51. April

51

APRIL

"You don't understand, June—I completely forgot to tell him!"

This is a disaster. Total, utter chaos.

Because the day of the Mallard Expo has come, and I still haven't managed to tell Matvey.

It's not that I didn't want to. It's just that there was all that awkwardness before. All those silences . And after…

Well, after, I just kind of lost track of time. And space. And anything that wasn't Matvey's hands, or his voice, or his?—

On the other end of the line, June clicks her tongue. "So what? He's not your keeper or anything, is he?"

I wince. "He… kind of is."

Not only am I wracked with guilt about this, I'm also in a complete panic. I grabbed the first dress I could find—the first dress! For a fashion expo!—and now, I'm turning the closet inside out to find the shoes that go with it. Why is it that, as soon as you're in a hurry, everything you need is suddenly located in another dimension?

"Besides, we'll have Pyotra with us?—"

"Petra," I correct distractedly as I throw yet another pair of wrong shoes behind my shoulder.

Great. Not only have I lied to him, but now, I'm also trashing his place.

"Whatever. She's got hired muscle, no?"

I bite my lip. "Well, yeah, but I've been trying to reach her all morning and she hasn't replied to a single one of my texts. Maybe something came up and she can't make it?" I give up on finding a pair of coordinated shoes and just go with the black ones. When in a pinch, always go with black.

"Maybe she's driving there as we speak."

"Please," I snort. "Petra? Driving herself? Pigs will fly sooner."

"Now, I'm even more curious to meet this mystery woman."

Not only did I forget to tell Matvey about today, I also forgot to tell Petra that June was coming. It was a spur-of-the-moment invite. I really hope she won't mind.

I fumble with a pair of black pearl earrings. This way, at least my shoes will match something . Except that even the earrings are refusing to cooperate.

I throw my hands up in despair. "Forget it. We should just cancel."

"Absolutely not!" June thunders. "This is our first outing since you got jailed!"

"Put under protection," I correct gently.

"To-may-to, po-tah-to."

One earring goes in. Small victories. "That's not how it goes, Jay."

She blows me a raspberry in response. "I'm walking down to the car. If you're not in the lobby in twenty minutes, I'm coming up to get you. And yes, that's a threat."

I prick my finger on my other earring. "Goddammit! Why won't you just?—"

And then the doorbell rings.

"Coming!" I yell. "June, I think Petra's here."

"And I'm almost at the car," June replies. "C'mon, don't leave me hanging. You know I hate going down these creepy stairs alone."

"It's not the stairs that are creepy," I point out. "It's the neighbors."

"Po-tay-to, to-mah-to."

I throw the door open. "Again, that's not how it?—"

The first thing I see is Petra's face: red, tear-streaked, as if she's been crying herself stupid.

The next thing I see is her gun…

And it's pointed right at me.

"Hang up," she orders. "Now."

"Petra, what's going on?"

" Hang. Up. " She shoves her gun into my face, silencer and all. "I'm not gonna ask twice."

Automatically, I glance towards the spots my bodyguards usually are. I've long given up learning their names—lately I've just been calling them Big Guy and Tall Guy.

But now, I wish I'd bothered.

Both of them are on the ground. I can only catch a glimpse of their bodies, face-down on the hallway floor. Are they dead? I can't tell.

Finally, my brain catches up to what's happening.

Finally, it remembers to be afraid.

I obey Petra's order. I hang up while June's still talking, asking me something I didn't catch.

I hope she didn't recognize her. As far as I know, Petra's never heard June's voice before. Suddenly, I'm glad I forgot to mention her.

"Lena, Julia," Petra calls over her shoulder. "Take care of the mess."

Without a word, the twins drag the bodyguards away.

"You," she barks at me. "In. Now."

Swallowing, I comply.

This is wrong , a part of me insists. This can't be happening. This is Petra we're talking about.

She wouldn't hurt me.

"What's going on?" I croak. "Why are you…?"

"You should be asking your boyfriend that."

The words strike me dumb. "Matvey's not my boyfriend."

"No?" Petra's face is a mask of ice and fury. "Then I guess he won't mind me borrowing you."

The twins reappear behind Petra's back. They look torn—like they'd rather be literally anywhere else but here.

"Restrain her," Petra orders.

The twins obey. "Sorry, April," Lena murmurs in my ear as she twists my hands behind my back.

"We really don't have a choice," Julia adds with her palms on my shoulders.

I realize that I should be struggling. Should be screaming, kicking, begging for mercy.

But Petra said borrow. However much this may look like an execution?—

She still needs me.

I try to calm myself. To think. What would she need me for? A hostage?

Then I notice the way she's dressed. Even though her face is a mess, her clothes aren't. In fact, everything on her body screams upper class. She's not normally this elegant. Tasteful, yes, but never overdressed.

Also, her dress is pure white. Call me old-fashioned, but if I was going to blow someone's brains out, I'd at least wear black. It goes with everything, remember?

Even blood.

"Where are we going?" I ask with a trembling voice.

Petra's lips curve into a smirk. "Clever koshka. If only Matvey was half as clever as that."

"What did he do?" I stammer, trying to connect with her. Trying to understand .

"He broke our deal," Petra hisses. "So now, I'm honoring mine."

Her gun slides down my cheek like an unwanted kiss. The silencer feels cold against my skin. I try to suppress a shiver, but I fail.

She looks pleased by that: my fear of her. "I told him I wouldn't harm a petal on his pretty little flower's crown… as long as he held up his end of the bargain. But he didn't. He went back on his word. So I have no reason to keep my promise, either."

"This isn't you," I blurt out. It's pathetic—that even with a literal gun to my head, part of me still believes in her. Wants to believe in her. "We're friends… aren't we?"

Petra bursts out laughing. There isn't a trace of humor in it: instead, it's a dark and bitter sound. Cold, like the ice in her eyes. "Friends? Us ?"

Her mask falters. The ice cracks. For a single moment, I can see the conflict on her face. I can see a sliver of hope.

And then her expression shutters again. "We were never friends, April."

Her gun starts trailing downwards: throat, heart, guts. "Petra…"

"Quiet," she snaps. "Or I'll find another way to get what I want."

Finally, the silencer reaches my belly.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a flash of fury. "Don't you dare touch?—"

"Then be fucking quiet."

I shut my mouth. With Nugget's life on the line, nothing else matters.

"Good." Petra smiles sweetly. "Now, listen closely. I have no interest in crushing Matvey's toys. He may be an oath-breaker, but I still have honor."

"That's a relief," I mutter sarcastically.

"So keep being good," she warns, pressing the gun harder into my abdomen, "and, after this, I'll let you go. I just need you to do one thing for me."

I set my jaw. So many emotions are warring inside me: rage, fear, heartbreak. If I don't keep myself in check, I'm terrified I'll overflow.

So I do what I do best: I assess the situation. I calculate risk and reward. Most of all, I keep my cool.

"What do you need?"

With her free hand, Petra whips out a pamphlet. It's the same crumpled one I'd shown her that day—I had no idea that she'd kept it. Had she been planning this all along?

Or did she hold on to it for a different reason entirely?

I chase that thought out of my head. It doesn't matter anymore; Petra made her position perfectly clear.

We were never friends.

"Since your boyfriend won't help me anymore, you will." She throws the pamphlet on the table and points. "You're going to help me audition. You're going to help me make vor. "

I stare at the spot under her manicured finger. "‘Audition'?"

"Do you know what vor means in Russian, koshka ?"

"Weirdly, it never came up on my Duolingo lessons."

I glance at the pamphlet again. Her long nail taps against the paper, making a dent into her mark.

A tiara. A diamond-studded tiara worth millions.

Petra grins, baring her teeth. Like this, she looks every bit the predator. The killing nightingale. "It means ‘ thief.' "