Page 84 of Brutal Vows

She shakes her head. “I don’t know how you did it all.”

“Money, princess. And connections.” People who owe us. People who know better than to talk. “Luckily, that’s the one thing we’re not in short supply of.”

Unlike time. Time is against us, and as much as I want it to go slow enough for us to control what’s happening, I also want to fast-forward to the future so I can be sure we made it.

We’ve reached the basement, and I guide her past my collection of motorbikes to a door leading to a wide sound-proof corridor we use as a shooting range. All of us spend time here at least once a week to stay sharp, to practice shooting without thinking. It isn’t a skill you’re born with.

Dominic and Benedict proved early on to be excellent shots, and at some point, the Don had them sharpshooting on the estate just outside of Boston. That evolved into more rigorous training, to the point where they could have joined the army as sharpshooters. Personally, I like looking the enemy in the eye before I do the necessary.

We put on safety gear and noise-cancelling headphones which soften gunshots, but we can still talk to each other. I go through the basics with her. Repeat them many times, making sure she feels comfortable holding the gun with a solid grip. Stance firm. Align your sight on the target. Aim. Squeeze the trigger slowly. Again. Again. Again.

I feel her tiring against me, her arm and hand not used to the strain of the grip and the weight of the gun that becomes like death itself if you hold it too long.

“Ready to try shoot?” I ask once she seems more at ease.

“How do you keep it up?” she says, shaking out her arms. “I’m so tired.”

“I know.” I’m exhausted too. The past few days have been hell. “I want you to try shoot just six bullets, and then I’ll show you the gun we’re travelling with. After this, that one will be a breeze. And remember, I’ll do the heavy lifting. This is just in case of an emergency.” The type of situation I’m going to avoid at all costs.

“Okay.” She watches me shove the magazine into place and pull the slide back to chamber the first round. “Now it’s loaded.”

She nods, but sucks her lip, hesitating to take the gun from me. I step behind her, our bodies flush.

“If you have to use this, Milana,” I say in her ear, “you’re not going to have time to think. Thinking could cost you. Shoot to kill the first time.”

Her hand brushes along mine, her fingertips gliding over the veins on my hands, soft against my skin. I tilt the gun for her to take the grip and her fingers tremble as she does, but still, she hesitates.

“This isn’t me,” she whispers, a quiet cry from her soul.

“I know. If I can help it, it never will be you. Breathe and remember what’s at stake. What you will pay to get your child to safety.”

She audibly swallows, her breathing strained. “My life.”

“I won’t let you pay that price. Only over my dead body will it come to that.” I raise our hands together, helping her. Aiming.

“Is it going to be loud?”

“Yes. Don’t flinch. There will be recoil, but don’t let it shock you into losing focus. I’m right here. Keep the muzzle down afterwards.”

She nods. I check her grip one last time, then step back and watch her put a trembling finger on the trigger. “Find your target, princess.”

Still, she doesn’t squeeze the trigger. This is too real for her. Too cold. Too brutal. Who knows what we’re going to face in Russia though.

“Think of who wants Annushka. What they would do to her. Who got you here in the first place.” The treason in their inner circle.

Something in her shifts, as if she sees a target she could kill a thousand times over. She squeezes the trigger and shoots, fifteen times in a row, emptying the magazine.

When she lowers her arm, she’s shaking so much, I take the gun from her before it drops to the ground from her weakened grip. She turns into me, clutching at my shirt, and I gather her close, a hand cupping her head, the other circling her waist.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I try to soothe her as she sobs against my chest.

She’s morphing into something new and maybe she doesn’t love what she’s becoming. I get it, but in a way, she’s just like me. From always waiting in the wings, Milana is stepping onto the stage of this world we hail from for the first time. This idea that we’re walking this new road hand in hand, welding our lives—our very beings—together with every step, gives me the strength and focus to see this rescue mission through.

“I had a hundred opportunities to kill him,” she murmurs into my chest, pulling me back to the past. “More—a thousand—but I was too trusting, too blind.”

“It’s over.” I stroke her back in slow circles. “Dimitri is dead. The best way to avenge what he has done to you is to fetch Annushka and give her the life he would have taken from her if he’d lived. She would just have been a tool for him. A means to an end. She would never have known the freedom I vow she’ll have with me. With us.”

“It’s Zoe,” she says between sniffs. “Zoe Scalera.”