The Hitman's Secret

Ch. 4: The Soldati

VALENTINA

For the daughter of a mafia boss, Val was hopeless with a gun.

Of course, at first, she gave herself the benefit of the doubt. But, as bullet after bullet soared past her designated target, doubt began to creep in. Soon, the full force of humiliation had Val's fingers trembling around the grip, her entire body rigid with frustration.

A thin bead of sweat trickled down her forehead as she squinted at the target. Only a handful of bullets had hit the outline of the body, leaving black holes peppered across the paper.

For the umpteenth time, Val mentally prepared for the violent recoil and squeezed the trigger. The resounding bang echoed throughout the warehouse gymnasium, and the paper target flapped upon impact. A new bullet hole formed at the edge of the target, a far-cry from the outline's heart that she'd been aiming for.

"Fuck!" she cursed, resisting the urge to throw the entire gun at the target instead.

"You're too stiff," Matteo coached, repeating the same advice he'd been giving for the past hour.

Val ground her teeth. "Thank you, cane. I'm aware."

He didn't balk away from the venom in Val's words. Instead, the smug hitman simply crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back against the nearby wall, an infuriating smirk playing on his full lips. He'd tried, more than once, to help adjust her positioning and stance, but each time he placed his big hands on her waist, she'd brushed him aside. Their close contact only served to worsen Val's concentration and cause her entire body to seize up with want.

Not to mention, Val was acutely aware that she'd earned a small audience of soldiers across the gym. She didn't need these young mafiosi to witness her fall apart beneath the hitman's commanding touch.

Matteo didn't seem bothered by Val's lack of progress or poor attitude. In fact, he'd seemingly contented himself watching her flounder, as if he enjoyed watching her make a fool of herself.

She'd seen him assassinate a man with a quick bullet to the forehead from across a dark warehouse, yet she couldn't reliably hit an unmoving, unalive target from a meager distance after an hour of practicing? Was she truly so hopeless?

No. She refused to believe that. Anger pulsing through her veins, Val lifted the nine millimeter again and fired two shots. Both missed the target completely.

She exhaled a long sigh and prepared to tell Matteo that she needed a break when the subdued sound of snickering reached her ears. Val spun on her heel to find a group of soldiers failing to conceal their laughter across the warehouse.

A few of the mafiosi ducked their heads, pinching the bridges of their nose as if that might conceal their mockery from her. Others boldly jabbed one another with their elbows, and none bothered to reign in their laughter when they noticed her glare.

Fury sparked to life in Val's chest, fueled by intense embarrassment. Before she truly realized what she was doing, she stomped away from the targets, gun still clutched in her hand, and speared toward the men.

"Val?" Matteo called after her, confusion lacing his deep voice. When he seemed to realize where she was headed, however, he wielded a commanding tone that could've brought others to their knees. "Valentina."

Val ignored him. Even though she heard his heavy footsteps following her, she didn't turn around. She wouldn't allow these men to mock and ridicule her. Regardless of her tentative status as heir of the Romano famiglia, Val was still the daughter of the Hollowman.