DANCE WITH THE ENEMY

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ZARIYAH

I'd had enough of being cooped up in my room, feeling like a captive. The memories of last night's humiliation still seared my mind, but I refused to let it break me. I began my training, utilizing every inch of space to fuel my determination. Just as I hit my stride, a forceful knock at the door disrupted my rhythm.

"Ignore him," I muttered to myself, but the knocking escalated into pounding.

Furious, I flung open the door, ready to unleash my wrath. "Boss wants you at breakfast now," a stern-faced man growled, his eyes blazing with permanent disdain.

"I'm not going anywhere," I spat, attempting to slam the door shut.

"It's not a request. It's an order," he snarled, grabbing me and tossing me over his shoulder like a rag doll. He turned and walked away, my body bouncing with each step, my stomach lurching as I hung upside down.

"Put me down!" I screamed, pummeling his back with fists and knees, but he continued down the hallway, unfazed.

Lorenzo's calm voice intervened, "Lasciala andare, Martinez." (Let her go, Martinez)

The man halted, slowly lowering me to the ground. My anger boiled over.

"What's your problem?" I yelled at Lorenzo, my glare murderous.

"So now you have your men treat me like luggage?" I seethed, my fists clenched.

His expression darkened. "Eat." His one-word command ignited a fierce urge to rebel.

"And if I don't?" I glared, defying him.

"I won't repeat myself," Lorenzo gritted, his jaw clenched.

"I won't be treated like a dog! I won't sit still and let you and your men treat me like dirt beneath your shoes, like some f***ing doll..." My voice rose, but Lorenzo cut me off.

He seized my throat, slamming me into the closest wall. The impact left me breathless.

"What did I say about that tone, Bambina? The next time you disrespect me like that, I'll put a bullet through you as a reminder I'm the boss here. Watch your tone with me." His eyes flashed viciously.

My eyes welled up, darkening from oxygen deprivation, before Lorenzo callously discarded me aside. Gasping, I struggled to fill my lungs, my chest heaving in desperation. "Sit the fuck down and eat!" he growled, earning a defiant glare from me.

Though shattered, I refused to surrender. With shaky legs and unwavering resolve, I stood tall, denying him the satisfaction of seeing me tremble or cower. Swallowing my shame, I lowered myself beside him, my eyes flashing with quiet rebellion.

His minions exchanged smirks, their whispered mockery piercing the air. Lorenzo's booming command, "Silence!" quelled their jeers, enveloping the room in uneasy stillness.

Emboldened, I reached for the plate of the man beside me, his meal now mine. Grasping my fork, I stabbed Lorenzo's lamb chop, transferring it to my plate. The room watched, transfixed, as I sliced into the meat with calculated audacity.

Matteo's eyes, once filled with pity, now sparkled with amusement. "Pensi che dovrei dirglielo?" he whispered to Lorenzo. (Do you think I should tell her?)

Lorenzo's retort was icy: "Non mi interessa." (I don't care.)

Matteo addressed me, his tone measured. "Zara." I turned, wary.

"Hmm?" I hummed, forcing down breakfast bites.

"I wanted to inform you," Matteo continued, "from now on, you'll train directly with the boss."

Choking on the revelation, I grasped Lorenzo's glass of water and drained it in one desperate gulp. "What! Why?" I gasped, horror-stricken.

Matteo shrugged, his indifference fueling my outrage. I turned to Lorenzo, my gaze scorching.

"Because I say so!" he snapped, his eyes never leaving his plate, dismissing my quite pleas.

"You have two minutes to round up and head out," Lorenzo barked, slamming his fork down and striding away.

I shot Matteo a venomous glare before racing after Lorenzo, silently cursing my ill luck. It was bad enough we couldn't stand each other; now I had to endure an infuriatingly handsome monster.

Trudging through the dense forest, the crunching leaves and snapping twigs echoed through the tense silence. My gaze fixed on Lorenzo's imposing back, his broad shoulders and confident stride radiating superiority.

As we arrived at the clearing, morning sunlight cast an eerie glow on the suspended targets, like specters awaiting execution. Lorenzo's curt command cut through the tension: "Show me what you're made of."

He handed me the sniper rifle; its weight settled into my palms like a promise of retribution. I snatched it, fueled by Lorenzo's condescending tone.

Determination coursed through my veins like liquid fire as I took aim. Lorenzo's warning, laced with skepticism, struck a chord: "Don't waste my time."

My finger hovered over the trigger; hesitation fled. I fired.

The first shot grazed the target's edge, a whisper from perfection. Lorenzo's unimpressed expression spoke volumes: "Not bad. But 'not bad' won't save your life."

Anger flared within me. Re-aiming, I fired again. This time, I hit the center.

Lorenzo's raised eyebrow acknowledged my small victory, but his voice remained laced with disdain: "You think that's good enough?"

My retort, laced with defiance, escaped: "For now."

Lorenzo's sneer twisted his face: "Complacency gets you killed. Try again."

My anger simmered, threatening to boil over, but I refocused. Each subsequent shot landed with precision, driven by a burning need to prove myself.

Lorenzo's silence was unnerving, punctuated by biting comments: "Your form's sloppy." "You're overcompensating." "Don't get cocky."

His words stabbed at my resolve, but I seethed, fingers tightening around the rifle. Lorenzo knew exactly which buttons to press, exploiting my vulnerabilities.

"Finish the drill," Lorenzo ordered, voice devoid of emotion.

Taking a deep breath, I emptied the clip; every shot hit its mark. Satisfaction flickered, but Lorenzo's parting words extinguished it: "You're not done yet. We do this until you can't miss."

I glared at his back, my promise hanging in the air: "I won't miss."

Lorenzo's cold smile hinted at a challenge: "We'll see."

"We'll see," I echoed, resolve hardened. I wouldn't back down, no matter the cost.