MAVIS

In a heartbeat, Mavis's hand was in Ace's, and she was being pulled off the stage.

Mavis's heart started racing, a fragile stammer against her chest, fluttering like the broken wings of a newborn bird. After everything she had seen today―everything they had done to her―

Laughing―as they pressed the ends of their cigarettes to her bare flesh. The rough feeling of their stubble on her thighs, the burning of her throat as they poured down saltwater.

But Ace's hand was firm on hers now. The crowd of men swarmed up against them, but―

Bang. "Ten bullets," Ace murmured.

"What?"

"The police confiscated my weaponry," Ace explained as she rammed her elbow into one man's eye so hard that blood gushed between his fingers. "I was given a weapon by―an old friend. There is a limited amount of"―she grabbed a man by his skull and slammed it into her own forehead. He fell back with a shout of pain―"bullets."

"Ace, behind you!"

Another mobster had somehow climbed up a velvet booth, aiming his gun toward Ace's head―

But Mavis was already diving, already jamming her elbows into his stomach.

"Nobody touches my wife," she said, panting.

"Mavis!" Ace shouted. "You need to go!"

"What? I'm not going anywhere!"

"Run, moya dorogava! I will find you, I promise, but I need you to go!"

And Mavis understood: while she was here, Ace would be slowed down―because Ace would prioritize defending Mavis over everything else.

"Run!" Ace shouted again, striking a man over the temple with the silver gun and shooting a second in the heart. "Seven bullets," Mavis heard her mutter.

Mavis hesitated for only a moment longer before running.

Past the lush satin curtains of the Emerald Prince, out into the cold, snow-kissed street, Mavis hugged her arms to herself and ran.

She was dressed in nothing but a deep ruby slip. Red, her signature colour. It hadn't even been her choice this time.

Now, Mavis's heart pumped as she ran barefoot over the hard gravel streets. There were no cars driving in sight this late at night, but up ahead―

An old car, parked on the curb of St. Basil's. The only car for miles.

It was a steep run uphill, but the adrenaline fueled her, forcing her higher and higher. She tasted sweat and snow and chill air. She tasted stars and velvet and night sky.

Behind her, she imagined she could hear the phantom footfall of someone following her, someone chasing her, running after her―

Once the car was in sight, Mavis collapsed against the side of it. Holding onto the top of it by her fingertips.

"Please," she gasped. "Please, is anyone in there? There's someone chasing me. Is anyone―?"

In the driver's seat, she could see a weathered old woman. White hair, warm eyes.

Lada. The woman who had sat next to her on the airplane.

"Oh, Lada," Mavis said, tears threatening. "Dios mio―thank God―please―"

Lada rolled down the window to the passenger seat, smiling faintly. "It's cold out there, dorogoy," she began, "what are you―"

Her head was the first thing to move. Snapping sideways. Then it was the blood, splattering on the driver's window. Painting her white hair red.

Mavis could taste it―the blood―in her mouth.

It was . . . it was on her face.

Lada―the kind old woman―she couldn't be―

"Come on," Aleksi said roughly, digging his fingers into her arms. Yanking her back downhill, away from the car, away from freedom, away from the dead body. "It's time to set a little ambush."

No. The word formed on Mavis's lips, but her eyes were still fixed on the car at the top of the street, the glint of blood on the windowpane, drenched in moonlight.

She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't even struggle against Aleksi as he hauled her towards the Czar Palace, inside the echoing marble chambers, the high ceilings, inlaid with mosaics.

Lada. Not Lada, not the poor old woman who had let Mavis cry into her shoulder.

"You are going to sit here," Aleksi said coldly, "and wait. And just know, lapochka, if you try to move I will put a bullet in your leg. Clear?"

Mavis just nodded, numb. Dead. Dead. She was dead, because Mavis had asked her for help.

Aleksi's gun collided with the side of her head. Mavis's head jerked sideways.

"Clear?" he repeated.

"Clear," she mumbled.

"Useless," he muttered. "Stupid Americans."

Mavis didn't register the word ambush until it was too late. Until Ace was already there, throwing open the doors with an alluring, wicked smile.

"Mavis," she said roughly, and every nerve in Mavis's body jumped back to life. Ambush. Ambush. Ambush.

"No, Ace―"

"I was looking for you," Ace said. "I killed everyone in the Emerald Prince, but my brother―he is still missing. We will have to be careful―"

Behind Ace, Mavis could see Aleksi's silhouette. His feverish smile, the sharp glimmer of his white teeth.

His gun, raising into the air.

"Ace!"

"Mavis, it is time to go. Are you okay? Do you need me to carry you?"

"Behind you," Mavis managed, just as they both heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet clicking into its chamber.

"Aleksi," Ace said without turning around. Her long fingers curled over the silver handle of her gun.

"Sister," Aleksi replied, whisper-soft, as sweet as a note of a music. "I have a proposition for you."

"I do not want your proposition."

"Too bad," Aleksi purred. "It's not a choice. It is really quite simple, too."

Golden candlelight slanted through the glass mosaics, painting Aleksi in shades of fire and fury.

He moved closer towards Ace, as smoothly as a dancer. His gun was pointed to her temple, and Mavis could not move, could not think.

Ace. The love of her life.

Who had come to save her, guns blazing.

Who loved her, despite all odds.

"It is simple," Aleksi said, his voice turning jagged, uneven. Fanatical. "Quite simple. Shoot her, sister―or I shoot you."