Chapter 19
We were going over last month's numbers, and I was pleasantly surprised by the increase in revenue.
Laying down the gauntlet on so many of the issues plaguing this place, like people tipping their way in, security not protecting the clientele like they should have, and so many other things, seemed to have helped.
“Oh, Pretty Boy.” Closing my laptop and leaning on the desk, I dropped my voice into that of his Goddess but added a bit of sweetness that had him looking up at me instantly. “I need to go to the range. Think you can best me?”
He scoffed. “You? You can do party tricks, but you think you are a better shot than I am?” The irony, naturally, was completely lost on him. He'd seen me wield a riding crop with deadly accuracy, but apparently that didn’t translate to firearms.
Men. It’s not like I hadn’t already proven myself a good shot when he tossed that coke into the air at my dad’s and I pierced a hole through it like it was nothing.
“What’s the bet?”
I let my gaze travel over his well-manicured suit, but when he shifted, I smirked. “I’ll release you from your cage for now.”
His head tipped to the side as though he were thinking it through. Is it possible he enjoys it? After weeks of being locked up, unable to masturbate on his own?
“Okay. If you win?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure my pretty boycan come up with some way to repay me.”
“Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, we were checked in at the Azzaro private range and standing in our respective stalls.
The air smelled faintly of burnt gunpowder and misogyny, as the place consisted mainly of those under Azzaro’s employ who wanted to have a dick-measuring contest. Par for the course.
Gavriel, ever the showman, spent a good five minutes adjusting his overpriced ear protection and fussing over his custom-made pistol.
"Ready to lose, Goddess?" He smirked.
"Oh, I'm quivering with anticipation, pretty boy," I replied, keeping my voice low but already adjusting the grip on my own firearm. My father had given me the Glock years ago and had made sure I knew how to use it. Operating it was second nature. Not to mention the fact that I’d had to use it for personal protection over the years.
The targets were set up at twenty-five meters, and Gavriel, predictably, went first. He half turned toward me, staring me down, before he pulled his weapon and unloaded.
The resulting shots were . . . adequate.
A respectable grouping, but hardly impressive for someone who was the heir to a mafia family.
Sure, it would have gotten the job done on the streets, but I expected a cleaner cluster.
My turn. I took a deep breath and ignored Gavriel's smug expression. Rolling my eyes, I aimed and emptied my magazine. A perfect grouping in the bullseye.
The silence that followed was almost deafening, broken only by the faint whirring of the ventilation system. Even the others in the adjacent stalls seemed impressed, which was saying something.
"Well, well," I said, my voice dangerously sweet. "Looks like someone needs to spend some more time at the range."
The look on Gavriel's face was perfection—jaw slack, eyes wide with disbelief, that constant smugness disappearing like smoke.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed his pride, and a flush crept up his neck and reddened his cheeks, the perfect complement to his wounded masculinity.
The man actually sputtered for a moment before he said, “Th-that was . . . luck!”
“Luck?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow, patting him on his chest. “Or perhaps, pretty boy, superior skill?”
He blinked at the target again. “I . . . Well, fuck.”
Putting the safety on and placing my gun on the counter, I leaned against the divider and looked at him. “Looks like another week in the cage.”
With a heavy sigh, he said, “Yes, Goddess.”