I felt cold water splash over me, and I immediately opened my eyes, which I instantly regretted because of my throbbing head.

"Ah, she is alive," said a cruel voice in the corner of the room: Domenico. "So, you are the girl I have seen following the Russos around, what are you, a slut that can shoot for them?" he laughed in the exact way I would imagine a villain to laugh, in a way that felt like he drained all of the light out of the room and a way that would probably kill a pot of flowers if there was on in the room. I ignored his question. This was the first time I had been face to face with Domenico, I had obviously seen pictures, but pictures never look the exact same as a 3D face.

He had wiry white hair, with a receding hairline, and bushy white eyebrows. He was an extremely wrinkled man, more so that in the pictures, with hard forehead and frown lines, and large folds by his mouth. I noticed he didn't have any smile wrinkles; he obviously didn't smile that much, if at all. He had a rather large bulbous nose, with a couple of grey hairs poking out of his nostrils, and thin, pursed lips. His eyes were drowned in fury as he stared directly at me. Just as his laugh could kill flowers, his face would also kill flowers, and probably make a child wail in fear, and I bet he would like that, sick fuck.

He spoke in Italian next, telling a man from outside to come in. This man was beefy, with huge arms and legs, and he puffed his chest out. I noticed the slight gleaming of a pair of knuckle dusters on his fingers, and I knew what was about to come next.

Domenico turned towards me, "now puttana you need to pay for what you did to my guards." Did this asshole just call me a slut in Italian?

"Sei un fottuto stronzo," I said back to him, which caught him off guard. (You are a fucking asshole).

"So, the lady speaks Italian..." he came closer to me, harshly lifting my chin up with his index finger, "interesting." He raised his hand and slapped me across the face. "Hopefully you understand this, l'unico modo per uscire qui è in una bara." (the only way you will be getting out of here is in a coffin.) He slapped me again, then with a nod of his head, he indicated to the beefy man to begin.

The first hit was always the worst, and every other felt a little numb after that. I still barely felt pain, but right now, it felt painful. I could feel the blood trickling down my face, from my nose, from my lip, from my forehead, my eyebrow, and I watched as it slowly gathered in pools on the floor. After the man felt he had sufficiently beaten my face, he pulled me from the chair, and threw me on the floor. My arms were still tied, and I couldn't catch myself, so my face and head whacked straight onto the hard, concrete flooring. He kicked me in the stomach a few times and then stopped.

"Uccidila," I heard Domenico say (kill her), and for the first time in my life, I actually felt scared, scared about dying, scared about losing my life, scared about never seeing the Russos again, scared about how upset Nadia would be, and my parents, scared I could never open up to Fabricio... I was just scared.

I looked up, and I was staring right down the barrel of a gun that the beefy man held.

"This is nothing personal," he spoke wickedly, "oh wait... it is."

I heard the click of the gun, but no gunshot. The man threw his gun at the wall, screaming in Italian profanities, and just continued to kick me, stomping on my hand, causing me to actually cry out in pain. He pulled me up by my hair so that I was looking him in the eyes, and he showed me, proudly, a small switchblade. He stabbed it into my abdomen, and I shrieked out in pain. He pulled it out and stabbed it again, and again, and again. A total of four times. Then he dropped me, and with one last kick, straight to my abdomen where he had stabbed me, he spit on me and then left the room. I looked down at my stomach, unable to put my hands over my wounds to cover the bleeding as they were bound behind my back, and I felt tears beginning to run down my face. I watched as my blood slowly streamed out of my four stab wounds, pooling around me, and I felt the life drain from myself. So his is how it felt like to die? I had always wondered, I guess now I was able to know the truth. My eyes were slowly drifting shut, until everything went black.

================