Lessons in Violence

Lessons in Violence

Sofia's POV

I punched the wall as hard as I could, and my knuckles were bloody.

"Feel better?" Rafe asked from behind me.

I spun around to face him, my hand throbbing. "No, I don't feel better! Vincent is out there somewhere, people want to buy me like a piece of property, and everyone keeps telling me to hide!"

"Because hiding keeps you alive," Rafe said patiently.

"I don't want to just stay alive," I said, wiping blood from my knuckles. "I want to live. And I can't do that if I'm always running scared."

We had escaped Vincent's attack on the safe house three days ago. Now we were in yet another hideout - this one was an old warehouse that smelled like motor oil and broken dreams.

"Sofia," Rafe said gently, "I know you're frustrated—"

"Stop," I interrupted. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child having a tantrum. I'm a grown woman who wants to learn how to protect herself."

"Fighting isn't a game."

"Do I look like I think this is a game?" I held up my bleeding hand. "I'm serious, Rafe. Teach me."

Rafe shook his head. "Ask Cassian to teach you strategy. Ask Luca to teach you how to talk your way out of trouble. Ask Nikos to teach you about weapons."

"I'm asking you to teach me how to fight with my hands."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the best fighter I know. And because you care about me enough to teach me properly."

Rafe looked at me for a long moment. I could see him wrestling with himself, wanting to help but afraid of what might happen.

"Fighting changes people," he said quietly. "Once you learn how to hurt someone, there's no going back."

"Maybe I don't want to go back."

"You say that now, but—"

"Rafe," I said, stepping closer to him. "Someone put a two hundred million dollar bounty on my head. Vincent wants to drag me back to whatever hell he's been planning for twenty years. Every criminal in the city thinks they can use me."

I reached out and took his hand. "I need to be strong enough to fight back. And I need you to help me get there."

Rafe stared down at our joined hands. "If I teach you, there are rules."

My heart jumped. "You'll do it?"

"Rules, Sofia. You listen to everything I say. You don't try to be tough or show off. And if I tell you to stop, you stop immediately."

"Deal," I said quickly.

"And you tell the others what we're doing. No secrets."

"Okay."

Rafe sighed like he was making a terrible mistake. "Fine. But we start slow."

"How slow?"

"Stance. Breathing. Basic blocks. Nothing fancy."

I wanted to argue that I needed to learn fast, but I could see Rafe was already regretting this decision.

"When do we start?" I asked.

"Now," Rafe said. "If we're doing this, we do it right."

He led me to an empty part of the warehouse where someone had set up old gym equipment. Punching bags hung from the ceiling like heavy fruit.

"First lesson," Rafe said. "Show me how you would throw a punch."

I made a fist and swung at the air, the way I had seen in movies.

Rafe winced. "That would break your thumb and accomplish nothing else."

He moved behind me and adjusted my hand position. "Thumb outside the fist, not tucked inside. Hit with these two knuckles, not the whole fist."

His hands were warm and steady as he guided my arm through the proper motion.

"Now try again, but slow."

I threw the punch again, focusing on what he had shown me.

"Better. But you're using just your arm. Fighting comes from your whole body."

For the next hour, Rafe had me practice the same punch over and over. He adjusted my feet, my hips, my shoulders. By the end, I was sweating and frustrated.

"Can I actually hit something now?" I asked.

"Hit the bag," Rafe said. "But easy. Just focus on form."

I stepped up to the punching bag and threw my first real punch.

The bag barely moved, but the impact felt good. Solid. Right.

"Again," Rafe said.

I hit the bag again, putting more force behind it.

"Don't think so much," Rafe coached. "Trust your body."

I stopped thinking about form and technique. I just let my frustration and anger flow through my fist into the bag.

The punch that came out was perfect.

Rafe went quiet.

"Was that wrong?" I asked.

"No," he said slowly. "That was... very right."

"Can I do it again?"

"Try a combination. Jab, cross, hook."

I had no idea what those words meant, but somehow my body did. My left hand shot out quick and sharp, followed by my right hand driving straight forward, then my left again in a curved motion.

All three punches landed exactly where they should.

Rafe stepped back from me. "Sofia, where did you learn that?"

"Learn what? You just told me what to do."

"I told you the names of the punches. I didn't show you how to do them."

I stared at the punching bag, confused. "It just felt natural."

"Try some footwork," Rafe said. "Move around the bag while you punch."

Again, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. But when I started moving, it was like my feet knew exactly where to go. I circled the bag, throwing punches from different angles, always staying balanced.

"Stop," Rafe said suddenly.

I froze mid-punch. "What's wrong?"

Rafe was staring at me like he had never seen me before. "Sofia, you've been fighting for ten minutes."

"So?"

"Most people need weeks to learn what you just did."

I looked down at my hands. They were red from hitting the bag, but they didn't hurt. If anything, they felt stronger.

"Maybe I'm just a fast learner," I said.

"Show me a kick," Rafe said.

I had never thrown a kick in my life. But when I lifted my leg, it snapped forward like a whip, hitting the bag with a sound like thunder.

The heavy bag swung wildly on its chain.

"Jesus," Rafe breathed.

"Was that good?"

"That was scary good."

I felt a strange thrill at his words. "Scary how?"

"Try to hit me," Rafe said suddenly.

"What? No!"

"I'm serious. Try to hit me. Don't hold back."

"Rafe, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me," he said, but he didn't sound completely sure. "I'll block everything. I just want to see something."

Against my better judgment, I threw a punch at Rafe's chest.

He blocked it easily, but his eyes widened. "Again. Faster."

I threw another punch, then another. Rafe blocked them all, but he was working harder than he should have been.

"Now try to really get me," he said.

Something clicked in my brain. Instead of thinking about individual punches, I started moving like I was dancing. My hands and feet became weapons, flowing from one attack to another without pause.

Rafe blocked most of them, but a few got through. I tapped his ribs, his shoulder, his stomach.

"Stop!" he said, grabbing my wrists.

I froze, breathing hard. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, but..." Rafe looked troubled. "Sofia, you weren't thinking during that combination. You were just reacting."

"Is that bad?"

"For most people, yes. Thinking keeps you safe. But you..." He shook his head. "You were fighting on pure instinct. And your instincts are perfect."

I felt proud and scared at the same time. "What does that mean?"

"It means you have natural talent for violence," Rafe said quietly. "The kind of talent that can't be taught."

"So I'm good at this?"

"You're more than good. You're dangerous."

The word should have bothered me, but it didn't. It felt like a compliment.

"Want to see what else I can do?" I asked.

"Actually, I think we should stop for today."

"Why? I'm just getting warmed up."

"That's what worries me," Rafe said.

I looked at him, trying to understand why he seemed scared. "Rafe, what's wrong?"

He sat down on a bench and ran his hands through his hair. "Sofia, I've been fighting my whole life. I've trained with professionals, soldiers, killers. And I've never seen anyone pick up combat skills the way you just did."

"Maybe I'm special."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"What do you mean?"

Rafe looked up at me, and his eyes were troubled. "There are people born to be doctors, or teachers, or artists. And then there are people born to be warriors."

"And you think I'm a warrior?"

"I think you're something more dangerous than that."

I sat down next to him, my heart racing from the exercise and from his words. "What's more dangerous than a warrior?"

"A killer who doesn't know she's a killer yet."

The words hit me like a slap. "I'm not a killer."

"Maybe not yet. But Sofia, the way you moved just now... it wasn't self-defense. It was predatory."

I thought about how I had felt while fighting. The joy of it. The rightness. The way every punch and kick had felt perfect.

"Is that bad?" I asked quietly.

"That depends," Rafe said. "On who you choose to use those skills against."

Before I could ask what he meant, footsteps echoed through the warehouse. Cassian, Luca, and Nikos were walking toward us.

"How did the lesson go?" Cassian asked.

Rafe and I looked at each other.

"Show them," Rafe said quietly.

"Show us what?" Luca asked.

I stood up and walked to the punching bag. Without thinking about it, I unleashed a combination of punches and kicks that would have hospitalized most people.

The bag shook like it was in an earthquake.

When I stopped, all three men were staring at me in silence.

"How long have you been training?" Nikos asked finally.

"Forty-five minutes," Rafe said.

"That's impossible," Cassian said.

"That's what I thought too."

I looked around at all four men, seeing fear in their eyes for the first time since I had known them.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked.

"Nothing's wrong with you," Luca said quickly.

But Rafe shook his head. "Everything's wrong with her. Or everything's right, depending on how you look at it."

"What does that mean?" I demanded.

Rafe stood up and faced me. "It means you're not Isabella's daughter because of genetics, Sofia. You're Isabella's daughter because of what you were born to become."

"Which is what?"

"The perfect killing machine," Rafe said quietly. "Wrapped up in the body of a girl who doesn't even know how lethal she is."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "You think I'm a monster."

"No," Rafe said. "I think you're the most dangerous person I've ever met. And the scary part is, I don't think you've even started to figure out what you're capable of yet."