A sob escaped my throat as I watched the coffin lower into the rectangle hole dug neatly into the soft dirt. Unconsciously, my small hand clung to the pocket of the man standing beside me, his face emotionless. I took a breath, trying so hard to be like him, to keep it all in but it was too much for my six-year-old self and I sobbed again. His pale hand rested against my back, a small source of comfort.

Stepping forward, I threw my hand out, unleashing a shower of small daisies, my mother's favourite flowers. I watched silently as they fell, landing gently on top of the wooden lid before dirt was shovelled on top. My green eyes welled up as I thought about my mother. My poor sweet mother. Gone far too soon. Ripped away from me by the same treatment that was supposed to save her.

The man's hand lifted from my back and carefully stroked over my smooth blonde hair. I looked up into icy blue eyes and let him lead me away from the site.

We stopped at the stone entrance to the cemetery. A run down, black Mercedes sat on the kerb, waiting. I stifled another sob as he crouched in front of me, his cropped blond hair similar to my own.

"Am I going to live with you now, Yasha?" I didn't know why I called him by his name rather than Dad. That was just how my mother had introduced him when he visited and it had stuck. He only came a few times a year but in between my mum would talk about him and show me photos to ensure I wouldn't forget him.

A hint of a sad smile crossed his face as he shook his head. "No. What I do, my job, it's not for little ones like you. You need to go to school, grow up to make your mother proud and live a good life."

I grabbed his hand, unwilling to let him go.

"What about you?"

Gently he recovered his fingers from me and stood. "I'll go back to work. I'll visit when I can." He nodded towards the car and waiting driver. "Anton will take you to your new home. Remember what you've learned, lisichka and be safe."

I nodded, biting my bottom lip and trying not to cry at the thought of going to an unknown place with unknown people. After brief hesitation I threw myself forward, wrapping my scrawny arms around my father's lean legs. Stiffly, he rubbed my back, slightly uneasy with the intense display of emotion in public. It wasn't long before he peeled me off him and put me in the car. All emotions were carefully hidden as he watched me be driven away.

Seven months later, my hair had been cut short, hacked at with a knife. The dirt under my nails was permanent and my green eyes had turned hard. I scampered around an old rubbish bin down an alleyway that was only lit by the lights on the street at the other end. Holding the half-eaten bread roll close to my chest, I peeked out, concerned the other children I'd just frightened off had returned with back up.

I had claimed the bin just days earlier. The owners threw out half eaten meals and food that was only a day past its best before, not to mention it was far enough away from the orphanage I had escaped from that none of the adults would find me. Other kids had come and tried to take the spot from me but even the bigger ones would back off when I started waving a knife around. I just hoped no one turned up with a bigger knife, or worse.

The alley fell silent again and I moved from my hiding spot only to be grabbed by my top. The large man holding me lifted me into the light to get a better look before putting me down.

"Right shorty," His voice came out as a growl, "Here's the deal. We need you to do a few jobs for us alright?"

My green eyes flitted about, two others stood behind him, their features darkened by the lights shining from behind them. Sticking my chin out a little, I silently congratulated myself on keeping my voice steady as I said, "What's in it for me?"

The shadow to the right laughed as he stepped forward. "Oh look, the brat thinks it can negotiate with us." He grabbed the front of my top and swung me up into the wall, knocking the wind out of me. "How's that negotiating looking for you now?" He sneered before tossing me back to the ground.

Picking myself up, I bit the corner of her lip, trying not to show that skidding across the hard ground had hurt. My fists clenched uselessly at her sides. I didn't even bother trying to pull the knife, there was no point.

The first man crouched in front of me. "Look squirt, I'll make you a deal. You help us out and I'll make sure you get a better feed than that dirty piece of bread." He nodded to the last man who stepped forward, opening a small container and passing it over.

The smell hit me before I could see what it was and my mouth watered at the thought of steaming hot chicken nuggets from the McDonald's down the road. My eyes jumped from the man to the food and back again before I nodded, knowing that I didn't really have a choice.

A year later my hair had grown to my shoulders and the men from the alley had become the closest thing I had to a family. I'd come to learn they were Russian mafia, though why they had found me, I didn't know. They used my size to get in places they couldn't and my age and innocence to get people to open the front door. It all ran like clockwork and I was well looked after. I was no longer running around hungry with rags for clothes and no shoes.

Vlad, the man who had offered me the deal, ran the bar they met in and let me sleep in one of the rooms above it. He had taken me under his wing, treating me much like a younger sister and I looked up to him like I had to Yasha before the funeral. I hadn't seen my father since then.

I sat on a couch near the fire as the men drunk and threw knives instead of darts. Most of the adults couldn't care less about me so I got away with drinking a vodka and coke I'd snuck from behind the bar. The room stunk of smoke and alcohol and while I'd almost wretched when I first arrived it had grown on me. It was almost a comforting smell now.

Though Vlad didn't mind me drinking, he drew the line at me having cigarettes. "This shit will give you cancer." He had said, lighting his own and blowing the smoke away from me.

A well-dressed woman stepped through the front door, her nose turning up slightly. Her wavy dark hair reached her shoulders, framing a fair face. As she caught sight of me sitting on the couch her blood red lips curled in the slightest hint of a smile.

Just as one of the men whistled, the room fell into a hush as another man followed the woman into the room. A fur hat covered his head, revealing only his face of pockmarked skin, blade of a nose and a scar running from the outside of his cold, blue eyes to the corner of thin lips. He was Pakhan, the boss. I didn't know what his name was, and I'd only met him once before but he scared me, and as much as I tried to hide it, I was pretty sure he knew.

His eyes landed on me and I suddenly wished for the couch to open up and swallow me. Unconsciously, I noticed Vlad manoeuvre himself closer to me.

Pakhan pointed to me, speaking English, he asked, "Is that the brat?"

The woman's face remained blank but I could see in her eyes she was pleased. Leaning back a little, I drew some strength from Vlad standing behind the couch. The lady reminded me of a snake and I was waiting for the strike.

She looked at Pakhan and said, "I'll give you two hundred thousand rubles."

That was when Vlad spoke up and the other men took a half step towards me. "She isn't for sale."

In the blink of an eye, Pakhan pulled a gun from under his jacket and pointed it at Vlad, firing a single shot off. He stumbled back, clutching at his bleeding ear as Pakhan holstered the gun, saying, "Next time it'll be between the eyes."

Pakhan turned back to negotiate as I stood. Finishing my drink in one continuous mouthful I hoped for some of that liquid courage the adults talked about. I knew there was no choice in the matter. Pakhan had already decided that I was sold, there was merely the price to be decided on.

Vlad caught my eye, blood dripping between his fingers as he held the side of his head and murmured. "Stay strong, kiddo. You're a survivor."

I bit the corner of my lip again, my hands clenching into fists to try and hide the slight tremble. Pakhan and the snake woman had stopped talking and turned to me. They had agreed on the price.

"Come now, don't dawdle." The woman said, "We've got a plane to catch. We'll go shopping for you later so you don't need anything."

I only understand half of what was said. My mother ensured I learnt English but since her death there hadn't been any use for it and I'd gotten rusty. The tone and body language of the woman however, was easily understood. She was impatient and not in the mood to be messed about.

With one last look around the room and an almost sad glance at Vlad, I took a deep breath and stuck my chin out stubbornly as I walked out the door.

The woman sat on a large armchair aboard a private plane, watching me. My bright green eyes stared back, suspicious and challenging.

The woman smiled in an attempt to be friendly. "It's okay Adrienne. We're heading to Venice. There's a shower through there if you'd like to clean up." She pointed to a door at the end of the plane.

My eyes narrowed. "You know my name."

The laugh that came from the woman's mouth seemed more like a cackle than anything friendly. "Of course, I know your name. Your father works for me. You can call me Julia."

"I don't have a father." I growled, getting the idea of what she'd said. That was certainly how it felt. He said he'd visit but he never had. I'd assumed he was either dead or didn't care.

"Of course you do. He apologizes for not visiting by the way. He's been incredibly busy."

She acted friendly but she almost sounded irritated conversation so I let it rest. Standing I pointed at the door and just to ensure I had heard and understood her correctly, I repeated, "Shower?"

She nodded, slowly, as if only just realizing I may not understand everything she had been saying. Without another word or sign of acknowledgement I turned, thumping straight through the door, wondering what would be in store for me next.

True to her word, we flew into Venice. My face was plastered to the window but my hands gripped the arms of the chair. I had never flown before but it was both terrifying and exhilarating. The lights of Venice twinkled like stars below us as we came into land. My eyes squeezed shut as the wheels hit the tarmac with a slight bounce.

Very soon after we were whisked away by a man whose skin was a puzzle of black and white blotches. He steered our small powerboat through many narrow canals. I'm not sure my mouth fully closed the entire trip. Venice was beautiful, though even that felt like an understatement. Everything was a marvel. Except the two people I was in the company of. There was something about them, something silent but incredibly dangerous.

The engine slowed and the boat pulled alongside a Venetian palace, pale pink and white with narrow windows and a multitude of intertwining pillars, archers and balustrades. The water gently rolled against the intricate brickwork as though the entire structure was built within the canal rather than above it.

Inside the palace was as glorious as outside and a wonder of mosaic covered ceilings. It was both a show of money and power. Not for the first time, nor the last, I was worried.

"Mother!" A voice shouted from the stairs to our left.

There was a flash of annoyance on Julia's face, so brief I wondered if I'd imagined it. A boy hurtled down the stairs two at a time. His brown hair formed a mop on his head, bouncing with each step. Suddenly his brown eyes caught mine and narrowed before he looked back at Julia.

"Jake." She greeted him, almost too sweetly,

"This is our guest, Adrienne. She'll be joining you on the island for training."

His eyes turned back to me again and I met them with a confidence I didn't feel. I was so far out of my depth I wasn't sure I'd ever feel in control again. Eventually he gave a curt nod, apparently approving of whatever he saw.

Over the next few days Julia showered me in the high life. I went shopping, ate fine food, had my hair done and more. By the end of it, I barely recognized myself. It all felt wrong as if she were trying to buy my affection, though, I'm not sure if affection is the right word. Julia wouldn't know what the word meant if it jumped up and slapped her in the face.

At the end of the week, the man with blotchy skin, took Jake and I to the island, Malagosto, I learnt its name was. Then we trained. It was hard but it was exciting. The teachers pushed us to our limits but after half a year I was one of the top trainees. Most people already had experience when they came to the island, they stayed for about three or four months before leaving again.

I could throw a knife accurately nine times out of ten and hit a moving target ninety seven percent of the time with any firearm I chose. I knew how to poison someone with no traces, how to make a death seem accidental, how to survive without any supplies. My English was fluent as was my Italian and I had begun to learn Arabic as well as Spanish, after those I was going to be learn French and Mandarin.

Julia was never completely happy though. My Russian accent was never completely gone, I didn't always start with the right utensil when we went for dinner, whenever she saw me, nothing was ever quite perfect. The instructors saw differently though, I was almost flawless for them. But they hadn't gotten my friend shot, they hadn't paid money to take me, they hadn't stolen me from my home, my city, the only place I've ever known. So, I went out of my way to make sure Julia was never satisfied with her investment in me. It was something I had to be careful about though, she was dangerous, I knew that far too well. It was actually something Jake and I joked about often, but never something we wanted to put to the test, and so, my small acts of rebellion remained subtle and I did my best to remember what life was like before, often stealing moments to myself, high up the bell tower, where I could just sit, and think, and just be.

Crisp winter air filtered through the old monastery, funnelling around the bell tower. Stairs coiled through middle, opening onto a wide platform. Once upon a time I imagined there would have been a railing around it but it was long gone. Now it was just open to the air.

My feet dangled far above the ground. Just like on the plane when I first arrived in Venice it was both terrifying and exhilarating. A feeling I had become extremely familiar with over the last months. I didn't think I'd been here a year yet, not quite. Time, though, seemed to just blur together. Dates meant nothing. Birthdays and Christmas didn't exist.

Suddenly hands grabbed me from behind. I cursed. If I hadn't been so absorbed in thought then I would have heard them coming. The shock had made me jump, far too close to the edge for my liking. Shoving back, away from the thin air in front of me, I spun, whipping their feet out from under them. They landed heavily on their back and I leapt on top of them, pausing when I saw their face.

"Jake! You scared the living daylights out of me." I growled in Russian. My English had come a long way since I arrived, almost as fluent as my Russian. I often spoke English more than Russian but when I was angry, or surprised, I always slipped back into Russian.

Jake shoved me, a grin on his face. "Get off me."

I clenched my legs, one knee on either side of his waist, and slapped his face, calm enough now to switch back to English "No. You almost pushed me off the edge."

"Oh, come on. You wouldn't have fallen." He still had that stupid grin on his face and I really wanted to beat it off him. Before I had a chance to hit him again, he jerked and rolled. Unprepared, I fell to the side as he rolled on top.

That grin only grew. "Slow and unprepared. The instructors would be disappointed."

I growled; we'd done this dance before. Once he had me in this position I was stuck. Eventually he climbed off and let me up. Shaking myself off, I stalked back to the edge and settled myself back down. Jake silently came and sat beside me.

"So, what are you doing up here?" He eventually asked.

It took me a while to answer as I stared out at the far away twinkling lights of Venice. The sea between was dark and uninviting. A border between two different worlds. "Do you ever wonder," I paused, unsure if I could talk to Jake. Eventually I decided to continue, "Do you wonder what it's like over there? What we might be doing if we were part of them? If we weren't, weren't here." Unwillingly I shivered at the end as the biting breeze tugged at the platform.

Jake shuffled closer, his warmth seeping into my bare arm pressed against his. "I try not to. It's not like we can change anything. Can you imagine my mum's face?" He changed his tone, mockingly, "Well Mum, I'd actually like to go work as a banker over there, no more of this training, thanks."

"Think she'd just shoot you." I stated with a grin.

"Don't tempt fate. Pretty sure I'm only here as a screw you to my Dad." He stared out, just like I had, as his mind drifted far away. I didn't know much about his Dad, I don't think he even knew much about him.

"Well at least she didn't just dump you at an orphanage. You know, your mum said my father works for her but I still haven't seen him. All of the teachers here seem to know him, 'second only to one', 'the best there is now' and I don't think I really have a clue who he is."

Jake shrugged. "Maybe it's better that way. I mean, how well do you really want to know the world's best assassin?"

Yassen walked up the island to the dilapidated monastery. It had been a long time since he'd last been here, part of him was surprised he came back. Scorpia, namely Julia, had asked him to return briefly as an instructor. He had considered refusing, he had no interest in teaching, however they offered a considerable sum and so, he had accepted. It was only as he walked through the open square that he saw why.

Amongst the eight trainees practicing in the traditional gi there were two much shorter than the others, though keeping up as if they had been born doing it. The smaller of the two spun into a kick, her thick, white braid whipping behind her. She was completely unaware of him watching her.

Yassen showed no emotion, he didn't react, merely stared and wondered how it had happened. Not that it mattered now. The fact was, it had happened and there was nothing he could do except move forward.

He carried on to the headmaster's office, unsurprised to see his old tutor, Oliver d'Arc sitting there. He'd heard Nye had been killed by one of his students, why or how, he didn't care.

"Ah, Yassen. Julia said you'd be returning. You've been very successful."

Yassen offered very few words in return. The chatting was unnecessary. Once the short conversation was over, Yassen stood, picking up his single bag and silently left, heading to his own room.

The door to my room creaked and immediately my hand moved to grip the knife under my pillow as I listened for footsteps. There were none. Cracking my eyes open, I used the faint moonlight that shone through the open curtains to survey my room. None of the traps had triggered, everything was silent. But something was not right.

Slowly I pushed my legs off the bed, rising to my feet as my head turned this way and that. The door had moved, that much I knew. It had been locked when I went to bed so it wasn't accidental. Someone had picked the lock and opened it. The question was now, who were they, where were they, and what did they want?

Carefully, light on my feet I made my way to the door. It didn't make a sound as I lifted it and shut it. If it was held just the right way, it was noiseless. If they were still in my room they wouldn't be sneaking back out there.

Turning back to my room, I stood silent. The waves crashed gently on the shore outside but the air was still. That was what made the small whistle stand out and I whipped my head to the side as a knife embedded itself in the door next to me. Before it had even stopped quivering, I flicked my wrist, my knife flying free, aiming for a person I couldn't see.

I pulled the knife out of the wood, it needed a hard yank, as the other person stepped from the shadows, my knife twirling in their hand. The blonde hair caught the light and their clear blue eyes seemed to glow from the moon.

"Yash-" I started to say in surprise before correcting myself, "Yassen." My voice was cold. Since he'd turned up, he'd virtually ignored me and so eventually I did the same. He was just another teacher.

"You misjudged the throw." He stated, handing my knife back, "Had I not caught it then the handle would have hit me, bouncing away harmlessly and leaving you without a weapon."

"I had yours." I argued before tossing it to him.

Briefly I thought I saw the sliver of a smirk cross his face before he walked past me. "Come."

For just a moment, I hesitated before deciding to throw caution to the wind and follow him. Despite the fact I wanted to hate him, I didn't. I still had those memories of my father from years ago and the little girl in me hoped he could be that again.

He led me out of the monastery and down the rough path to the jetty. A small boat rocked lightly on the water.

"Get in." He said simply and I wondered how he had managed to get to the stage where he said so little yet commanded so much. Still, I listened, stepping carefully onto the metal hull as Yassen untied it and took a seat opposite me at the back with the small outboard motor.

He steered us away from shore and I wondered what the purpose of this trip was. It didn't feel like a lesson. It was different. Could he actually be my father at this moment rather than my teacher? I barely dared to hope.

"I made my first kill a month ago." I eventually broke the silence that had surrounded us after he stopped the boat. Waves lapped gently at the side of the boat as I remembered that morning in Russia.

I was sitting on the cool, leather armchair in Pakhan's lounge, his Siamese cat curled on my lap. He didn't notice me as he emerged from the bedroom in a dark robe and red satin boxers, his round midriff spilling over the waistband. The sight was far less intimidating than when I had last seen him almost two years prior and it was a stark reminder that he was just a man, nothing more.

Sticking his balding head in the fridge he pulled out the chilled vodka, drinking straight from the bottle.

"Hello Pakhan." I said, startling him.

Vodka spilt onto the floor as he spun around. I held my gun loosely, pointing at the cat enjoying me as a seat.

"Now, now, take it easy. I'm sure Boris here would love to carry on living." I was unlikely to shoot the cat, but he didn't know that. Based on the photos and how much the cat was spoiled with toys and expensive food, he would be inclined to listen to me. Everyone had their weakness. "Put your hands on your head, nice and slow."

He did as he was told, surprisingly quiet, and I stood up. The cat jumped onto the floor and flicked his tail in annoyance. I waved the gun as I talked, gesturing with my hands, as if it were as a part of me as I felt it was. "Now look here Pakhan. This is how it's going to go." I kicked a small bag over to him, "You're going to put your money in there. I know you've got it stashed around here somewhere. Then you're going to throw it to my feet."

He once again did as he was told, putting the money in the bag, but that was when I made my first mistake. In the safe where he kept his money, he also kept a gun. I never saw it from the angle I was on. He filled up the bag then he tossed it at me. Instinctively I reached out to catch it as he pulled his gun from the safe and fired. It was pure luck that saved me. As I caught the bag, I took a step and so Pakhan's bullet grazed my arm rather than burrowing through my chest.

My gun dropped, the pain catching me off guard. I had never been shot before and it was a sensation like no other. But before I could dwell on it, instinct and training took over with the help of adrenaline to mask the pain. I swept up the gun with the other hand, my father's voice echoing in my head from when he was teaching me to fight, before my mother died. 'You don't have a preference. You need to be as competent with one hand as the other.' The same applied when I was learning to shoot, I did so competently with either hand.

Instinctively I fired three shots. Pakhan's gun clattered to the floor as he stumbled backwards, sliding down the blood splattered wall.

Straightening up, I stalked towards him, anger flashing in my eyes. "I'm disappointed, Pakhan. I really wanted to take your ear beforeI shot you."

Looking him in the eye, I fired again. The bullet swept through Pakhan's ear, just as it had done with Vlad many months before. I smiled, almost sweetly. "That's better isn't it. An ear for an ear."

He glared at me and coughed before growling, "Burn in hell."

I laughed, my gun shifting to sit between his eyes. "Oh, I'm still a long way off but you, Pakhan, you're going there now." I pulled the trigger and he was gone.

I'd left his apartment with the money, making my way to a familiar bar. Picking the lock, I took a breath before entering. My heart tugged at the familiar place. Vlad's right-hand man was passed out on the couch as he did so often. The room still reeked of smoke and alcohol. It was a place I once called home. Helping myself to a quick swig of the vodka, I dumped the bag on the counter. Quickly I grabbed a knife and carved AK into the old wood before leaving. After that, I took my father's name. It was already well known with a reputation behind it.

I never told anyone but later, when I had returned to my hotel and it had all sunk in, I spent the rest of the morning over the toilet, puking my guts up. The thought of what I had done made me sick and I wasn't sure I could ever do it again. Eventually the feelings subsided and I started to feel normal again.

He looked shocked for a brief moment before his face was blank again. It was the most emotion I'd seen out of him since he'd arrived and I was surprised about it.

"I thought you'd be proud of me... I'm trying to do well here. Trying to..." I stopped. I may feel like that little girl again, out here, away from the island. Just a girl and her father. But I still wouldn't admit I was trying to impress him.

"Proud..." It sounded like an echo as he shook his head, sounding almost resigned as he replied "I never wanted this life for you, lisichka."

I growled, my own emotions showing through. "Don't call me that! That girl disappeared when she was abandoned at an orphanage." If he felt any shred of guilt, he didn't show it but I hoped my comment made him feel bad.

He gazed out at the lights of Venice and I wondered what was going through his mind. Eventually he turned back to me. "How did you get here, Adrienne?"

And so, I told him about the mafia and Julia Rothman. Once I'd finished, he almost looked contemplative, until he met my eye and I realized he was deadly serious. "Do not think for one moment that she brought you here out of the kindness of her own heart."

Surely he didn't think I was so stupid. I knew from the moment I met her that she never did anything due to kindness. She was cold and calculating. There was an ulterior motive to everything. "No one with a heart buys another person." I growled in reply. There was no response and in a quieter voice I asked, "So why am I here?"

"I believe that is because of me." He almost sounded regretful. "Scorpia, and especially Julia Rothman, like to have control."

Suddenly it all made sense. If Yassen was as good at his job as everyone on the island seemed to believe then he could work for anyone, not just Julia and Scorpia. He could take any job he wanted, even if it was taking out the entire board of Scorpia. It made him a very powerful and very dangerous man. But with me around, with Scorpia having me, they could control him.

"Well good thing you don't care so they can't use me." I growled bitterly.

"Adrienne..."

I cut him off. "No. You abandoned me in an orphanage. It was horrible. And you never came back. You never returned. Then here. Everyone expects these great things from me because I'm your child and I honestly don't even know who you are. You've ignored me since you got here and-"

"Enough!" He growled and I fell silent. It was the angriest I'd seen him and it wasn't even obvious. It made my heart thump and I almost recoiled. He was a teacher again, any hint of my father was gone. He was intimidating, quiet, and deadly.

"Adrienne." He started again in that calm and controlled voice he used so often. "I came to the orphanage. You weren't there." He moved to sit beside me, staring at the lights on the horizon. "I'm sorry I didn't look harder. Also, I can't be seen showing favouritism here nor let people know that," He paused and it made me believe he was being sincere, "That you mean something to me. It would not be wise."

"I..." I wasn't sure what I was starting to say and trailed off. I didn't trust him, not completely, not now. I knew too much. After classes on manipulation and emotions, I wasn't sure I could ever really trust properly again. What he said made sense though and he was still my Dad, for some reason, that counted for something.

"Perhaps we should take a trip." He suggested lightly.

I glanced sideways at him. "To where?"

"France."