Marcello rushed into the alley, with a serious, critical expression, having not seen what she had done, or heard what she had said.

He stood in front of her, giant hands on her shoulders as he assessed her for injuries.

"I'm fine," Bambina shrugged, unfazed by what had just happened.

Marcello stood there, staring at the scene before him, Bambina stood, gun no longer in hand, staring back at him, no emotion showing in her eyes, as an innocent smile played on her red lips.

At her feet was a dead man, bruises forming on his neck and a hole in the middle of his forehead, red liquid leaking out of it, his face pale.

Marcello stood somewhat stunned, and so did the other gang members that went to the club, even the ones who were present for her 'slip up' were completely surprised, not believing she had it in her.

Marcello rushed forward and carried Bambina in his arms, leaving to go to his car.

The unsaid order went forward as other members began cleaning up the crime scene, the dead body was left for last.

The man with now pale skin with a small bullet hole in his forehead, the bullet lodged in the bricks that were behind him, a large hole now at the back of his head from where the bullet had exited.

The man was a divorced man and a father to 2, his wife having left him for a younger, richer guy. After wallowing in his self grief by partaking of drugs and borrowing money to buy the drugs, he had finally decided to straighten himself out, as his wife moved out of the country, leaving his 2 kids under his care. Aiming to be a good father for his children, he was out to celebrate with his friends, who failed to turn up at the club, leaving him all alone.

His wife was never coming back, his children were soon going to find out that their dad was never going to come home and they were now going to be raised by their dying grandmother, as their father laid in a small pool of his own blood, killed by the infamous Lorelai.

Treating Bambina like fine china, Marcello strapped her in and sped all the way home, no words exchanged between the two as Bambina stared calmly out the window, the events of the night slowly filling into her head, eyes widening in surprise and shame at her actions.

She had killed a man.

She had taken a life.

The voices in her head were gone for now and she was glad, they weren't a good influence, and she didn't always like the violence that the voices constantly promoted.

The sun was no longer in the sky, the sky littered with stars staring down at her, in shame Bambina thought, her mother would be ashamed.

They reached the large mansion, Marcello carrying her up to their room, as she looked dazed, staring into the distance, eyes glassy and empty.

She was slightly dumbfounded that she was still capable of doing that after all this time.

Killing someone must've been like riding a bike, you never really forget how to.

The gun had felt like an extension of her own arm and now, she felt somewhat better and worse than she did before.

She didn't even notice that Marcello had changed her clothes - he had not peaked out of respect for her.

She was now laying on the bed, eyes staring at the plain ceiling, the moonlight obstructed by trees cast shadows on it, forming a hand-like-shadow, reaching towards her.

Closer, closer and closer.

Like it was going to wrap its fingerlike tendrils around her neck and suffocate her, and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it, because you can't fight the shadows.

Marcello wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards his warm body, moving her so she was now facing the side.

While Marcello was able to fall asleep that night, Bambina couldn't, every time she closed her eyes she had flashbacks of her past.