Chapter 164: No Information Is Worth Your Life

SANCIA

“Is it too late to say I give up! Because I'm already regretting my decision,” I huffed just as the cold knife rested against my throat for probably the hundredth time.

Okay, that's an exaggeration; it's the fifth or sixth time, but it feels like the hundredth. Diavolo was like a literal drill sergeant.

I mean that literally. He's stern and relentless. And something about his seriousness makes it difficult for me to concentrate.

The real ass dagger we've been using for self-defense training in a hostage situation makes this whole experience feel a little too real for my liking.

It wasn't that he'd pressed it hard enough to break skin. But it was close enough to make my pulse jump with fear.

“Again,” Diavolo growled from behind me. “And yes, it's a little too late to second-guess yourself.”

My stomach flutters when I feel his chest flat against my back, one arm wrapped around my waist while the blade rests beneath my jaw with terrifying precision.

Even knowing it was just training, my body reacted instinctively-my heart pounded harder, muscles tensed involuntarily, and my breath grew shallow. I hated how easily he could overpower me.

But worse was how my body warmed whenever he touched me, how my breath turned shallow, and my heartbeat pounded hard beneath my ribcage when he growled orders in my ear.

It wasn't that I wasn't listening; it's just that my senses were heightened, and every touch, whisper, growl, and grip turned my brain to mush and rendered me utterly useless against him.

The throbbing and clenching of muscles down south didn't help matters.

“You're enjoying this way too much,” I muttered, gasping after another failed attempt.

“Trust me, I'm not. This makes me realize I should have taught you how to defend yourself much sooner.”

The serious expression and the tinge of something that sounded a lot like fear in his voice made a wave of warmth flood my insides.

The private gym was in an area of London I've never been to before, and we're literally alone in here except for the men we saw keeping guard right outside, who were completely out of view.

I straightened my shoulders and rolled my neck. “Okay, let's do it again.”

His dark eyes gleamed with intensity, then he nodded sharply before dragging me into position.

“Let's see if you've been paying attention,” he drawled near my ear, “if someone with a weapon grabs you, what do you do?”

I shivered. “I'm not deaf, you know. I heard you the first time. If someone had a gun or knife, I do as they say, buy time until I get an opportunity,” I said, choosing defense so he doesn't know how my body is currently buzzing right now.

Doubt I succeeded, though, from the way his lips twitch before his face goes blank. “Good. You have been listening.”

He pressed the blade a bit tighter around my neck. “Now, try to escape again.”

I tried stomping backward onto his foot. But he'd anticipated it immediately, shifting out of range so fast.

“Too slow,” he taunts. “You can certainly do better. Again.” I tried again, and he did it again.

I could feel him when he positioned himself at my back again. “When there’s a blade involved, panic gets people killed. Most victims pull away first.”

The knife tilted slightly against my neck, and his hand slid down to my waist. “That’s how they get cut.”

Goosebumps erupted at his closeness all over my skin. My throat tightened as I swallowed hard. “So what do I do?”

“Relax your muscles, don't tense because your attacker will always sense the shift, so let them think they've got you where they want you, let them lower their guard before you spring into action.”

Lorenzo guided my hand carefully to his wrist. “Trap the hand holding the knife. Create a moment of control.”

His other hand pressed lightly against my shoulder.

“Then attack somewhere vulnerable. Hard. Fast. No hesitation.”

He demonstrated the move so flawlessly, gripping my wrist, stomping back on the foot.

Drive an elbow backward and then run the fuck away, fast. My brain thought.

This time, when I moved, it was fast. I grip his wrist, stomp back, twist out of his hold, and take two steps before I am back again trapped against him.

“Okay, you're being unfair; I'm obviously no match for you.”

His grin was smug. “Now, Mia Tigre, you don't expect your assailant to make it easy on you, do you?”

“Of course not,” I replied, eyes narrowed.

“Good, because your assailants aren't going to play nice; it won't be a drill for them. The only thing that would give you the upper hand is the element of surprise, that and speed, hesitations of any kind will only get you killed.”

“I got it.” I nodded and straightened my shoulders.

I know he's right, and I want to do this, but God, my lungs are burning. I blame my lack of exercise for this.

Lorenzo crooked two fingers toward himself. “Again.”

I groaned but obeyed. I wiped the wet strands of hair from my face and prepared myself.

This time, he came at me from a different direction. One second, he stood in front of me. Next, my wrist was twisted and pinned painfully behind my back.

“Okay, ow, ow. That hurts, asshole!” I cried out.

“Focus!” he snapped, his grip tightened just enough to remind me how trapped I really was.

“If someone controls one arm, what do you still have?” he growls.

“Um…my.. My other arm?” I gasped.

“Exactly,” he agreed, almost impressed. “And what?”

I frown, thinking fast. “My legs and teeth?”

Diavolo chuckled. “Kind of. Doubt you'll be able to get close enough to take a chunk of flesh, so we'll have to stick with the leg, little tigress.”

His voice remained calm and steady, but when I tilted my head and looked at him, his eyes were laughing at me.

“You don’t need perfect technique. You just need one chance and enough damage to create an opening.”

He guided me through it slowly. “Heel stomp, a backward kick to the shin, then you throw your head back toward the nose, then you run.”

Then he finally released my hands, and I rubbed my wrist with a grimace.

“You fight dirty.”

“You have no idea,” he whispered, clearly distracted, his eyes clouded with some unknown memories, but then just as fast, his face blanked out.

“Also, there's no such thing as fighting clean when someone wants to hurt you, so you do whatever you need to do to survive.”

That… actually makes so much sense. I opened my mouth to say something when something occurred to me.

“What if it’s a gun? What if my attacker has a gun?”

Lorenzo's expression darkened, eyes hard with something feral. “A gun is different,” he said quietly. He walked toward the weapons table near the wall and picked up a gun, took out the clip, before returning to my side.

“This is where people make stupid mistakes; they see a gun, and they lose all logical sense due to fear.”

He handed me the gun first so that I could feel the weight. “If someone points a gun at you and they’re far away?” he said. “You run when you get the opportunity. Zigzag if you can or find a cover.”

I frowned. “I don’t think that works,” I said. “I’ve seen movies where zigzagging didn’t save the person.”

“The shooter clearly had better aim,” he said, “Which is why I said find cover.”

My stomach twisted slightly at how casually he said it. Lorenzo stepped closer and gently took the gun from me.

“But if someone has a gun close to you,” his eyes locked onto mine, “your odds for survival are much higher than if they're from a distance away.”

“How so?” I asked, swallowing hard. The other two times I've used a gun, it was in close proximity.

Lorenzo suddenly pushed the gun against my ribs. My body instantly tensed.

“Because distance helps the shooter. Up close, you can interfere with his aim.”

His free hand lifted my chin so I focused only on him.

“But listen carefully, Sancia.” His voice turned hard. “You do not try to disarm someone unless you truly believe they’re going to hurt or kill you anyway. A gun is not a knife. One wrong movement and you’re dead.”

The seriousness in his tone made me nod.

“So what do I do? How do I fight someone holding a gun?” I stare at him expectantly.

“You comply first, do what they want,” his voice had dropped to a dangerous degree, intense with emotions.

“You do whatever the fuck they want, Sancia, you hear me. Do not gamble with your life, no matter what, because it's invaluable to me.”

The words hit me straight in the gut; it was the most emotional and touching thing he'd ever said to me.

He continued. “If they want you to give information about me, do it; tell them everything.” His gaze darkened slightly. “No information is worth your life.”

“But,” he said, “We're getting ahead of ourselves. What you need to remember is if they try moving you somewhere else, car, alley, a different location, that’s when your chances of survival get even slimmer.”

“Then what do I do?”

Lorenzo adjusted the gun lightly against my side. “Now. If you’re close enough and you have to move…” His movements became slow and deliberate.

“First rule is, get off the line.”

He demonstrated this by turning sharply to the sides rather than moving backward.

“People panic and retreat straight back. Don’t. Move the weapon away from your body while moving yourself away from where it’s aimed.”

He guided my hands carefully. “Just like the blade, let one hand control the weapon. Then you attack with the other, immediately.”

I swallowed. “Where do I attack?”

“Two fingers jammed into the eyes.” He grabbed my hand and demonstrated each as he spoke.

“A punch to the throat. A kick to the shin, a palm to the nose, or a knee to the groin, then what?”

“I run.”

He nodded just as his phone began to ring. He picked up and listened for a bit before ending the call.

“What is it? I asked, sensing his change in mood.