Mia balks at my tone. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think you’d mind. I was told she could come and go as she pleased.”
“No, you’re right, Mia.” I lift my hand to stop her. “She isn’t a prisoner. I’m just surprised she didn’t ask someone to go with her.”
Mia nods, still frowning, before turning back to her work.
I sigh and rake a hand through my hair.
Mia loves Ava like a daughter, and I’m not delusional enough to believe she isn’t cross about how this is unfolding. She’s just too professional to say it.
Unlike Vasily.
I make my way down to the range just above the parking garage, the space nearly soundproof. Ten lanes sit side by side.Pistols only—though we allow the occasional P90 or AR. No high-powered rifles or shotguns. Those belong at the compound.
Ava stands in one of the last stalls, ears protected by hot pink earmuffs, eyes shielded by matching safety goggles. I chuckle quietly. Ava hates pink. Elias used to force her to wear it to make her more feminine. One of the twins must have picked them up for her. She probably doesn’t have the heart to tell them she hates it.
She doesn’t hear me approach. She’s too focused.
Each time before she fires, she draws the gun back to her chest, elbows tight, takes a deep breath, extends her arms, and fires.
Again.
And again.
Her stance is solid, but the frustration rolling off her has nothing to do with form—it’s her aim. I grin as I glance downrange at the paper target.
MATTHIASis scrawled across the top in block letters, the eyes crossed out.
Damn. My woman is vicious.
No.
Not my woman.
Not for much longer.
Some shots land true, but most hit the edges of the paper. I know why. When I tap her shoulder, she turns sharply, setting the gun on the table with the barrel pointed downrange.
Good.
Plenty of my men still forget that.
We may be Bratva, but we aren’t stupid. Gun safety saves lives.
“You’re anticipating the recoil,” I tell her after she removes her earmuffs. “That’s why you’re missing.”
She huffs. “I know. It’s not as easy as it looks.”
I smile and wink. “I know.”
Ava snorts.
I grab spare earmuffs and glasses from the next stall. “Put these on. Get into position.”
She does without arguing.
That alone nearly undoes me.
I step behind her, close enough that her back brushes my chest. My hands settle on her waist, adjusting her stance.
