Chapter 33
Enzo
T he shooting range is empty, which is what I prefer even when I come by myself. But if anyone happened to be here this time, when I have Elise with me, she’d have to sit and watch. As it stands, I have a choice to make. I can still make her watch, or I can challenge her to a shooting competition. I’ve never seen her shoot, but I know she’s trained. I also know my own skills, and I’m confident I can win.
The range is one of the many Family businesses, so I help myself to the selection of guns in the back room. When I emerge, Elise has taken a seat along the wall to watch. She gives me a confused look when I hold up two identical Glocks.
“Let’s see what you can do,” I say.
Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re going to let me shoot?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “Let’s make it a contest.”
“What if I shoot you?”
“Don’t.”
She accepts the gun and immediately opens the chamber to see if it’s loaded. It’s not; I’m not an idiot. She could’ve pointed it at me the minute I handed it over to her.
“I have ammo in my pocket,” I say before leading the way to the lanes where the targets are waiting to be set up.
Once we’re ready to go, I hand her a few magazines, and we head to our own lanes.
“Let’s warm up and then we can see if your formal training was better than my… shall we say… informal training,” I suggest.
She nods and takes her time loading her gun and examining her surroundings. I try to hide how closely I’m watching her, but she looks up at me once she’s ready and gives me a cautious smile.
“Thanks for this. I’m sure I’ve gotten rusty since I haven’t been able to practice while I’ve been undercover. Plus, shooting stuff is one of my favorite ways to burn off my frustration,” she admits.
“What are the other ways?” I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.
“Fucking.”
Her answer is simple, but it shoots me straight in the dick. Before I have a chance to respond, she flips her long, dark hair over her shoulder and aims her gun at the paper target. Three rapid-fire shots hit the poor guy in the heart, and I blink back my surprise. This is rusty?
I know she knows I was watching, but I turn back to my own target and start shooting.
We don’t try to speak over the loud gunshots and through our ear protection. I allow myself to get into the zone and fire off as many shots as I can in quick succession. After a while, I realize she has stopped shooting, so I turn and find her watching me.
“You ready?” I ask, removing my noise-canceling ear muffs.
“Ready to win,” she says, flexing her bicep and then laughing.
“You’re good,” I admit. “I’ll give you that. But you won’t win.”
“I have to be good,” she says, shrugging. “Part of the job.”
“Mine too.”
A strange look flickers across her face. It’s so fast, I’m almost able to convince myself it didn’t happen, but I know what I saw. Unfortunately, it’s gone before I can dissect what it means.
“So how does this little contest work?”
Her subject change lets me know that she doesn’t want to talk about whatever the problem is, so I push it to the back of my mind. “We’ll set up new sheets that have targets on them. Ten targets, ten shots. Whoever gets the closest to all ten bullseyes wins.”
“What’s the prize?” she asks.
I consider my options. The obvious choice would be something sexual. But I can get that whenever I want. This might be my best chance at learning more about her. “Whoever wins gets to ask the other person two questions that they have to answer honestly.”
She looks surprised but nods in agreement after a moment of consideration. “Okay, deal. I have plenty of questions.”
“You should be more worried about your answers to my questions.”
She laughs in my face and then I go get the target sheets from behind the counter. The targets are a variety of sizes, and they’re placed randomly on the page. I have the advantage of having practiced on these exact sheets more times than I can count, but she doesn’t question it or ask for me to level the playing field in some way. I like that she takes a challenge by the horns and gives it everything she has. She did it when she went undercover, and she’s done it every day since. This is no exception.
We step up to our respective places, and I let myself get into the zone, tuning out the sound of Elise’s shots as mine join them. When we’re both done, we retrieve the sheets and lay them next to each other.
Disbelief fills me as I look at the results. “That’s impossible,” I say. There is barely a difference between our sheets. We both hit every bullseye, and it’s too close to call.
“What do we do now? A tiebreaker?”
I shake my head. “Nah. We each ask one question.”
She looks surprised and then I learn why. “You’re willing to accept a tie?” she asks.
I shrug. “I guess the feds aren’t completely incompetent after all. Or at least not all of them.”
Elise laughs, and the sound brings an unfamiliar warmth to my chest. I like when she laughs. Fuck, she’s turning me into such a sap. I should’ve picked a sexy prize.
My mood is quickly turning, but a deal’s a deal. “Ask your question.” Her face falls, so I know I’m doing a fantastic job of fucking up the good time we’ve been having this afternoon.
“Why do you call it the Family? You don’t seem to be actually related to anyone.”
“I am related to a few people. Just some random cousins that I’m not particularly close to. It used to be mostly family, back when my great-grandfather was in charge. But when my grandfather took over, he started letting in his friends. And my father let in anyone who was willing to worship the ground he walked on. I’ve been slowly weeding out people that are more of a liability than I’d like, but it’ll never go back to how it was. But keeping the Lombardi Family name is a tradition that’ll never die. At least not while I’m in charge.”
“Are you related to Sal, Frankie, and Joey?”
I shake my head. “That’s a second question, but I’ll allow it. We’re not related, but they’re my real family. Some things are stronger than blood.”
She nods, then braces herself. “Alright. What’s your question?”
Elise
I resist the urge to bite my lip, not wanting to admit to him that I’m nervous about what he’ll ask. I was surprised when he didn’t argue for a rematch and even more surprised when he kept drawing comparisons between our jobs. My mind flashes back to the conversation we had when I first moved in about how maybe the good guys aren’t actually that good. I still don’t believe that, but it is strange how so many things in my line of work have a counterpart in his job.
I watch him while he thinks about what he wants to ask me. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, and his tattoos are stretched across his forearms in a delicious roadmap of his history. The desire to ask about the stories behind each one surges through me, but I suppress it. I already asked my question, and I don’t want to push him to shut down.
“I’m going to save mine,” he says. “But you owe me the answer to one question of my choosing.”
“No fair,” I complain. “What if I wanted to save mine?”
“Shoulda thought about that before you asked yours,” he replies, shrugging like it’s not his problem. And I guess it isn’t. “But in the meantime, I’m hungry. Let’s go get pizza and take it home. You know at least one of the others is hanging around waiting for us.”
We pack up all the guns and clean up the casings before heading out. Today was interesting, but it was surprisingly fun to spend some quality time with Enzo.