Page 51 of Married to the Bratva

The shooting range is tucked into the far corner of the mansion’s lower level, a cavernous space with reinforced walls and the faint metallic tang of spent ammunition.

It’s clinical and cold, much like Maxim has become ever since our talk in the library.

“First, the basics,” he says. “You need to know how to defend yourself if someone tries to shoot you.”

“I thought defending me was your job,” I say, my stomach twisting at the sight of the weapon he places on the counter in front of me.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “If I’m not there to do it for you, you’ll need to know.”

He stands behind me, his presence imposing as he guides me through the steps. His hands are firm but careful as they adjust my grip on the gun, his breath warm against my ear as he murmurs instructions.

“Relax your shoulders,” he says, his voice low and steady. “And keep your focus on the target.”

I try to follow his instructions, but my hands are shaking. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about accidentally shooting someone.”

“You won’t,” he replies, his tone confident in a way that makes me hate him a little. “I’m right here.”

His hands rest on mine for a moment before he steps back. I take a breath and squeeze the trigger. The shot is loud, the recoil jolting, and I miss the target by a mile.

“Well,” I say, lowering the gun. “I think that went great.”

Maxim chuckles, stepping forward to adjust my stance. “Again.”

I start to get the hang of it, my shots landing closer to the target, but Maxim’s sharp words and commanding tone begin to grate on me.

“You know,” I say, turning to face him after another failed shot. “You’re really good at barking orders. Does that come naturally, or did you practice?”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. “Would you rather I lie to you? Tell you you’re doing fine when you’re not?”

I glare at him. “I’d rather you stop acting like you’re some flawless god and admit that maybe, just maybe, you’re not always right.”

His smirk returns, sharp and dangerous. “You want honesty? Fine. You’re useless if you can’t pull the trigger when it matters.”

The words hit like a slap, and before I can stop myself, I blurt, “Maybe I don’t want to pull the trigger. Maybe I don’t want to end up like you.”

His expression darkens, and he steps closer, the space between us vanishing. “And what am I, Sophie? A monster?”

I hesitate, the weight of his question pressing down on me. “I don’t know. But you’re not a good person, Maxim. That much is obvious.”

He stares at me for a long moment, then picks up the gun and places it in my hands. “If I’m so bad, then prove it. Shoot me.”

My breath catches. “What?”

He steps back, spreading his arms slightly. “If you think I’m beyond saving, if you think I’m just another villain like Evan, then pull the trigger. Do it.”

The gun feels heavy in my hands, the cold metal biting into my skin. I stare at him, my heart pounding, my mind racing. I could do it. I could end this now, walk away, and leave his world behind.

I lower the gun, my hands trembling. “Not because you’re good,” I say, my voice shaking but firm. “But because I think you could be. And because I want to make sure I get paid before I do something stupid.”

A flicker of something—relief, maybe—crosses his face before he laughs softly, the sound low and bitter. “Always practical.”

“Someone has to be,” I shoot back. “You’re good in bed too. That’s worth keeping you alive for, at least for now.”

His laughter dies, replaced by something darker, more intense. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, stepping closer.

“And you’re infuriating,” I reply, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

The air between us snaps like a live wire, the tension boiling over. Before I can think, his lips crash into mine, hard and demanding. The gun slips from my hands as I grab his shirt, pulling him closer.

---