Page 43 of Ruthless Mafia Daddy

“I’m not shooting anyone, Mikhail,” she said, taking a few steps back, and I wrapped my arms around her to keep her from moving further.

“I’m not asking you to shoot people. I just need you to know how to defend yourself. I’ll always protect you, but it’ll make me feel better if you could hold one down if things ever got bad,” I said, and I could feel my heart thudding as I watched the conflict in her eyes.

This was a huge change for her, going from being a regular girl to taking self-defense classes because your boyfriend is a mafia Don, hence your life might be in danger by association is not exactly how I imagine a girl like her pictured her future. I could imagine her dreaming of picket fences, a family cookout, and a cooperate 9 to 5 husband who worked for a credible firm. Ending up with a guy like me was certainly not in the cards when she made lifelong plans for herself.

“I’ve never touched one of those,” she muttered softly, casting an unsure glance at the weapons.

“I know, baby. That’s why I’ve taken it upon myself to be the one to teach you.”

“Alright.” Her voice was barely audible, and I could feel her heart thudding against my chest.

“So, pick a gun,” I said after giving her a moment to collect herself.

“The slender one by the extreme left, second row,” she said, pointing at the Taurus GX4. Somehow, I knew it was going to be her pick. It was the least intimidating.

“Alright.” I walked to the showcase, unlocking the glass with my thumb. I pulled out the gun along with the bullet.

“First, you’re going to learn the parts of a gun,” I said, holding out the gun to her. She was hesitant at first, but after I assured her it was not loaded, she took it and proceeded to inspect it like an object under the microscope.

“It’s really cold and light,” she observed, balancing the metal on her hand.

“Here’s your trigger. You click it to shoot,” I said, pointing at the trigger. “The button above is your safety and should always be turned off, and finally, the part below your grip is the magazine. The bullet goes in there.”

She nodded as I pointed out the parts, her eyes rapidly moving from one point to another as I explained the function of each part.

“Now, I’m going to show you how to load a bullet, then, we can finally work on your grip and aim. Is that okay?”

Her reply came out almost squeaky. “Yes.”

I proceeded to give her a step-by-step tutorial on how to load a gun and fire the first shot. She flinched at the sound, and I stifled a laughter at the act.

After three two tries, she was able to correctly load the load, and it was finally time for her to fire her first shot.

I positioned her body, squaring her shoulders and keeping her legs shoulder-width apart. She’ll try out more relaxing positions as she gets better.

“Now, you grip the gun tightly and brace yourself. It’s not like the movies. There’s a recoil force, and every time you fire, the force of the explosion pushes back at you. I could see beads of sweat coating her forehead as she squinted her eyes to get a better view of the target. “Ready?”

She nodded, maintaining a strong stance. I walked around her, taking a stance behind her and making sure her posture was correct before I gave the final order. “Fire.” Just as I predicted, she almost lost her footing and fell backward and straight into my arms as soon as she released the trigger.

“Woah!” she panted, “That was…that was something.”

“You did fine, princess,” I praised, letting her calm for a while before trying again.

It took about five tries for her to finally get used to the whole thing and fire a steady shot. None of them hit the target, obviously, but at least she could shoot, and I found some relief in that.

We spent the rest of the day driving around and going to some places I felt she needed to know. I had every intention of keeping her in my life long-term, and it was only natural she got acquainted with some of these things.

CHAPTER 18

Arielle

“Why is there a human hulk standing in front of my car?” I stormed into the house, charging at Mikhail, who insisted on taking a long sip from his coffee mug.

“Mikhail?” I called, impatiently glancing at my watch. It was my first time stepping out since we returned from Russia two days ago, and I was already running late for my meeting with Father.

“That’s Angelo. He’ll be your bodyguard starting today,” he replied in the same tone you would use to inform someone you just did grocery shopping.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Mikhail. I can take care of myself. This is overkill.”

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