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LIAM
Watching Ginevra fall apart in that restaurant was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I loved new toys, and she was proving more resilient than I’d expected that first night in her father’s study. She was silent during the ride back to the Russos’, curled up in the back seat, still clutching Cormac’s jacket around her.
As we pulled into the gates, she sat up and pulled out a compact mirror. She had a role to play, the same as we did, and needed to look perfect when she climbed out of the vehicle.
Sofia waited on the front steps, wearing sneakers and jeans, bouncing up and down with excitement. Ginevra met my eyes through the rearview mirror, her smile quiet and gentle. “Heading to the range?”
I nodded and climbed out of the vehicle, offering Ginevra a hand as she exited. She kept her tiny hand wrapped in mine as she stepped out in her kitten heels and didn’t let go of me as we approached her sister.
The two women couldn’t have been more different. Sofia was slender, blonde, and looked like she’d stepped right out of a photoshoot. Ginevra was shorter, curvier, her brunette hair always slipping out to frame her heart-shaped face and generous lips. Their eyes met, and they nodded, an understanding passing through them. The identical expressions of resignation on their faces made it clear they were cut from the same strong cloth.
“Are you ready?” Ginevra asked, smiling at her sister.
Sofia grinned. “I can’t wait!”
Lorenzo rolled down the window of a black SUV as he pulled up to us. Declan was already in the front seat, his eyes scanning the environment. Thank God, Alexi had finally seen the light about security cooperation and agreed to let me coordinate with Lorenzo. Declan was my second in command when it came to security, and there was no one else I’d trust with Ginevra’s sister.
Sofia vibrated with excited energy in the car. How had these two women been raised by the same family? Ginevra was so confident with a weapon, ready to do whatever it took. Her sister had never held a gun before.
As we drove through the city, Lorenzo and Declan updated me on the movements of the Russians in the part of the city controlled by Antonio Russo. They’d chased a gang of teenagers away from the entrance to the port this morning, but couldn’t do anything about the free and legal movement of containers imported by the Russians. Sofia listened intently, absorbing everything we said as if her future depended on it. Maybe it did.
The range wasn’t officially neutral ground, but a motorcycle club ran it and had little tolerance for the bullshit gangsters typically brought with them. Firebug met us at the garage, his eyebrows shooting into his shaved forehead when he saw Sofia. He was a short man, grizzled, red faced, and barrel chested, his blond beard fading to gray.
“So you really have thrown in with the Russos,” he said, his handshake firm.
“Sofia, I’d like you to meet Firebug. He owns this range, and I would trust him with my life. He’s going to run you through gun safety today. Then I’m going to teach you how to shoot.”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, her lips tilting up into a lopsided smile. “Would you trust him with Ginevra’s life?”
I laughed at her audacity. “No. The only men I trust Ginevra’s life with are Rian, Cormac, and myself.”
Sofia laughed to herself as we walked into the range. Firebug made quiet conversation with her, putting her at ease before handing her a small handgun. He ran her through basic gun safety. When he was confident she wasn’t going to shoot someone else or herself by accident, he showed her how to load it.
The woman was a quick study. She mimicked Firebug’s motions exactly, her movements efficient and careful. The Russos were idiots for not taking advantage of their daughters’ brains and charm.
Too soon, Sofia was ready to shoot. I handed her ear protection and a pair of clear goggles. She giggled, but didn’t protest. She’d watched the men in her family shoot for decades, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise to me when she settled into a comfortable and confident stance in the booth.
After an hour, she hit the target more times than not. She was a bloody natural. When she slid her ear protection off, she was grinning from ear to ear. Twenty-two, surrounded by violence, and she was only now learning to defend herself. Antonio Russo was a fucking idiot.
“Why didn’t you learn to shoot as a kid, like Ginevra did?” I asked her as we checked out of the range.
“After what happened to Ginevra, my father wanted to protect me.” Sofia’s smile was rueful. “He wrapped me in bubble wrap and never let me out.”
“Until now,” I corrected her.
A perfectly groomed eyebrow shot up. “Do you think that because my father has agreed to let me learn how to shoot a gun that I’m free from my cage?”
It was too easy to underestimate these pretty Russo women. “Not at all. But if you want to expand the size of the cage a little bit, now’s the time, before your family freaks out because your belly’s getting large.”
She nodded, acknowledging the point. “I wish we employed more women as soldiers, like you do.”
“Irish women have a long tradition of fighting,” I said.
Sofia laughed. “And Italian women don’t? My father was ready to change, but we lost our shot when Ginevra left.”
“And now that she’s back?”
Sofia’s smile was sad. “Who knows?”
