I’ve never heldsomething designed to kill before.
The Glock sits heavy in my palm, cold metal and lethal potential, and my first thought is that it’s smaller than I expected.
My second thought is that Viktor has one of these. Pointed one at me. Pulled the trigger while I screamed and tried to hide.
My third thought is:Good. Now I’ll know how to point one back.
“First rule.” Matteo’s voice cuts through my spiraling. “Every gun is loaded. Even when it’s not.”
I bite back a sarcastic response because his jaw is set in that serious line that tells me now is absolutely not the time for my bullshit.
So I nod like a serious and attentive student. Gold star for Sierra.
The truth is, I’d been thinking about this all day. Learning to defend myself. Taking back some small piece of control that Viktor ripped away from me. But I didn’t plan to bring it up until I saw Matteo leaning against the brick wall outside the bakery,shoulders bunched like he was bracing for a hit, brows drawn together in that perpetual storm cloud he wears.
He looked miserable.
I don’t know if it’s the wedding planning, the constant threat of Viktor, or something else entirely, but the man needed a distraction. And maybe I need one too.
“The Glock is a good beginner’s gun.” He takes it gently from my hand, barrel pointed at the floor, and launches into an explanation about firing pins and chain reactions and recoil mechanisms.
I’m nodding along, but mostly I’m watching his hands. The confidence in them. The steadiness. Those hands have killed people. Those same hands touched me so gently last night I almost cried.
My life has gotten very complicated.
“You listening, Sunshine?”
“Firing pin, chain reaction, recoil, got it.” I flash him a smile. “Is there going to be a quiz?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. I’m collecting those like stamps.
“There’s a safety.” He shows me a small lever in the center of the trigger. “Has to be pressed before it fires. But none of that matters if you don’t understand the most important rule.”
“Which is?”
“Never point a gun at anything you’re not willing to shoot.”
The words land under my skin and stick there. I think about Viktor’s face two nights ago. The cold fury in his expression right before the first shot cracked through my living room.
“Isn’t that the point?” The words don’t shake. Small miracle. “Shooting someone if I have to?”
“Yes.” Matteo holds my gaze. “But most people hesitate. They point a weapon at another human being and their brain short-circuits because they’re not actually prepared to put a hole in someone. That hesitation gets them killed.”
I think about the way Matteo raised his gun at Viktor in my apartment without a flicker of doubt. No hesitation; just action.
I should be disturbed by that. Instead, all I feel is a dark, twisted relief. Because if Viktor comes for me again, Matteo won’t freeze. Won’t fumble. Won’t give him a chance to?—
“Hey.” His hand catches my chin, tilts my face up. We’re close. Close enough that I can see the faint scar at his temple, the individual striations of blue in his eyes. “Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere good.”
“Then come back.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “You’re here. You’re safe. And by the time we’re done, you’re going to know how to defend yourself. Yeah?”
The knot at the base of my skull unclenches. Just a little.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Okay.”
He releases me and steps back, all business again. “Grip the handle with your dominant hand. Three fingers around the grip, pointer finger along the barrel next to the trigger guard. Not on the trigger. Never on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”
