Page 117 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

I laugh softly, cupping the back of her neck. “Fair point. So what now? You ready for your lesson?”

Her eyes narrow. “You mean…?”

I smirk. “Yes, that lesson.”

She blinks once and groans. “It’s exhausting, and I already did it yesterday. How about we watch a movie instead? Please.”

I push up from the couch and offer her my hand. “You’re already doing so well, baby. And you’re the heir now. Can’t have you pointing a gun backward.”

She groans playfully. “It was one time, Adrian.”

“And you almost killed yourself,” I say dryly, hating the memory of that scary moment.

She takes my hand and gets up, eyes sparkling despite the emotional rollercoaster we’ve just been on. I grab the jacket draped over the back of the chair and toss it around her shoulders before leading her out.

It’s late morning when we step outside. The sun is soft, casting a golden hue across the yard. The custom range is already set up in the far corner of the back garden—targets lined up, weapons cleaned and ready on the table. Zalar must’ve done a sweep earlier.

I guide her across the lawn, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back.

“You remember your stance?” I ask, reaching for one of the lighter handguns.

She smirks. “Feet shoulder-width apart, weight balanced, grip firm, no wrist flopping.”

I hand her the gun and tilt my head. “Show me.”

She takes the pistol, breathes out slowly, and settles into position. Her stance is confident. Not perfect—but close. Damn close.

I step around her slowly, studying every angle. “Don’t lock your elbows.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

She scowls and adjusts. I nod.

“Better.”

She takes a shot.

It hits just off-center—close enough to make me smile. “Again.”

She fires again. And again. Each shot tighter, more controlled than the last. I say nothing. Just watch. She’s focused, dialed in, and it’s a sight that both thrills me and terrifies me. Because if she ever has to use this for real….

I shake the thought from my head.

Jennie finally lowers the gun, her arms shaking slightly from the recoil.

“Not bad?” she asks, tilting her face up to me with a mix of pride and hope.

“Not bad?” I echo, stepping in front of her. “Babe, you just killed a man three times in under fifteen seconds.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s cardboard, Adrian.”

“And that cardboard never saw it coming,” I deadpan, making her laugh.

I lean in and kiss her forehead, right between her brows. “You did good.”

She exhales, pleased. I can see the confidence blooming in her—replacing the fear, the helplessness. That’s what I want for her. Not just to feel safe with me—but to be safe, even without me.