Prologue
“Who is she? She’s ugly.” The boy gripped the sill of the window, looking into the room where the girl with brown pigtails sat. She was sitting on the bench with headphones on, writing in a composition journal.
He could tell she wasn’t doing whatever work she was really supposed to be doing. She was making up her own words, smiling during the process. He wondered if she was writing a story or a poem.
“She is not,” his mother said, sitting down in the chair behind her. They had just arrived at the private gun range owned by one of the family’s closest colleagues. She had a Lifestyle magazine on her lap, her dark brown hair pinned up. She sighed. “She’s a very lovely girl,” his mother continued in Spanish.
“She’s not that pretty,” he argued.
“So why are you staring at her?” his mother mused, smirking as she flipped open her magazine.
The boy thought on the question. He didn’t know why he was staring. He supposed he couldn’t help himself and he hated that idea, so he jerked his line of sight away and looked at his mother. “She’s probably full of herself,” he mumbled.
His mother sighed and picked up her magazine, simply ignoring his banter.
He turned halfway and watched the girl carefully for a few minutes. He couldn’t figure out how she just sat there in one spot and wrote. He knew she was younger than him. He had the urge to brag about that in her face. Being older always had its perks.
“When is Papa going to be done?” he asked.
“Soon, hijo,” his mom murmured.
He released a heavy breath. “I’m bored. Can I go in and help him?”
The sound of gunshots ricocheted off the walls and his mother lowered her magazine to look through the square window. She could see her husband from where she sat—a tall man, middle-aged with a tan fedora and a Brazilian cigar clamped between his teeth.
He was speaking to another man that was much taller. Unlike her husband, this man was slender, with a sharper nose and angled jaw. His hair was turning gray at the temples, his face serious as he adjusted the ear muffs and lifted a gun in the air to aim.
The man shot at one of the posters and hit it right on target. Right through the poster’s chest.
The woman sighed as she watched her husband do the same.
“No. You don’t need to go in there right now,” she answered in her native tongue.
“Mom!” he groaned.
As soon as he started to come her way to beg, the door swung open and the tall man that was standing with his father walked into the lobby. He had pale skin and bright green eyes.
His eyes darted over to the boy and he put on a welcoming smile, shutting the door behind him and lowering his soundproof earmuffs.
“What the hell are you still doing out here? You’re supposed to be in there with your Papá and me, practicing your aim.” The man looked at his mother but the mother blew a heavy breath and stood.
“Did he put you up to this? Because he knows I don’t like to tell you no?” An assertive hand went to her hip.
The man smirked. “He may have.”
“Lion, don’t you think he’s too young? He’s only sixteen.” She looked truly worried, her eyes growing wide and anxious. She knew she couldn’t tell Lion no. Well, she could, but she hated to after all he’d done for her and her husband. He’d blessed them in many ways—ways they couldn’t repay with money alone.
“Are you kidding? This is the perfect age, Valeria. He has to learn early. It’s the only way he’ll know how to defend himself later. We don’t want our kids to be wimps. We want them strong and ready.” Lion lightly capped one of her shoulders. “Look, he’ll do one round and that’s it. He isn’t a boy anymore. He’s turning into a man, and he has to learn how we do things.”
“Right.” Her lips pressed, almost defeated. She looked towards her son and watched as he clasped his hands and begged.
“Please, Mom. Pleasseeeee,” the boy pleaded. “I have to learn. Mr. Lion is right. I’m the one who has to take over one day.”
His mother swallowed hard.
“Fine.” As soon as she said that, he dashed for the door but Lion caught him by the back collar of his Polo shirt. “But be careful!” she shouted in Spanish.
Reeling him back, Lion locked his arm around the boy’s chest and then handed him the soundproof earmuffs. “Rule number one: always cover your fucking ears.”
The boy looked up and Lion cocked a stern brow. “Right,” the boy laughed and accepted the earmuffs.
“You don’t want to go deaf, do you?”
“No, sir.”
Lion threw an arm over the boy’s shoulder and then turned around with him, nodding once at his mother before walking through the door. Though worried, his mother trusted Lion. Lion was a great man. Brave and smart and helpful. She knew her son was in good hands.