He scowls but adjusts his grip. “I’ll hit it.”
“You’ll hit it when you stop acting like you already know everything,” I say, stepping forward. I grab his arm, forcing it into the proper position. He flinches but doesn’t resist. “If you can’t control yourself, someone else will. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he mutters.
I step back, watching him fire again. This one lands just outside the center, and his scowl deepens. Good. He needs to feel the frustration. They both do.
“Enough for today,” I say after a few more rounds. Their arms are tired, their energy spent. “We’ll continue next week.”
Lev looks like he wants to protest, but Nikolai pulls him back, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
I watch as they head toward the SUV parked at the edge of the clearing, their differences stark even in the way they walk. Nikolai is measured, deliberate. Lev strides ahead, restless and confident. Two halves of the same whole, but far from ready.
My hand tightens around the gun in my grip. The twins don’t know it yet, but everything I do here is to prepare them for the future. A future I might not survive if Tatiana gets her way.
I pull out my Glock this time, a weapon I know better than the back of my hand. The weight is comforting, familiar, a constant in a world of chaos. The forest is silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the morning breeze. I raise the gun, focus on the target thirty feet away, and let my frustration guide the shot.
Bang. The first bullet punches through the center of the target.
Bang. The second lands just beside it, splitting the first hole wider.
Bang. The third shot slams into the middle, perfect and precise. My jaw clenches as I picture Tatiana’s smug face, then Filipp, my half-brother, lurking in the shadows like the snake he is. Every shot is a message to them both. One I’ll deliver if they push me far enough.
The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, sharp and familiar. The birds scatter, their wings a flurry of motion against the treetops. Even the smaller animals flee, the forest surrendering to the sound of dominance. My grip tightens on the Glock as I lower it, the barrel still warm under my palm.
“Still perfect,” Timur’s voice rumbles behind me. I glance back to find him leaning casually against the SUV, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His shirt strains against his shoulders, muscles bulging beneath the fabric. Even in his forties, he’s a force of nature, a man you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley—or anywhere, for that matter.
I park the gun back in its holster and stride toward the vehicle. The twins are already in the backseat, Nikolai with his head buried in a thick book on Russian folklore, Lev glued to some action-packed video game on his phone. Their differences never fail to amuse me.
Timur straightens as I approach, his dark eyes scanning the treeline. “Anything else, boss?”
“No.” I open the SUV door, sliding into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”
The drive back to the mansion is quiet at first, the hum of the engine blending with the rhythmic crunch of gravel under the tires. I glance at the twins through the rearview mirror.
Lev’s the first to break the silence. “So, can we practice shooting tomorrow too?” He sounds hopeful, like he’s already itching for another round.
“No,” I say, my eyes flicking to the mirror to meet his eager arctic stare. “Tomorrow, you’re in the studio for Muay Thai.”
He groans, flopping back in his seat with dramatic flair. “Why do we need all this stuff? Shooting, martial arts, fencing—it’s overkill! I’m already good at all of it.”
“You’re not good enough,” I reply, my tone firm but calm. “Not yet. Every skill you learn is another tool. If you don’t have control, you won’t survive. Do the work.”
Lev mutters something under his breath, crossing his arms. I let it go. He’ll figure it out when the time comes—when it’s no longer a training ground but life or death.
Nikolai, ever the observer, speaks without lifting his head. “We still have fencing in the afternoon tomorrow. Isn’t that enough?”
“Enough is when you stop questioning and start excelling,” I say, shifting my focus back to the road. “Holidays don’t mean laziness.”
Timur glances at me from the driver’s seat, his hands steady on the wheel. “You’re working them harder than some of your men.”
“They’ll thank me one day,” I reply, though the weight of my own words sits heavy in my chest. Am I pushing them too hard? Or not hard enough? If they don’t learn now, the world waiting for them will tear them apart.
Timur chuckles softly but lets the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. “Speaking of family,” he says, his tone lighter, “Alya was in the stables when I left. She’s got those horses eating out of her hand.”
A small smile tugs at my lips, brief and rare. “And you spoil her more than anyone.”
He shrugs, unrepentant. “She talks back more than anyone, too, but she does it with charm. Makes you feel like you’re the one in the wrong.”
