Anastasia walked into the living room and four of Matteo's men stood there. They were loading guns, and smoking like the sun didn't just rise. The air reeked of heavy smoke that stung her nose. Her eyes scanned the room for Matteo, but instead they landed on Nico who sat at the far end of the room... his legs crossed, a laptop resting on his thighs.
Hiseyes flickered briefly up to her.
"He's waiting for you at the field," he said to her.
She didn't say a word, she just walked past them.
At the far end of the field, Matteo stood behind a long table, loading a handgun. He set it down, picked up a revolver on the table, unloaded, then began loading again.
He had been eight years old when he held a gun for the first time, a real one, not the water guns his mother never really got for him.
'Even a toy can teach the wrong language' she used to say every time he asked for one.
He never understood what she meant then. Now he did. Only that he hadn't learn with plastics. He learnt with steel as cold as the bodies it harmed. Blood rather than water.
Anastasia walked closer to him from behind. Bullets are like breadcrumbs in this house, she thought to herself. She stopped behind him, staring at the silhouette targets ahead of them, the table in front of Matteo filled with guns, bullets and safety glasses. An altar of violence.
Matteo didn't stop what he was doing neither did he turn when she stopped behind him even though he could feel her presence feets away.
"After last night," he said after a while. He was still focused on the gun in his hands. "You need to learn to protect yourself. At least with this."
She didn't reply. Her eyes trailed over his shoulders, the way his shirt stretched tight against his muscles. Her throat went dry, still embarrassed by the wet dream she had that morning of him.
When he finally turned to face her, his expression was blank.
"The last time I saw a defenseless woman, she was in her own pool of blood." His eyes didn't flinch, but the ache beneath his voice was there, the memory clung to him like a painful part of his skin.
He stretched the handgun to her. She hesitated, staring at the gun like he was offering her a power she wasn't sure she could handle. Or worst, did not think was right. Nonetheless, she knew... deep down, that life with Matteo meant danger. And danger required defense, even to protect herself from him.
As she reached for the gun, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into himself. Her back met his chest as he turned her toward the targets ahead. Tension rised in her throat at the warmth of his body against hers. His scent, gunpowder, smoke, and her shamelessness sank into her skin.
The feeling of his bulge touching her made her swallow, and when he mumbled near her ear. His hot breath brushed her neck, and sent shivers between her legs.
"Always treat the gun like it's loaded," he said as his fingers trailed from her left arm down to her hand. He raised it and placed it on the gun, guiding her both hands firmly on the grip, thumbs forward.
"Keep your finger off the trigger," he said, pressing his body closer to hers. "Until you're ready to shoot."
His hands slid down to the curve of her hips. Her body stiffened,and she could feel her pulse pounding faster. When his palms rested on the inner part of her upper thighs, parting them slightly, enough to steady her stance, her heart faltered, and her lace soaking wet. Her own body was betraying her in ways she wished it would not.
He moved back to her hand to teach her how to pull the trigger.
Then in her ear, he whispered. "Now, shoot."
The loud, jarring, and almost deafening shot cracked through the air. She jumped, her whole body shaking. Still, all she could think about was his touch.
"You missed the kill zone, in real life you would be a dead man," he told her.
She glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze with a glare. "Maybe because it's my first time?" she snapped back sarcastically.
A faint smirk crossed his lips. He stepped in again, closer, raising her arms, still pressed against her like he didn't know the proximity had her soaking with nerves. That it was suffocating the last dignity she had left.
"You kill or you will be killed, Anastasia."
Her brain caught on the words, the reality that he was right. She swallowed hard, tried to steady herself, curtailed the panic, ignored the bulge caressing her behind. She shot once. Twice. Again. Each cracked like thunder in her bones.
She hit the kill zones on the targets and a satisfying chuckle slipped out.
"Look," Matteo pointed at another target tucked behind the bushes. "That's the one that kills you while you're celebrating your undue victory." He walked out and left her there.
~~
Later that morning, Matteo headed to the warehouse with Nico and his other men. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, money, and the sharp metallic scent of guns. Men lined the walls, armed and tense. Tables filled with stacks of cash and bullets hanging on walls like portraits.
Matteo stopped in the middle of the room, everyone stilled watching him, anticipating his visit. Without a word, he drew out his pistol and shot one of his men in the leg. The man screamed as he collapsed to the floor.
"Ah, Capo," he gasped, clutching his bleeding thigh.
Matteo stepped closer, staring coldly at him on the floor, his expression unreadable. He shot him again in the other leg, the man's scream followed the gunshot.
"I built this empire with the blood of people like you who think they can cheat me and get away with it." Matteo said.
"Boss, please..."
"What did you think?" Matteo's voice cut through him like a blade. "That the little information you sold them would not reach me? That you would disappear into the wind?"
Matteo kissed his teeth.
"Capo, Mi perdoni," the man pleaded. "Boss please, I'm sorry."
Matteo's jaw flexed. He turned away slowly, then stopped. "You are pardoned," he said.
For a second, hope flickered across the man's face. Then Matteo turned, lifted the gun, and ended it.
He wiped the gun, put it back behind his belt, and looked around.
"Around here, loyalty keeps your heart beating, so the next rat better remembers that we don't bury traitors, we burn them"
~~
Back at the house, Anastasia sits outside the terrace on the floor, by the terrace floor. Lost in thought, fear, sudden longing and, the strange safety that came with Matteo's chaos.
Should she still try to run? Was there anywhere to run? He would find her, no matter where she hid. She belonged to him in all the ways someone owns property. But she missed her life, how it used to smell like coffee and not gunpowder. Makeup, chasing her dream, the quiet chaos of LA, Peach whining, Lori's laughter.
"Lori must be so worried," she mumbled to herself. The image of Nico earlier that morning with a laptop flashed, she sat up quickly, thinking about using the laptop to contact Lori, it was the closest thing to a gadget she had seen in the house and it was a perfect opportunity. She heard cars driving out a while ago, they must all be out.
She stood up abruptly, walked out of the bedroom and as she got closer to the living room, she slowed down her pace. In the living room, two men guarded the entrance from outside, another stood by the open window, smoking. She kept her eyes down, pretending to look uninterested.
She looked towards the dinning area and kitchen. She remembered she had not seen Raquel all day since the previous night. Her eyes scanned the living room. Then she saw the laptop, still on the chair where Nico had sat that morning.
Her pulse jumped.
She moved quietly, pretending to tidy something as she edged closer. The guards barely looked at her. When she finally reached the chair, she grabbed the laptop and sat.
"No password." She smiled to herself.
No Instagram. No social media. No phone. But she remembered Lori's email address.
Her fingers trembled as she typed, her thoughts racing faster than her hands.
Her words halted as a shadow fell over her.
"What are you doing?"
Matteo's voice was deep, the kind that made her startle so hard, she almost dropped the laptop.
Anastasia opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Her eyes darted from Matteo to the laptop as if staring longer would help her come up with a lie. Quickly, she deleted everything she has written, stood up, dropped the laptop on the chair and walked out before he could say another word.
Matteo's gaze followed her until she disappeared down the hallway.
"Why are you standing there?" Nico asked, walking into the house. Matteo didn't respond. He walked to the chair, picked up the laptop, and flipped it open. He knew what she had been doing. That she was definitely trying to contact someone, he just needed to know who.