Chapter 11

**Rebelle Simmons POV**

"Took you long enough," I said calmly, looking at the man who was going to take my life away.

"What's your name?" He said, venom lacing his every word. His voice was deep, commanding, and intimidating – the kind that would normally instill fear, but I oddly felt at ease with my fate.

"Rebel," I stated, leaning my head back.

"You actually expect me to believe that?" He said coldly.

The fuck? Does it look like I'm in any type of position to lie about such a trivial matter?

"In what way would it benefit me to lie?" I replied, raising my arms and motioning to the cement hellhole surrounding us.

Judging by the way the younger man reacted to his presence before being ordered out of the room, I deduced he was the head figure. Their subtle similarities suggested they were brothers, with this brute being the elder.

His demeanor, attitude, and personality aligned with the characteristics of a modern-day narcissistic psychopath. Could this be Vino? No pictures were found during my not-so-thorough research, and articles even suggested no one had seen his face. Time to find out.

"For an IQ of 200, you certainly are quite dense," I said, closing my eyes again to escape his deadly glare.

"How do you know who I am? Who do you work for?" He asked, his emotionless expression making it difficult to read him.

"You just confirmed who you are with that statement, Vino," I smirked. Their databases must have been lying about his IQ.I heard heavy steps quickly make their way across the room, gradually becoming louder with each passing second.He roughly grabbed my face with one hand, squeezing my cheeks roughly

You'll look at me when I'm speaking to you, ragazza." He growled, my face millimeters away from his. His masculine cologne overwhelmed my senses.

Did he seriously just call me a girl? What a prick.

The only time I've been this close in proximity with someone was when my father use to beat me. I've become a master at controlling my emotions over the years of abuse, never giving him the reaction he wanted: crying,screaming, fear. Come to think of it, I haven't felt fear in 6 years. My emotions hardly displaying from the years of constantly pushing them down into the dark abyss that is my subconscious.

"I'll ask you again. Who. Do. You. Work. For," he spat.

I was hoping to feel some sort of emotion before I died,hell, just to see if I was even still capable of feelings. But even with a sexy killer in my face and being locked in a torture room, I still didn't feel fear, a little bit of lust, but not fear

"Myself," I replied, unfazed by his threats or his closeness.

"Why did you steal from me?" He asked, moving his left hand and placing it on the wall next to my head, trapping me within his muscular arms.

"Because I felt like it, ragazzino," I said, staring him in his beautiful grey eyes. He looked at me as if analyzing something in his mind.

"You know what happens when you steal from the Vinos, no?" He asked, removing his hand from my face and running it softly down my cheek.

Such a sweet gesture before my impending death.

"Judging from my surroundings, I'd assume death. So hurry up. On with it," I stated, rolling my eyes.

Dante smirked slightly at my words, seemingly amused by my abnormal behavior. I'm probably the most compliant victim he's ever had to kill.He pulled out a glock from his waistband and held it in

front of my face. He leaned in closer to me, his lips grazing my ear.

He pulled out a glock and held it in front of my face. Leaning in closer, he whispered, "Tell me, gattino, are you not afraid of death?"

First, he called me a child. Now a kitten. Couldn't he at least call me something more intimidating?

"Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once," I whispered in his ear.

He stood up, gun still pointed at my head. "Never would have taken you as a Shakespeare kind of girl," Dante said.

When my father would beat me, or bullies would torment me, I always thought of this quote from Julius Caesar. I refused to be a victim, a coward who would shy away from hardship and turmoil and allowing others to kill them piece by piece until there is nothing left. Forever going through the motion of being alive but internally are already dead.I always found a way to survive whatever was thrown at me, and conquer it. Even if it is a bullet between the eyes...

I'd rather own that shit then spend my last breaths cowering in fear

"What can I say, he has a way with words," I shrugged. The banter was getting annoying. I tilted my head forward, forehead against the gun's cold metal.

"Now, if you'd please do the honors. I have a date with death, and it's rather rude to be late for such an important occasion," said rather impatiently. I looked up into his grey eyes. Admiring the last sight I will see before I get sent to the fiery gates of hell. At least God gave me a good view before I left this world for good

His lip twitched upward, as if fighting a smile. I couldn't distinguish if he was excited to put me out of my misery or found my attitude towards death humorous.

He cocked the gun as his finger started to press down on the trigger. I closed my eyes, patiently awaiting death, thinking of all the people I'd haunt once I'm dead.

The door burst open, causing a groan to escape my lips. I've come to terms with my demise, why can't it just happen already?

"Dante! What the fuck is wrong with you! I told you not to hurt her!" A familiar voice screamed, her accent echoing against the concrete. My eyes are still closed as I heard heels quickly walk across the hard floor.

"Zia, I-" Dante exclaimed. I felt the cold metal of the gun lift off my forehead.

I opened my eyes to see Giana Jones smacking Dante Vino upside the head like a disobedient child.