I tripped and fell, my knees digging into the cold hard ground. "Ow," I groaned.

"Dalia! Get up now!" my dad harshly ordered and I quickly got to my feet. The pain in my knees combined with the fear and sadness I got from being snapped at made a lump form in my throat but I swallowed it down. I was older now, meaning I was stronger. I shouldn't – no – I wouldn't cry. I followed behind my father who was walking so fast, I had to jog at some point to keep up. I wanted to ask where we were going but his anger at me from earlier kept me silent. What was wrong with him?

We entered a room and there were three men inside. One was smoking a cigar. He had black greying hair and hazel eyes. His beard was a replica of his hair and the rings around his fingers gave him a dangerous air. He had a tattoo on the side of his neck but it was too dark for me to make it out. The other two men stood beside him, facing forward and completely stoic. His bodyguards I guess. The older man stopped smoking and then glanced at my father then at me.

I moved closer to my dad, trying to hide myself behind him. I was beyond terrified now and I just wanted to leave.

"Is this her?" the old man asked.

"Yes," my father replied. What was going on?

"Not ideal. She's not enough but not to worry. We'll shape her," the old man said, his Italian accent thick and rough.

"My money?" my father asked and the old man flicked his finger at one of the bodyguards who brought a briefcase forward. Opening it, there was a lot of money. Bundles and bundles of 100 dollar bills. My father slowly moved forward, inspecting the money then sealing the case shut and taking it.

"She's all yours," my father said as he backed away from... me?

One of the two men moved forward and grabbed my arm. My head snapped to my father. "Dad? What's going on?" I asked but he turned and walked away as another of the guards came and held my other arm.

"Dad? Dad? Dad?! Where are you going?! Let go of me! Dad!" I screamed. Tears started to spill and I wiggled, trying to get free. I kicked, bit, scratched and hit. No matter how much pain I gave them, no matter how much I screamed and struggled, the men never let go.

"DAD! COME BACK! I'M SORRY! PLEASE! DAD! YOU FILTHY FUCKERS! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME! HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

My head snapped to the side, my cheek stinging. It took me a while to register that the old man had slapped me and his rings had cut into my cheek.

"You my little spitfire have that flame inside you that personally, I don't like. Not to worry. Jordan will reduce that flame to nothing," the old man said. "Take her away."

I was dragged, physically drained to a black tinted van. I was bound, gagged and a black bag was thrown over my head. I was thrown into the van, rolling and hitting my back on what felt like a pole. My tears had long since dried. I couldn't cry anymore. I was hollow. A body without a soul. Nothing mattered in that moment and the next but my survival.

Because in that moment, I made a promise, a vow. The old man, my father, mother and siblings would pay. Even if it was the last thing I did.

I know I said you don't hate blood but that was a lie. Hate runs deeper when betrayed by blood.

And I'll make sure they know it.