"Don't pull anything!" Bruno stands slowly, hands out in a placating gesture. "Just hand it to Santino. Nice and easy."
"But I want to understand how it works!" I point it at the wall, then swing it around to examine the other side. "You line up these little notches here, right? The sights?"
"Shit," Santino breathes, genuine fear in his voice. "Liana, please. Put down the gun."
"Why? Is it loaded?" I swing it around casually, and the crew all duck simultaneously.
"Fucking hell," Paulie mutters, his face going pale.
"Stop waving it around!" Santino takes a cautious step toward me, hands out like he's approaching a wild animal.
I step back, still holding the gun loosely, examining it from different angles. "I'm just looking! Don't be so paranoid."
"You're waving a loaded weapon!"
"But it's not loaded, right? You wouldn't carry a loaded gun just walking around. That would be dangerous." I lift it up, turning it to catch the light. "How do you even tell if it's loaded? Is there like a little window or something?"
"Liana!!" All four crew members shout at once, their voices overlapping in panic.
Santino moves fast, faster than I expected. He crosses the space between us in two strides, grabs the gun from my hand, and immediately checks the chamber with hands that shake slightly.
"The safety was on," he says. "Jesus Christ! You can't just— what were you thinking?"
"I wanted to see it! I've never held a gun before. It seemed like a good opportunity."
"Never?" He stares at me in disbelief. "Your father is Dominic Costa, one of the most powerful men in Genoa, and you've never held a gun?"
"Papa never let me near them, said they were too dangerous for women." I shrug, playing innocent. "Guess he was right. You all look pretty scared right now."
Santino tucks the gun back into his waistband, then runs both hands through his hair. "You pointed it at yourself. Do you understand that? You pointed a gun at your own head."
"Just for a second. And you said the safety was on!"
"That doesn't matter! You never, ever point a gun at anyone, especially not yourself. Ever."
"But the safety was on! Doesn't that make it safe? That's why it's called a safety, right?"
"That's not the point—"
"Then what is the point?"
He just stares at me. Behind him, his crew is silent, watching this exchange like witnesses to a car accident they can't look away from.
"The point," Santino says finally, "is that you don't touch weapons that don't belong to you. You don't wave them around like toys. And you absolutely don't point them at anyone, even if you think the safety is on."
"Okay." I nod agreeably, as if I'm taking his lecture to heart. "No more touching guns. Got it. I understand completely now."
"No more touching anything," he corrects.
"Anything?"
"Anything in this building." He's looking at me like he's trying to figure out if I'm genuinely this clueless or if something else is happening. If this is an act or if I really am this dangerously naive.
Keep wondering, Santo.
"Can I still touch you?" I ask.
"What?"
