39. Luca
LUCA
I let go of Milana and give her elbow a squeeze. “Come down with me to the basement. There is a place where we can do some target practice.”
I wanted to teach her the basics here, but with the baby’s things everywhere, I can’t stomach it. This violence will stay as far away as possible from my wife and her—our—child.
“Okay.”
She reaches for the gun, but I stop her.
“Safety first, princess.” I take the gun and hold it out to her. “Repeat after me: treat all guns as loaded and ready to shoot. Never point at something you’re not willing to kill. Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. And know your target and what’s behind it.”
She sighs, and it’s soul-deep. “Luca. This isn’t something I’m going to master in a few hours.”
“Best you pay attention then, because I’m not walking into a trap over there without you knowing how to shoot a 9mm at the very least.”
“Is that what it is?” She dips her chin to the gun in my hand.
“Yes. By far the best to learn with. Now let’s say those words together and drill them in deep.”
She follows my lead, repeating the most basic gun safety rules, then asks, “How are we going to fly with guns?”
“We’re not. But let’s not worry about that now.
” She shudders but holds out her hand. I pass the gun to her, muzzle down.
“This one has the safety mechanism here, in the trigger, so no need to worry about the safety being on or off before you need to use it. Always point it downwards, unless you’re shooting at someone. ”
“Obviously. It’s so heavy,” she says, surprised. “Is it loaded?”
“No. We’ll shoot blanks for now.”
Benedict huffs a sigh, and we both glance at him, having forgotten he’s even there.
“Is this the baby bag you’re taking with you?” He points at a pale pink bag on the sofa that could only be for Zoe’s things.
“Yes.” Milana hands the gun back to me, clearly uncomfortable with it. “Just a few days’ things.”
“Good. I’ll put a tracking device in the lining and add a few extra things you might need. Nothing to trigger an airport scanner. I’ll leave you two to it. See you in the morning.” He stalks off, holding the pink bag and looking bedeviled.
Yep. We’re trying to squeeze the fruit ripe. Things are getting real now, even for him. When we leave here tomorrow, it could be the last time we see each other.
“What other things?” Milana asks me. “It’s a baby’s bag.”
“Exactly. Inconspicuous. Just some cash in every currency we might need. A burner phone. Things we could need if things go wrong.” Pills to take if we need to off ourselves. I’m not taking chances. “Come.”
We follow Benedict but get into the elevator as he continues to his apartment.
“Have you finalized the travel arrangements?” she asks.
“Yes.” I press the button to go down. “We’re flying to Italy with the jet, and from there we’ll take commercial airlines via Istanbul all the way to Saint Petersburg.”
“At least Istanbul is still an option. So many routes have been shut down, it’s almost impossible to get in and out of Russia nowadays.”
“We’re good. We have several passports with the necessary visas to pivot if we need to.”
“I should travel as myself.”
“No. I don’t want you to be pinged at the border. Ben sorted it out. Trust me, with the way he does things, your new identity will already have a travel history on their systems.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how you did it all.”
“Money, princess. And connections.” People who owe us. People who know better than to talk. “Luckily, that’s the one thing we’re not in short supply of.”
Unlike time. Time is against us, and as much as I want it to go slow enough for us to control what’s happening, I also want to fast-forward to the future so I can be sure we made it.
We’ve reached the basement, and I guide her past my collection of motorbikes to a door leading to a wide sound-proof corridor we use as a shooting range. All of us spend time here at least once a week to stay sharp, to practice shooting without thinking. It isn’t a skill you’re born with.
Dominic and Benedict proved early on to be excellent shots, and at some point, the Don had them sharpshooting on the estate just outside of Boston.
That evolved into more rigorous training, to the point where they could have joined the army as sharpshooters.
Personally, I like looking the enemy in the eye before I do the necessary.
We put on safety gear and noise-cancelling headphones which soften gunshots, but we can still talk to each other.
I go through the basics with her. Repeat them many times, making sure she feels comfortable holding the gun with a solid grip.
Stance firm. Align your sight on the target.
Aim. Squeeze the trigger slowly. Again. Again. Again.
I feel her tiring against me, her arm and hand not used to the strain of the grip and the weight of the gun that becomes like death itself if you hold it too long.
“Ready to try shoot?” I ask once she seems more at ease.
“How do you keep it up?” she says, shaking out her arms. “I’m so tired.”
“I know.” I’m exhausted too. The past few days have been hell.
“I want you to try shoot just six bullets, and then I’ll show you the gun we’re travelling with.
After this, that one will be a breeze. And remember, I’ll do the heavy lifting.
This is just in case of an emergency.” The type of situation I’m going to avoid at all costs.
“Okay.” She watches me shove the magazine into place and pull the slide back to chamber the first round. “Now it’s loaded.”
She nods, but sucks her lip, hesitating to take the gun from me. I step behind her, our bodies flush.
“If you have to use this, Milana,” I say in her ear, “you’re not going to have time to think. Thinking could cost you. Shoot to kill the first time.”
Her hand brushes along mine, her fingertips gliding over the veins on my hands, soft against my skin. I tilt the gun for her to take the grip and her fingers tremble as she does, but still, she hesitates.
“This isn’t me,” she whispers, a quiet cry from her soul.
“I know. If I can help it, it never will be you. Breathe and remember what’s at stake. What you will pay to get your child to safety.”
She audibly swallows, her breathing strained. “My life.”
“I won’t let you pay that price. Only over my dead body will it come to that.” I raise our hands together, helping her. Aiming.
“Is it going to be loud?”
“Yes. Don’t flinch. There will be recoil, but don’t let it shock you into losing focus. I’m right here. Keep the muzzle down afterwards.”
She nods. I check her grip one last time, then step back and watch her put a trembling finger on the trigger. “Find your target, princess.”
Still, she doesn’t squeeze the trigger. This is too real for her. Too cold. Too brutal. Who knows what we’re going to face in Russia though.
“Think of who wants Annushka. What they would do to her. Who got you here in the first place.” The treason in their inner circle.
Something in her shifts, as if she sees a target she could kill a thousand times over. She squeezes the trigger and shoots, fifteen times in a row, emptying the magazine.
When she lowers her arm, she’s shaking so much, I take the gun from her before it drops to the ground from her weakened grip. She turns into me, clutching at my shirt, and I gather her close, a hand cupping her head, the other circling her waist.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I try to soothe her as she sobs against my chest.
She’s morphing into something new and maybe she doesn’t love what she’s becoming.
I get it, but in a way, she’s just like me.
From always waiting in the wings, Milana is stepping onto the stage of this world we hail from for the first time.
This idea that we’re walking this new road hand in hand, welding our lives—our very beings—together with every step, gives me the strength and focus to see this rescue mission through.
“I had a hundred opportunities to kill him,” she murmurs into my chest, pulling me back to the past. “More—a thousand—but I was too trusting, too blind.”
“It’s over.” I stroke her back in slow circles.
“Dimitri is dead. The best way to avenge what he has done to you is to fetch Annushka and give her the life he would have taken from her if he’d lived.
She would just have been a tool for him.
A means to an end. She would never have known the freedom I vow she’ll have with me. With us.”
“It’s Zoe,” she says between sniffs. “Zoe Scalera.”
God, that sounds so perfect. I close my eyes, hiding a small smile as I kiss her hair. Whatever inner battle she might have fought against my plan, Milana has fully bought into it. We have trust between us. Now we just need to get Zoe safe and back here for everything else to fall into place.