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“Perhaps you could tell Roman of our plans for the day.” A woman clad in a plethora of enviable, skintight blue leather and fiery-red hair steps out of the shadows.
If I hadn’t had the building cleared before we arrived I might have been worried, but I called Sonja out of the compound to assist in today’s activities. Holding back my reservations for the unpalatable woman who fought me at every turn when I proposed the idea initially, I pushed until I finally lost my patience and said exactly what I thought of her methods. Only then did she smile, pat me like I’d been a good dog, and went quietly on her way.
Until now.
“I know Roman’s birthday isn’t for another nine months,” I started. I was still furious with myself that I missed the opportunity to celebrate with Willow last year and keen to rectify that this year. “But yours is coming up shortly and I didn’t see a reason not to celebrate with a little family bonding of the knife-throwing variety.”
Willow sent me a look askance, no doubt calculating the risk factor of today’s venture, while Roman banged his booted foot on the floor in a show of approval. I’d take that simple joy and run with it.
Sonja cleared her throat.
I grinned. “And the lovely Lady Sonja will be teaching us all.”
She nodded sourly at the false title I bestowed upon her that suited her oh-so-fucking well, and unrolled a strip of finely tooled leather that held dozens and dozens of finely honed and recently sharpened blades of all varieties.
I hadn’t told her as much, but I’d been lucky to receive training in London with Konnor when I was a little younger than Roman was now. The skill saved my life several times in the early days, and when she offers me my pick of the weapons and points to a series of targets lining the far wall in various all-made-up in shocked, bang-bang sort of cartoonish human silhouettes, I keep my walk slow, perusing my options. It’s all for show, because I’ve already made up my mind.
Perhaps it’s time to up the ante on skill level from the baby practice knives we’ve been working with.
Picking out six identical blades, I walk the row as she talks, not waiting for her to clue me in on the demonstration. Her tone remains soft, with a slight eastern European inflection, perhaps Ukraine or Romanian. Weighing the knives gently in my palms I sink back into the mindset required, a calm space with a hollow breath.
Each blade leaves my hand as I meander across the row at the same distance Willow and Roman will be learning at, though I barely spare a glance at the targets. By the time Sonja gets to my part of the production, each of the blades I picked are embedded to the hilt in the center of each evenly spaced target.
Sonja faces the targets, her face expressionless as is her personal habit, though I swear an eye twitches.
Roman begins to applaud but before he makes it to the third clap, Sonja discards her pleasant persona, whirls on the table, picking out six smaller blades almost dart-sized bearing a slight curve, like a crescent moon, and throws them under arm like a deadly frisbee.
Each throw knocks my blades from the targets and leaves a broadly etched scar across the center, rendering them all useless.
I smile, joining in with Roman’s applause, glad I picked the right teacher for the two most precious people in my world. I headed off to find the extra targets Dom prepared and stashed away as spares in case of just such an event. Though perhaps I need to have a talk with him about his obvious sense of humor. The spares looked more like they belonged in a Dick Tracey flick than an empty mafia warehouse.
Dom is absent, though I don’t know if he is on baby duty or Thalia duty, or if those things are one and the same now.
When he turned up in my house covered in blood and bearing a remarkably spotless child for all the gore that decorated his body head to toe, Thalia had been inconsolable, alternating between clutching the child and railing at Dom with her small, clenched fists until she was exhausted. Then he took her upstairs for a little quiet time, and I imagined, for the same conversation I had with Diego regarding the beheading of Daemon Cross and what the fuck we were going to do with his remains. Diego was all for framing the bloodied mess, though I wasn’t certain Thalia would appreciate the effort.
Which still left the matter of Dominic Barese wide open. While he completed the jobs I required, he had been notably absent for the past two weeks, and I knew our lives were at a parting point.
And for that, I had a plan. But first, Roman—and my wife—needed to know how to better defend themselves if my silent and deadly shadow was to be replaced in part by the stunning Lady Sonja.
That last memento slips unbidden from my lips and her next knife embeds itself in the target I am still fixing to the premade frame.
I send her a slow look over my shoulder, but as expected, she neither backs down nor smiles, or gives any other reaction. Instead, she strides across to my wife, fixes her stance in the briefest of gestures, and moves right along to hang with Roman.
Or maybe not hang with him, but she tutors the boy as agreed. Standing side by side, they are of a height and I note how similar in age my wife and Sonja are.
“If Roman has another growth spurt this summer, he’s going to dwarf her,” Willow murmurs, her gaze fixed in the same place as mine.
I turn away, knowing Roman is in the best hands we have and confident in Sonja’s ability not only to protect our ward, but to lay down her life for him, if necessary.
You won’t expect it when it happens.
I close my eyes and will Konnor’s caustic, strained threat out of my head. Whatever burgeoning friendships Roman made at my old school I hope none of them end the way mine have.
“We’ll be all right, Rafe.” Willow, ever my mind reader, leans into my side. “Is this right?” She holds up the knives in the worst grip I’ve ever seen.
I take the comfort she offers, pressing my mouth over hers for a distracting moment, sliding my tongue seductively along hers, and break the kiss off before I take it too far. “Atrocious. Chef Luca would be appalled. Maybe I should have him punish you … again.”
Willow squirms in the circle of my arms. “Maybe we should try for a lesson with him,” she said breathlessly.
