Ashton's outfit and you use the thigh holster to keep your gun safe and you can also put a knife there or a silencer.

Ashton was eight years old when he started training with his brother. He was always the shortest boy in his family and his siblings always seemed to become even more protective as he grew older. His dad would never let him train when he was younger even though his brother was only a year older than him. And Ashton hated that. You'd think that he liked the special treatment, but he wanted to be as strong as his family. Ashton had always been feminine and it had made a lot of the other mobsters take it up on themselves to protect their caro piccola.

By the time he had turned ten, Ashton had a black belt in martial arts. He was sent on his first job to get the money from one of the other mobs after they hadn't paid their way. He killed six men with just a pen knife that night and it was then that Pete knew that his son was made to be part of the business. He had finally become an Irwin.

When Ashton was eleven his dad decided to move. He had come to the decision that their family needed a break after they had lost their mother to breast cancer. It had torn their family apart, but mama Irwin had stepped in, following them so she could make sure her babies were being taken care of.

Mama Irwin had taken on the role of Ashton's mother before she left to visit NewYork. She had always told him that size didn't matter because the bigger they are the harder they fall. Ashton had kept that in his mind and it was one of the things he swore by when he grew older because Jesus Christ, some of the men he took on were fucking huge and he was only just over 5'6. But now they're back home and Ashton's seventeen. They had only just got over grieving for their mother and the D'amico's had decided to murder their beloved mama Irwin.

"One drop of blood and that dress will be ruined," Michael stated, raising an eyebrow as he looked to where Ashton was standing. Ashton glanced over his glasses as he pulled his dress up slightly, tucking his gun into his thigh holster along with his lock back knife. "I don't plan on getting blood on this one," Ashton replied, confidence evident in his voice as the side of his mouth turned up into a smirk. Michael grinned back at him as he tugged on the collar of his leather jacket. "Sure you don't, princess,"

"Quit flirting." Kyle snapped as he slammed his leather covered hand down on the table and Ashton let out a sigh, rolling his eyes as he pulled on his own gloves, giving a quick glance to Michael before he walked over to his brother. "Shall we get started?" Ashton asked and Kyle smiled for the first time that they were in the room, bowing as he put his arm out. The hostage came into the view as Kyle moved out of the way. "Take the blindfold off and keep the gag in," Ashton mumbled.

The man's brunette hair had become greasy from the sweat. He was strapped tightly to a metal chair. His wrists to the arms and his ankles to the legs. Ashton's gaze fell to the blood that had seeped through his shirt from the wounds on his body while Michael walked behind the man, untying the blind fold before realising the man was still passed out.

Ashton walked forward, taking the mans face in his hands. "It's time to wake up, sleeping beauty," he sang, slapping his cheek. He got no response and Ashton let out a frustrated sigh before he stepped back, swinging his arm with more force as he hit him harder. The man finally let out a muffled groan, his eyelids flickering as he came around. "Rise and shine sweet cheeks," Ashton smiled. The guy's eyes shot open, narrowing at Ashton as he tried to rock the chair, pulling on his restraints. "We're going to remove the gag. If you don't shut up, I'm going to put a bullet in your leg, okay?" and the colour drained from the man's skin as he nodded, hesitantly.

Ashton gave Michael the a-okay to remove the cloth gag before it was loosened, pooling around his neck. "Okay, Vic. I'm guessing you know why you're here?" Ashton asked. Silence surrounded them as Vic put his head down. "Show him what happens if he doesn't answer," Ashton ordered. Kyle took a step forward before tightening his fist, the brass knuckles shining when the light hit them. His fist connected with Vic's jaw, a groan escaping from his lips. The cracking sound was deafening as it echoed throughout the basement and it would make the weak feel nauseous if it happened before their eyes. "Oh, there goes your tooth," Michael chuckled.

Vic coughed, spitting out the blood that had gathered in his mouth. "Can't the princess do it himself?" He taunted. Ashton let out a laugh, shaking his head as he turned to the table behind him. His finger skimmed across the various weapons that were laid out on the table before he stopped, picking up a gun. "Okay, asshole, we're gonna play a little game," Ashton sneered as he clicked open the cylinder, emptying the bullets that were in the gun. "It's called Russian roulette," and Vic let out a cry for help as he pulled on the rope that was restraining him, leaning his head back as he looked up at the cracked ceiling.

Ashton hummed to himself as he made his way over to their hostage, pushing one of the bullets into the cylinder. He threw the rest of the bullets to the floor, his hand spinning the cylinder before he popped it back, placing the gun to Vic's temple. "I want you to tell me where D'amico is hiding. Every time you don't give me the right answer, I pull the trigger. Lucky you might get another chance to answer," Ashton stated, blowing a bubble with his bubble gum before popping it with his lips.

"Go to hell," Vic spat and Michael snorted behind him as Ashton stared blankly, sighing in annoyance. "Wrong answer," he pulled the trigger on the gun, Vic flinching as the gun clicked to the next barrel. "I'll ask you again, fuck face," Ashton sneered as he grabbed onto Vic's chin. "Where is D'amico hiding?"

"Come and ride my cock, princess. I might start talking," Vic whispered. Kyle pushed Ashton back from Vic, clenching his fist before he sent another hit to his face. Another crack and blood began to pour from his nose. Ashton stood back into his spot. "Wrong answer," and another click was heard as Ashton pulled the trigger, the sound of the cylinder echoing as it moved to the next barrel. "You might not be so lucky next time," Michael stated, Vic, groaning from the pain that Kyle had brought upon him as blood started to run down his chin.

"Okay, okay," he pleaded, as he tried to rock his chair, looking up at Ashton. "I don't know where D'amico is but I know where his brother is, our third in command," Ashton brought the gun back to his head. "Keep talking," Kyle ordered. "He's at D'amico's house, the one on the outskirts of town," he rambled out. Ashton rose his eyebrows. "The family house? I didn't think anyone would be that stupid to stay there again after last time," He snorted as he looked over to Kyle who shrugged his shoulders in response. Vic shook his head. "They got some people to build it back up,"

Ashton pulled his gun from Vic's temple, smiling down as he stepped away from him. "Thanks, Victor, you've been really helpful," The older one's shoulders slumped as he relaxed in the chair. "Thanks for letting me live,"

"I didn't promise anything," Ashton replied, a smirk on his face once he pulled out the gun from his thigh holster. "Famous last words," he asked. Victor instantly started to tug at his restraints again. "You fucking little faggot. You said you'd let me live if I talked. I swear to god when I get out of--" before he could finish, Ashton held the gun up, his finger pulling the trigger. The gun shot rang throughout the basement, Vic's body slumping as his head lulled back, a hole resting between his eyes.

Ashton groaned, looking down at his dress, blood drops seeping into the white from the splash back. "How the fuck--" Michael laughed, shaking his head. "I told you so," Ashton scrunched his nose up at him in response. "You got more on you though. It splattered on your face. Shouldn't have stood behind him," Michael shrugged in response, not really fazed about the blood or his shirt that was ruined.

"I'm sure I'll live,"

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