I woke in a stone-cold dungeon, it looked a bit like a torture chamber. There was a tray of various tools over to my left, and blood stains that they hadn't even tried to clean up littered the room. The lights were dark, and I was bound by two sets of handcuffs, and a set of handcuffs on each of my ankles attached to the legs of the chair. So, they were going to torture me or kill me, or both. I was bored already. The tools being there, and the blood spattered on the walls, was obviously intended to make me scared, but I still don't feel emotion, least of all fear. I rolled my eyes and sat back in my chair. I'm bored.

"Hello," I called out, "can you come in here and get it over with? I'm bored!"

The door creaked open and Vivaldo, followed by a number of men walked in.

"Are you begging for death already, Mrs Cardamom?" asked Vilvaldo.

"I couldn't care less, I am just bored," I replied. I could see the confusion in all of the men at my reply.

"None of this has to happen if you tell me who ordered the attack, and where the cocaine is," Vivaldo said clearly as he came closer.

"I work for a company. I get a call that says who the target is, where they are likely to be, sometimes their home address, I kill them. I don't ask why, I don't ask who asked me to do it, I just do it, no questions asked."

"So, why did you take the cocaine?"

"I was bored, and it was easy."

"And where is it now?"

"Bottom of the river Tiber." The grey-haired man, Vivalodo, punched me in the nose, causing me to feel blood trickle down my face, and I rolled my eyes at him.

"Who do you work for then?" he asked. Of all the questions I would never answer, this is the top one, joint with who my parents were/where they were. Nadia and my parents were the only people I cared about. As an emotionless girl, I think I would feel some kind of sadness if they were killed, and I didn't really want to open the emotions floodgate, ever.

I stared at him, my face hard, and my mouth silent.

"Waterboard her," he said, turning to one of the men, and taking a step back. Waterboarding is a type of torture, where you pour water over a cloth that covers a person's nose and mouth, so they cannot breathe, in an attempt to get them to talk. With many people they would give up pretty quickly, but with me, it was completely futile; it didn't affect me in the same way. Yes, I couldn't breathe for bits of time, but it was never that bad, and definitely wasn't as bad as in training when my dad would stick my head under water, to get me used to this. In this moment, I am more grateful than ever for his training.

"Why the fuck isn't she screaming, or thrashing?!" yelled Vivaldo, "Stop, now." Someone removed the cloth from my face, and I spat out some water that had gone in my mouth.

"I can make this a million times harder, just tell me who you work for."

"I can't wait to see what a million times harder is." Confusion flew across his face again, mixed with anger. Apparently a million times harder for them is getting knives and cutting me. This is so lame. I barely feel pain, the only slight wince of pain I felt was when they broke my wrist by grabbing two parts of my arm that were already cut and snapping, but even then, it wasn't nearly as painful as it should be. I got punched in the face exactly 34 times, kicked in the stomach 23 times, and whipped on the back 30 times exactly.

"I'm tired, we will continue in the morning," said Vivaldo, and they all left. Finally, I could sleep.

About half an hour after I woke up I heard a lot of shooting, a lot of crashes and bangs, a lot of cries out in pain and even more snapping. I heard voices coming down the hall, looking in every single room. When they got to the door I was behind, it was locked. Someone kicked the door down and came in. I was barely recognisable, but out of kindness, the man grabbed keys from the side and undid my handcuffs, then went off to continue looking. With my good hand, I broke off some of the chair leg and used it to stabilise my wrist. Outside there were many dead bodies, and I recognised many of them as the people who had previously 'tortured me'. In all the commotion, no one paid me any attention, so I grabbed one of their guns and went through the rooms. When I found the CCTV room, I downloaded the data onto a memory stick I found in one of the drawers, but this time, because my face was on it, I deleted the footage for the past two days, stuck the memory stick in my pocket and started walking. Now I could feel pain. It was soaring within each leg as I tried to walk, and even though I had stabilised my wrist, it was not enough to stop it moving every time I knocked it. I made my way to the garage downstairs, and grabbed a set of keys from a box on the side. It was time for me to go home.

I made my way out of the garage, but surrounding the warehouse I was in was hundreds of cars and trucks, and they weren't about to just let someone in a car drive by without knowing who it was. I had to get out of my car for them to check who I was before they let me past, but just as I did that a gunshot flew past my head, hitting my car. I instinctively grabbed the gun out of my pocket and shot my shooter in the leg. My aim was not as good as I was using my non-dominant hand (my dominant's wrist was broken), and the man yelled out, "PHOEBE CARDAMOM." Well, everyone here knows my alias name, I guess. I shot the man again, in the chest, and then again, and he was now, hopefully dead.

"Who said that?" asked a handsome Italian man, I think it was Dimitri.

"That man over there," pointed the guard.

"Who shot him?" he asked.

"This one here," the guard pointed at me. Dimitri looked at me with inquisitive eyes, but ones full of horror as he observed what I looked like.

"Amore, you are bleeding a lot," he said, trying to come towards me slowly, noticing I still held a gun in my hand, "are you Phoebe Cardamom?"

"No," I'm not her, that is an alias name. He knew I was lying, even though I wasn't, but I guess I was answering in such a way as to not tell the truth.

"Please, I don't know what you did to be here, but let me take you to the private doctor we have and get you patched up," Dimitri spoke with fear in his voice, now he knew, ish, that I was the Thorned Rose assassin. I was tired of running, and Fabricio and his family owed me, so the least they can do is patch me up a bit.

"Okay," I replied. Dimitri put his hand out for the gun in my hand, and I reached out and gave it to him.

"Come on," he gestured to a silver Mercedes car. I noticed out of the corner of my eye my car was parked a short distance away.

"Can we stop by my car first?" I asked pointing, "I have some stuff in there." Dimitri looked concerned, but agreed.

I didn't have my keys on me, so I had to smash the window with my fist, of the non-broken hand, and unlock the car from the inside. I grabbed my rucksack with all my stuff in, and handed it over to Dimitri, who put it in the boot of his car, and drove off. We actually ended up at the mansion of the Russo's. I was going into the house for the first time without breaking in, it felt weird. He helped me walk into the lift, as I dripped blood basically everywhere, and we went to the basement, where there was a huge operating theatre. I felt a tinge of nervousness as they put me under general anaesthetic, put I trusted this family, for now, if they wanted me dead, they would've left me for dead.

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