Trees it is.
Leaning closer, I whisper, “Let me tell you a secret.”
Intrigued, he bends down a bit and is slightly off-balance on the rocky path. “Yeah, baby?” He’s grinning, the smug little prick. I swing my backpack hard and nail him in the side of the head. He hits the ground with a satisfying “oof!” as I dart through the trees and onto a more traveled path, students looked at me in surprise as I burst through the trees. I can hear him screech“Puttana!”as I head into the Armory building.
He’s such a dick, but I know I’ve made a serious enemy here.
“Take a breath, hold it, squeeze the trigger on the exhale,” I whisper, focused on the target, shooting carefully, precisely until the clip is empty.
“Miss Aslanova, that’s impressive!” Professor Suarez hits a button, bringing the target closer to get a look at my shot placement. “That’s a solid cluster of shots for twenty-five meters.”
He’s a short man, but brawny with thick forearms and capable hands. I caught a glimpse once of his chest when his shirt gaped, he has six puckered scars on his chest. Bullet holes. He was a legendary sniper for the US Special Forces, I’m not quite sure how he ended up here.
His keen brown eyes examine the target as he pulls the empty clip out of my Glock and loads another one. Putting a fresh target sheet on the line, he sends it back down the range. “Let’s try thirty-five meters, concentrate on keeping that tight grouping.”
Going through my mantra again, I take the first shot. It’s wildly off the mark, but the next fourteen bullets all hit the target. Holding my breath, I wait for Suarez to bring the paper target in. He’s examining the shot pattern and whistles. “You really have had no training in firearms?”
Shrugging awkwardly, I can see other students cluster in to see the target. “No. I mean, my brother took me out for target practice a couple of times when I was younger, but…”
Nodding, he folds the paper target and hands it to me. “That’s worth pinning on your wall as a bragging point. Well done.”
Beaming, I feel ridiculously happy for something so small. But Professor Suarez rarely says “well done” to anyone.
“I want to try you on sniper rifles next,” he said. “On Monday, we’ll go through the various weapons and find one that suits you.”
“Thank you, Sir. I would like that,” I’m still grinning like an idiot. For the first time, I feel like I belong here.
Chapter Eight
In which Tatiana discovers the allure of the lighthouse.
Calum Scott, Tiesto - Dancing On My Own
Tatiana…
As a Russian, it is almost unseemly for me to feel optimism, but I do.
In most of my classes, I am catching up with the curriculum. I just passed my exam in Extortion with an A, which seemed to surprise my professor, since he went through it twice before handing it back to me with a sour "Congratulations."
My skill in marksmanship was not a fluke. Professor Suarez seemed to enjoy taking on the role of mentor for me, introducing me to some spectacular weaponry, like the Barrett M82 sniper rifle and the SAKO TRG 42. However, I was not prepared for the recoil and was now sporting yet another black eye from the scope smacking me painfully on my eyebrow.
"At least it's the other eye," Mariya's trying to cheer me up, "now your blunt force facial trauma is at least symmetrical."
"Thanks, bestie," I said dryly. I'm attempting to put some coverup on the bruising while she vigorously brushes my hair. "Why is it that we're going to the lighthouse? It looks like it's one good windstorm from crumbling and toppling over the cliff, crushing screaming students in its path."
“Because everyone is going tonight," she said, "two of the seniors, Louis and Marcel Fournier, are throwing a proper rave, with booze-"
"We can keep alcohol in our rooms and there's a full bar in the dining room," I remind her.
"Great music," Mariya continues, ignoring me, "their father owns nightclubs all over France and Italy, so the sound system they smuggled in is amazing. Plus, there's party favors." She winked at me, pulling half of my long and unmanageable hair up and leaving the rest down in waves.
"Not my thing," I say dismissively, "plus, it's against the rules and if I get kicked out of here, I won't have to worry about an unseen enemy, my brothers will kill me themselves."
Mariya's one of the few people who knows the real story of why I'm here. The Turgenevs and the Morozovs have aligned with my brothers, believing in this case that a threat against one of the Six Families could be a threat against all.
"You've been here a month," she reminds me, "and so far the only thing you've done is study and get beaten up a lot. Though when it's Lucca, you don't seem to mind as much, hmm?"
"If he can teach me enough to get Professor Zimmerman to keep me in his class, I don't care what he does to me," I said, pulling on a thick green cashmere sweater.
