Chapter 16: "I Believe You"
Range Three sat beneath the main workshop, isolated behind layers of reinforced concrete and soundproof steel.
By the time Eduardo led Aren and Jordan inside, word had already spread through the estate like wildfire.
Technicians, capos, and soldiers lined the observation windows outside the shooting range as if they suddenly had duty nearby.
Their attention, however, was entirely anchored to the girl standing before the shooting lanes. The sight of the infamous Ariana Lombardi inside a Marchetti firing range was too absurd for anyone to miss.
Aren noticed none of it.
Her attention stayed fixed on the targets waiting downrange.
Behind her, Ricci hurried to prepare the equipment. Eduardo stood near the center lane, arms crossed, looking less like a Don and more like a judge waiting for a trial to begin.
Jordan remained beside Aren, watching her with clear concern. He had no idea what she was about to do.
"Ariana," he asked, voice uncertain, "are you sure about this?"
Aren looked up at him. "Do you think I’m wrong?"
Jordan considered for a moment.
"My training says my father is right," he admitted.
Then, his voice dropped to a murmur.
"But I think... I believe you."
Aren blinked, surprised by his answer. She held Biscuit toward him, her features softening.
"Would you carry him for a moment? He likes being held."
Jordan didn’t hesitate.
"Of course."
His fingers brushed hers lightly during the exchange.
"Go prove my father wrong," he said, pulling away reluctantly.
Aren nodded with a smile.
Biscuit settled against Jordan’s chest without complaint, perfectly comfortable.
A few minutes later, Ricci returned carrying two ammunition cases.
"Nightshade," he announced, setting the first down. "And Shield Raze."
Eduardo gestured toward the range.
"Well then, Miss Lombardi," his voice a cold challenge. "Show us."
Aren gave a small nod and stepped toward the lane.
The instant the handgun settled into her grip, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Every trace of softness disappeared from her posture. Her stance aligned instinctively — balanced, efficient, frighteningly natural in a way that made several trained men unconsciously stiffen.
Three ballistic targets waited downrange at staggered distances.
Aren loaded the Shield Raze rounds first.
The metallic click echoed sharply through the range.
Then—
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Three rapid shots tore through the space.
All three rounds struck center mass with brutal precision, but the final bullet made the room go cold.
It punched straight through the target and slammed into the reinforced steel backing behind it, sparks exploding violently across the lane.
Several soldiers exchanged glances instantly, terrified of the stance, the speed, the precision.
Ricci swore quietly under his breath, immediately realizing his own mistake.
Aren lowered the handgun calmly.
"In open combat, Shield Raze rounds are extremely effective."
She glanced toward Eduardo.
"But indoors, or near civilians, over-penetration becomes a liability."
Without waiting for a response, she reloaded using the Nightshade JHP.
The targets reset.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Same grouping.
Same terrifying precision.
But this time, the rounds expanded cleanly inside the ballistic dummy.
No penetration beyond the target. No secondary damage.
The range fell deathly silent.
Aren quietly placed the handgun back onto the table without explaining further. She didn’t need to — the results had already spoken for her.
Behind the observation glass, Ricci looked spiritually devastated while several technicians had gone pale.
Biscuit barked excitedly from Jordan’s arms, his tail wagging furiously. Jordan held the little dog a little tighter, unable to suppress the faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Eduardo alone remained motionless.
At first, he had merely been surprised that the Lombardi heiress knew firearms. Now, his gaze had sharpened into something much more serious.
"How," he stepped forward slowly, "do you know any of this?"
Aren blinked at him.
"Oh. I took classes."
Uneasy glances instantly spread through the room. Not a single person believed that answer.
Eduardo’s gaze sharpened at once.
"What kind of classes teach recoil recovery, ballistic penetration behavior, and corridor engagement analysis?"
"I don’t know much about engineering," Aren admitted plainly. "I just know what tends to work better during actual use."
That answer silenced Eduardo completely.
For several long seconds, he studied her in total silence.
In all his years as Don, he had dealt with liars, opportunists, geniuses, killers, politicians, and psychopaths.
Very few people spoke with the kind of direct honesty this girl carried.
He turned toward Ricci.
"Clear the range."
The technicians and soldiers scattered immediately, though several kept glancing back at Aren as though they had just witnessed something supernatural.
A few minutes later, Aren found herself seated across from Eduardo Marchetti inside his private office.
Eduardo sat behind his desk reviewing paperwork, not explaining why she had been brought there.
Jordan stood near the window in silence, though his gaze occasionally drifted back toward Aren.
Biscuit slept peacefully in her lap without a care. He’d had a long day, and had already started missing the hotel wardrobe.
At last, Eduardo set the papers aside.
"Miss Lombardi," he said, each word deliberate, "I’m offering you a consulting contract."
Aren tilted her head, confused.
"What would you require from me?"
"You will consult on close-protection weapon optimization. You understand practical combat application better than most of my engineers. I want that perspective in future Marchetti designs."
Aren’s eyes lit up instantly.
"You want field-efficiency feedback?"
"Yes."
"That sounds very fun."
Jordan immediately looked away toward the window, hiding the laugh threatening to escape.
Eduardo chose to pretend the sentence had never been spoken. He slid the contract across the desk.
"Flexible terms. Payment, unrestricted equipment access, and private workshop privileges."
Aren signed almost immediately.
She had already been sold the moment she heard ’unrestricted equipment access.’
Once the paperwork was complete, she stood and bowed politely.
"Thank you very much, Don Eduardo."
Eduardo only acknowledged her with a short nod, but Jordan stepped forward almost immediately.
"I’ll drive you back to the Lombardi Hotel."
Eduardo’s gaze instantly snapped toward him.
"You are preparing for tonight’s function with House Porto. I will assign men to escort Miss Lombardi."
Jordan’s expression hardened.
"That won’t be necessary."
"It wasn’t a request," Eduardo snapped back instantly.
The temperature in the office dropped several degrees.
Aren looked at Jordan, then at Eduardo, with mild confusion.
’Must be a logistical dispute.’
She cupped both hands over Biscuit’s ears, mindful not to let the shouting wake the little dog from his sleep.
Jordan, meanwhile, wasn’t done making his point. He met his father’s stare directly, grinding out every word.
"I said I’ll drive her."
Eduardo’s voice sharpened.
"And I said you have responsibilities tonight."
Before Jordan could say another word, hurried footsteps approached outside the office. Diego appeared in the doorway, looking visibly nervous.
Both Marchetti men turned toward him at once.
"WHAT?!" they snapped in unison.
Diego swallowed hard.
"Boss," he pointed toward the main gate. "Lady Natalia has arrived. She’s on her way here now."
Eduardo frowned immediately. "Why wasn’t she kept in the guest lounge?!"
Diego’s eyes flicked nervously between Jordan and Aren.
"We tried," he admitted weakly. "But... Lady Natalia insisted on seeing the Young Boss."
The hard lines on Jordan’s face drew even tighter. But before he could snap at Diego, a small hand went up.
"Excuse me," Aren said, voice polite.
Both Eduardo and Jordan snapped toward her so fast her shoulders jumped.
She glanced down at Biscuit, brow pinched with concern.
"Um... I could take a cab," she said earnestly. "Biscuit looks very tired, and I’m a little hungry. Do you know any good bakery nearby?"
