The warehouse smelled of oil and dust, its dim lighting casting long shadows on the concrete floor. Valeria stood in the center, still gripping the gun Matteo had given her, her fingers curled so tightly around the cold metal that her knuckles turned white.
The weight of it was foreign, heavy.
Just like the weight of her new reality.
She was no longer Luca's discarded bride. No longer the woman who had once believed in fairytales, in love.
No—those illusions had died the moment he betrayed her.
Now, she was something else. Something raw. Something dangerous.
Matteo leaned lazily against a stack of crates, watching her with an expression that was equal parts amusement and calculation. His dark eyes sparkled, as if he were assessing her, testing her, waiting for her to break.
She wouldn't.
Not again.
She lifted her chin, refusing to let him see the storm raging inside her. "What now?"
A fake smile at the corner of his lips. "Now, you learn to survive."
Matteo pushed off the crates and closed the distance between them in two strides. He reached for the gun in her grip, but she didn't let go.
His brows lifted. "You're holding it wrong."
She squeezed her jaw. "Then show me."
Something dark changed in his looks, something dangerous. He moved behind her without another word, his body close enough that she could feel the heat of him against her back. His hand slid down her arm, rubbing his fingers over her skin as he adjusted her grip on the weapon.
Valeria tense.
She hated the way her pulse betrayed her, the way her body reacted to his nearness despite everything. He was a man carved from ice and power, a man who owned the city's underworld—he was the last person she should feel anything for.
She pushed the thought away.
"You see the safety?" Matteo murmured against her ear, his voice low and controlled.
She swallowed. "Yes."
"Flick it off."
Her fingers moved over the gun, doing as he said.
"Good. Now, if you're going to use this, you aim for one thing."
She expected him to say the heart or the head—something clean, precise.
Instead, Matteo's grip tightened over hers.
"The knee."
Her breath jerked. "What?"
"You don't go for the kill," he murmured. "Not at first. You shoot for pain. For power. A man can't run if his knee is shattered. He can't fight back."
His words sent a shiver down her spine.
Luca's face flashed through her mind.
A knee shot. Not a death blow.
She could picture it—him on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, powerless for once.
The idea made something dark bloom inside her, something she never knew existed.
Matteo moved back, and the loss of his heat made her shiver. She turned to face him, keeping the gun at her side.
"I didn't agree to be your soldier," she said coldly.
Matteo smiled. "And yet, here you are, learning how to shoot."
Her grip tightened. "I'm not yours."
He studied her for a long moment, and for the first time, the amusement in his looks faded. "No," he said softly. "You're not."
For some reason, the words sent a strange ache through her chest.
Matteo stepped back, his usual arrogance returning. "Get some rest, princess. You start training tomorrow."
She tensed at the nickname but didn't argue. There was no point.
Instead, she turned and headed toward the stairs that led to the upper level of the warehouse. Matteo had told her there was a room prepared for her—one that was safe from the outside world.
From Luca.
From the life she had once known.
But as she climbed the stairs, she knew the truth.
She wasn't safe at all.
Not from Luca.
Not from Matteo.
And certainly not from herself.
Later That Night
Sleep didn't come easily.
She lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying every moment of the past twenty-four hours.
Her wedding.
Luca's betrayal.
The gun in her hands.
Matteo's voice, whispering against her ear.
A cold ran through her.
She hated him.
Hated how easily he had stepped into her life, taking control when she had none. Hated how he saw through her, how he seemed to know exactly what buttons to push.
But most of all—she hated that she needed him.
Because as much as she wanted to believe she could handle Luca on her own, she couldn't.
Not yet.
A soft knock at the door brought her back from her thoughts.
She sat up, muscles tensed. "What?"
Matteo's voice drifted through the wood, low and unreadable. "Come downstairs."
She frowned. "Why?"
"You'll see."
For a moment, she considered ignoring him. But curiosity won.
She pulled her legs over the bed, pulling on a thin cardigan over her tank top before making her way down the stairs.
Matteo stood in the center of the warehouse, arms crossed, watching her approach.
"What is this?" she asked.
He moved his head toward a figure in the shadows.
She barely had time to register the man before two of Matteo's men dragged him into the light.
Valeria's breath caught.
She knew that face.
One of Luca'sty men.
The same one who had pinned her to the ground at the wedding, who had laughed as she begged for help.
The man who had held her down while Luca made his move.
A cold wave of rage surged through her veins.
Matteo watched her, unreadable. "You wanted revenge, didn't you?"
She swallowed hard, her heart hammering. "What are you saying?"
Matteo stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "I'm saying… if you want to stop being a victim, then stop acting like one."
One of his men tossed a knife onto the floor.
It landed at her feet.
The warehouse went silent.
Valeria looked at the knife.
Then at Matteo.
Then at the man who had helped destroy her.
Her fingers curled into fists.
She wasn't sure how long she stood there.
A second.
A minute.
A lifetime.
Then she reached down—and picked up the blade.