talking to me much either, not since he found out what I did to Rick. He seemed upset, maybe even more so than Harry.

"I didn't think she would kill somebody! That must've been something you taught her."

His words replay themselves in my head. It was like he was disappointed that I defended myself and I didn't understand why. Harry would've shot him if I didn't. I guess if Zayn were here he'd tell that they'd expect that from him. It seems like they have made up their minds about who I am and what I'm not capable of. They think I'm weak, nothing but a mere girl who needs protecting.

My whole life, men put their lives on the line for me under my fathers orders. Why should someone else have to suffer on account of me? My time with Harry, I grew to hate him. But only because he reminded me of my father in that sense. He never allowed me to breathe on my own, always had to stay one step ahead of me.

But I guess he began to trust me in a way that my father never could.

"What's your take on guns?" Styles asks, picking
up a magazine and puts four bullets in. He then grabs the black pistol and loads it. Watching him do this at such speed kind of made my skin crawl. I didn't necessarily have a phobia of guns, but I wasn't exactly thrilled about being at such proximity to them.

"My take is that I don't like them." I say, crossing
my arms as I yawn.

"Just come here. Shoot it."

My finger hovers over the trigger, I focus on the
X and just as I concentrate my mind begins to
run and my heart beats fast. I was terribly afraid
of loud noises, my hand practically trembled. I
sigh. "I don't want to." I say, turning to him with
the gun. Styles points my hand away, placing his
hand over my own and finger on the trigger.
Without hesitation, he shoots. He keeps my arm
from moving back from the recoil of the gun and
my hand vibrates.

I was taken aback by this and I knew he was
mad. "Tell me something," he snatches the gun
from my hand. "If there is someone trying to
fucking kill you and you have a gun in your
hand, are you not going to protect yourself?" He
asks angrily and I knew he had a point. "Learning to defend yourself is primary instinct. If you have the means to survive, you're going to
pull that fucking trigger, now reload it again and
shoot your fucking gun." He grits.

"I said I don't want to." I retort, still refusing, I
glared at him.

"People who are afraid of guns bug the shit out
of me."

"It's a genuine fear," I point out. "Seeing as guns
kill people, surely you can see where I'm coming
from."

"People kill people, a gun isn't going to shoot
itself." He retorts. "In the Mafia world, guns are
your only source of survival. You either live if
you know how to use them, or die if you don't.
I'm not going to always be there to protect you,
so whenever you're in danger you'll know how
to use a gun. In this life, you don't have time to
be afraid of anything."

"Having fears is your body's way of keeping you
alive." I say. "You're clearly breathing, so what
are you afraid of?" I watch as he puts the guns
and ammo back in his duffel bag. He then slings
the bag over his shoulder.

"Fear is for children. I suggest you lose that
fear before I have to make you."

Unlike my father, Harry trusted me with a gun and didn't treat me like a child. He treated me as this thing he was ordered to protect while teaching me how to protect myself. Which is more than my father ever did. I didn't always agree with Harry's methods, but he did know a whole lot about this world than I did, and I was born into this.

"You've killed before? Aside from Clyde?"

"It's part of the job."

"I don't think I could do it." I think the guilt of
killing someone would eat me alive.

"That's because you're weak. That is the difference between you and I. Some people are meant to protect, while others are meant to be protected."

I hadn't realized how much I had actually changed since being taken. But maybe I changed into who I really have been all this time. Maybe killing Rick didn't phase me because I was too far into this chrysalis of mine, a turning point in my life that was always meant to happen.

Harry said so himself. I was weak before, but now...now I'm exactly where I needed to be.

—

Red wasn't my color, especially on the lips. I hid my distaste while Delilah applied the red lipstick, long enough until she left. I tried to carefully not ruin the light makeup I wore and switched out the bulging color for a simple lipgloss.

Why am I even trying? I don't even want to be here.

Today was the sixteenth and like most birthdays, I felt more alone. I don't know what it is about birthdays, but I always feel depressed around this time. And it's not just because I'm here, it's always been this way.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear, Tina—"

"Please stop." I whine, throwing the blanket over my head as my sister covered the single candle on the cupcake to prevent the light to be blown out.

"Happy birthday, to you!" She sings obnoxiously, dragging the last vowel out. "Come on, it's twelve! Blow it out before it dies."

At her whines, I sit on my bed and blow the candle out before laying back down. Mila takes the half melted candle out of the cupcake and sits on my bed, taking a bite out of the cupcake. "I thought that was meant for me." I joke.

"I thought you wanted to refrain from anything cheerful today, isn't that why you're so depressed?" She remarks with a playful smile. "Why are you so depressed, anyway?"

"I don't know." I say. I didn't quite understand myself sometimes. "It's just a reminder of another year of life without living."

I heard music downstairs and from the balcony window I could see cars driving in and people in fancy clothes walking in. I walk over to the full body length mirror and stare at my appearance.

I felt like I was in somebody else's skin, I didn't recognize myself one bit. My reflection looked so well put together, you'd never guess I was stuck in a car for months, sometimes without a proper shower or clean clothes. You'd never guess I killed someone the first day I arrived here.

At least I looked good, which is far from how I was actually feeling.

Two knocks on my door has me looking inside and when the door opens, it's Zayn. I was surprised to see him, considering I hadn't seen much of him. He catches me standing by the doorframe of the balcony and clears his throat. He's almost as surprised to see me so cleaned up as I was.

"You have to come down sometime." He mumbles, trying not to stare too much. I exhale a faint chuckle and step away from the balcony, walking closer to him.

"I wasn't done dreading this," I reply, straightening my dress. I wondered why he was here and where Harry was, I hoped I would've seen him before this.

"I can't say I'm in the mood for a party but birthday's are meant to be celebrated, regardless of the situation." Something about his last sentence made me believe he was referring to what I did to Rick.

He begins to walk out the door and I am behind him, wishing I could stay in here for the rest of the night. "Are you mad at me?" I take the opportunity to ask. "I'm getting the feeling you are."

"Let's not talk about that now." At this, I stop him and face him with a frown.

"I'm already dreading this night as it is, I don't want to go through it not knowing wether you're mad at me or not." Zayn's jaw clenches as he looks away, he inhales deeply before exhaling.

"I'm not mad at you, Valentina. I'm disappointed." He reveals and I look away from his eyes and focus on his nose ring instead. "I understand you did it to defend yourself, there's no doubt of that in my mind. I don't really know why I'm even disappointed considering who you keep as company, I guess I just had a version of you in my head that lead me to believe you incapable of killing a man."

I couldn't help but feel offended by his choice of words, they were so backhanded in my opinion. He took a jab at Harry and had envisioned me in a certain way in his head. A version of me that was so watered down, unable to hurt a fly.

I felt like a deer in the headlights under his gaze. "You decided who I was before you even fully got to know me and now you're surprised of who I turned out to be?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"I'm aware enough to know this isn't you. You're hiding your fear behind whatever personality you adapted from Styles."

"High expectations about a person can lead you to become disappointed in them," I say. "Maybe I'm not responsible for how you feel."

"I'd take your own advice if I were you." Zayn retorts, I ignore him and walk away downstairs. I guess I set myself up for that one. When I walk out into the backyard, everyone is engaged in their own conversation. I didn't know a single person in this room, not to mention they probably didn't even know who I was.

Just as I was walking towards the bar, a male in a dark suit and half open white button up, bumps into me, a drink in his hand. "Oh shit, I'm sorry." He says, making sure to move his drink away so that it doesn't get me. "I promise I didn't see you."

"That's okay." I wave him off, fixing myself from where we bumped into each other. I look up at him, messy curls, green eyes and a strong jawline. He had a gash across the bridge of his nose in a way that lead me to believe he was in some sort of fight before this event. He smelled of cigarettes and cologne and I found myself staring at him and he stared back at me expecting something. I then realized he had spoken to me. "What?"

He lets out a chuckle and I am rewarded by two sets of dimples. "I asked if you were okay?"

I shake my head almost instantly. "Oh—yes, I'm sorry." I extend my hand out to him. "I'm Valentina and you are?"

He sets his drink aside, places the cigarette I didn't even know he had in his lips and grabs my hand with both of his hands. "Roman," He mumbles because of the cigarette. When he lets go of my hand, he removes the cigarette and blows the smoke away. "One hell of a party, huh?"

I follow his gaze around the backyard full of decorations, lights and people. "I'd say," I scoff, looking around to see Harry walking towards me. "Shit." I say under my breath and turn away, Roman furrows his eyebrows.

"Want me to kick his ass for you?" Roman says jokingly but something tells me he looks like the type to enjoy getting in fights. However, there was no way in hell he'd win against Harry. I'd give him that, Harry was freakishly strong.

"No." I shake my head. "He happens to be my bodyguard." I was unsure of what to call Harry. I feel Harry's hand on my elbow, making me turn. "What?"

"We need you at the front." He looks towards Roman with a glare and Roman nods his head towards Harry.

"Sup." Harry ignores him and pulls me with him. I don't even get a chance to say bye to Roman as I'm walking next to Harry.

"Where are we going?" I say, my heels digging into the grass until we reach the pavement. He leads me around the house, when we reach the front I see black trucks and a man in front of one, Vincent to be exact.

I stop in my tracks as he looks at me, his hands inside his black slacks. "Valentina Victoria DiMarco, how much you've grown."

—

Benjamin Wadsworth as Roman