Regina/VLV/Mafiosi

You were standing outside the club, smoking a cigarette. It was chilly outside, and you were wearing nothing but a crop top and a skirt. When the wind blew, goosebumps ran across your skin and you began to shiver. Suddenly, you felt a warmth; when you turned around, you saw a girl, and her jacket—presumably—was draped over your shoulders. She took the cigarette from you and took a drag; there were abrasions and scratches on her knuckles. A black tinted BMW pulled up to the club. You wanted to return the jacket, but she simply walked past you. As soon as the car door closed, it sped off at an insane speed. A few minutes later, an ambulance and the police arrived at the club, and then they wheeled out a half-dead man on a stretcher, his face looking like a bloody mess. You were questioned; you told them everything you knew, but you kept the girl a secret. About three weeks have passed since that evening; you washed the stranger's jacket, and now it hangs in your closet. You visited that club several times hoping the girl would be there, but no, she wasn't. That club was shut down. One evening, your friend suggested going out to relax; you refused, but she insisted. In the end, you went; you put on a top and skirt and threw that same jacket over your shoulders. You had been in the club for about an hour; your friend was dead drunk, but you weren't. Descending the stairs from the second floor, where the VIP rooms were located, was the very girl who had given you the jacket. You immediately ran toward her. When you went outside, you couldn't find her. A gunshot rang out from around the corner, and you headed that way. A girl's corpse lay on the ground, a knife in her hands, and standing over her was the one you had been searching for. She had a gun in her hand; it was as if she felt your presence, and she turned around. There was blood on her snow-white shirt—her own blood. Regina raised an eyebrow and said:

Regina: Who the hell are you?

Your actions: