The First Test

Evelyn

The knock at my door came just after sunset. I'd been sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the untouched tray of food Maria had brought hours earlier. My stomach growled, but the thought of eating made me nauseous. How could I eat when my life had become a prison?

The knock came again, sharper this time. I stood, smoothing my hands over my wrinkled dress, and opened the door.

Alessio stood there, his expression unreadable. He was dressed in another perfectly tailored suit, this one a deep charcoal grey that made his dark eyes seem even more piercing. He didn't say anything at first; he just stared at me like he was trying to figure me out.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Come with me," he said, his tone leaving no room for an argument.

I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to refuse. But the memory of his threats that my father will suffer the consequences is rooted in place. I stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind me, and followed him down the long, dimly lit corridor.

We walked in silence, the only sound being the click of his polished shoes against the marble floor. He led me to a part of the estate I hadn't seen before, down a narrow staircase and into a basement that smelled faintly of damp stone and something metallic I couldn't quite place.

The room at the end of the hallway was small and windowless, lit by a single overhead bulb that cast harsh shadows on the walls. In the centre of the room was a table, and on the table was a gun.

I froze, my heart pounding. "What is this?"

Alessio walked over to the table and picked up the gun, his movements calm and deliberate. He turned to me, holding it out. "Take it."

I stared at him, my mind racing. "Why?"

"Because I said so," he replied, sharply

I shook my head, taking a step back. "No."

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Take it, Evelyn."

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "I don't want to."

"This isn't about what you want," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This is about what I need. And right now, I need you to prove that you can follow orders."

I stared at the gun, my stomach churning. I've never held one before, let alone fired one. The thought of it made me sick.

"I won't," I said, my voice trembling.

Alessio's expression darkened, and he stepped closer, forcing me to look up at him. "You will," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Or you'll regret it."

I wanted to scream. To fight. To run. But I knew it wouldn't do any good. He was in control, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

I reached out and took the gun, my hand trembling as I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal. It was heavier than I'd expected, and the weight of it made my stomach twist.

"Good," Alessio said, stepping back. "Now, point it at the target."

I turned to see a paper target hanging on the far wall, a crude outline of a person drawn on it. My heart pounded as I raised the gun, my hands shaking so badly I could barely keep it steady.

"Focus," Alessio said, his voice calm but firm. "Breathe."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my hands, and squeezed the trigger. The gun recoiled in my hand, the sound deafening in the small room. The bullet hit the wall several feet to the left of the target, and I flinched, dropping the gun to the floor.

Alessio sighed and walked over to pick it up. "Again," he said, holding it out to me.

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. "I can't."

"You can," he said, briefly "And you will."

I took the gun again, my hands trembling even more than before. I raised it, aiming at the target, and squeezed the trigger. This time, the bullet hit the edge of the target, and I dropped the gun again, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Alessio picked it up and set it back on the table, his expression unreadable. "You'll practice every day until you can hit the target," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I stared at him, my mind racing. "Why are you doing this?"

He stepped closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. "Because in this world, Evelyn, you either learn to defend yourself or you die. And I didn't go through all this trouble just to watch you get killed."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Was this his idea of protection? Teaching me to use a gun? Or was it just another way to control me?

I didn't have time to ask. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there with the gun in my hand and a sinking feeling in my chest.

I sat down on the floor, my back against the cold stone wall, and stared at the gun on the table. My hands were still shaking, and my heart was pounding in my chest. What was Alessio playing at? Why was he forcing me to do this?.

I thought about Sofia's warning: " There are things you don't know about Alessio and Maria's words: careful; Alessio is not a man to be crossed. What were they trying to tell me? What was Alessio hiding?

And more importantly, what did it have to do with me?

I stood and walked over to the table, picking up the gun again. It felt heavier now, the weight of it pressing down on me like a physical reminder of the life I'd been thrust into. I raised it, aiming at the target, and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet hit the wall again, several feet to the right of the target. I dropped the gun and sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

As I sat there, my mind racing, a thought occurred to me-one that sent a shiver down my spine. What if Alessio wasn't just teaching me to defend myself? What if he was preparing me for something worse?

And if that was the case, what does that mean for me?.