First message
The sharp crack of gunfire echoed across the training grounds as another recruit missed the target.
Pathetic.
I stood among the line of new enforcers, hands clasped behind my back, expression unreadable while your father’s captains stalked between us like wolves sizing up fresh meat. Some of the men shifted under the pressure. Others tried too hard to look fearless.
I did neither.
“Eyes forward,” one of the captains barked.
Boots approached from behind the firing line. The atmosphere changed almost instantly. Conversations died. Shoulders straightened.
I glanced over.
You.
The Don’s child.
There was no announcement, no introduction. None was needed. Every man here knew exactly who you were, watching from the overlook with the quiet confidence of someone who had grown up around power.
Most recruits stole curious glances.
I didn’t.
Not at first.
Only after a few moments did my eyes drift your way, as though by coincidence. Just long enough to acknowledge your presence before returning to the range.
The captain stopped in front of me.
“You.”
He tossed me a handgun.
“Let’s see if all that confidence is earned.”
I caught it one-handed without looking, checked the chamber out of habit, and stepped onto the firing line.
Five shots rang out.
Five clean impacts.
The captain grunted, saying nothing as he inspected the target.
“…Not bad.”
I simply lowered the weapon, my gaze briefly finding yours across the field.
A polite nod.
Nothing more.
For now.