53. April

53

APRIL

The car ride to the expo is… awkward, to put it lightly.

I'm squeezed between Petra and one of the twins. I can't tell which one it is, only that her face is a mask of guilt and shame. Her loose grip on me feels like a constant apology.

When we get there, Petra barks, "Julia, you're on camera duty. Loop the footage, then scrub us out. Lena, you're on getaway."

They both nod. The twin at the wheel—Lena, I assume—stays put, while Julia escorts me out of the car. She's incredibly careful, watching my belly all through my climb out, as if to make sure I don't bump it by accident.

But there's no such care in Petra's grip. Her hand locks like a vise around my arm, almost trembling with rage.

She's not herself . The awareness sinks into me more and more with every step she forces me to take. She's not just furious—she's hurt . Lashing out like a wounded animal.

I wonder, not for the first time, what the hell happened with Matvey. Why would he break off their deal? After everything they've been through, why would he suddenly refuse to marry her?

Aren't you glad? a selfish voice chortles inside my mind. Isn't a part of you secretly happy about this?

Feeling guilty, I chase those thoughts away. Then I turn to my captor. "What's my role in this?" I finally ask. "What are you expecting me to do?"

Petra's poison smile is as sweet as ever. "You're a woman of many talents, April. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

That stops me dead in my tracks. "Wait. You don't have a plan?"

"I don't need one. I have you." With that, she yanks me forward again. "Didn't you forge Matvey's signature? Didn't you steal his hair for that DNA test? Didn't you escape two armed kidnappers with only your wits and pretty face?" Her smile turns sharp, cruel. "You'll think of something. If not for yourself, then for that tiny life inside you."

The threat to my child makes me bristle, but I force myself to keep my cool—because something else just dawned on me.

This is wrong . This is all kinds of wrong. Petra's a stone-cold assassin: calculating, clever, always one step ahead of everyone else. It's unthinkable she'd come all this way without an inkling of a strategy.

But then again, wasn't it unthinkable that she'd threaten you at gunpoint, too?

Wasn't it unthinkable that she'd threaten your child?

As angry and hurt as I am, too, I can't let those emotions cloud my judgment. Because I just realized what my mission is here. My real mission.

One: to save Nugget.

Two: to save my own skin.

Three: to save Petra from herself.

So I take a deep breath, count back from ten, and say, "We're going to need a map."

Apparently, luck hasn't forsaken me forever.

We find our maps right at the entrance. Petra swipes one from the neat pile of trifold brochures and holds it open in front of us with a single hand. The other one is, of course, still threatening to snap my arm at the first wrong move. Definitely not the most charming date I've been on.

"Pen," I request.

Petra frowns at my commanding tone, but I don't have time to be polite. This is a job. Work Mode is the only way I'll get through it.

Correction: the only way I'll get both of us through it.

"Let's take a turn around the room."

"I didn't realize we were two Victorian maidens," Petra mutters.

"You want to keep sassing me out or you'd rather keep your freedom?"

Glowering, she obliges.

We walk around the exhibition a couple of times. In any other situation, I'd have a blast here: the gowns dripping in jewels, the stunning accessories, the artists' commentaries underneath. I could spend hours staring at each piece, each detailed explanation of how it came to be. I could be here with a friend by each side.

But that's not how it happened. And crying over it won't put the spilled milk back in the bottle.

As I jot the final notes down on the map, the grip on my arm tightens. "Are you playing me for a fool, koshka ?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're buying time," she says icily. "You're hoping he'll come save you."

I can't deny it's crossed my mind. Petra still doesn't know about June, so with any luck, she'll have reached out to Matvey by now.

But I know better than to put all my eggs in one basket. "You're wrong."

After all, last time I called, Matvey didn't answer.

"Don't fuck with me, April," Petra hisses into my ear. "You haven't seen me angry yet."

I sincerely doubt that. "And you haven't seen me angry," I hiss right back, frustration finally bubbling up to the surface. "So don't you fuck with me, either."

Then I shove the map in her hand.

The expression on her face is like cracking ice—a frozen lake thawing out beneath your feet. But as her eyes scan the map, I can see the realization slowly dawning. "This is…"

"The position of every security guard in here," I fill in with a touch of acid. "You're welcome."

"How do you know this is all of them?" Her eyes narrow. "We haven't been to this side yet."

I shrug. "By all means, lead the way."

Suspicious, Petra drags me to the north side of the exhibit. I watch as her gaze flits between the map and the guards—all positioned exactly like I drew them.

Is it bad that I'm enjoying the dumbfounded look on her face?

Eventually, I take pity on her. "I've been here with Elias last year," I confess. "A friend of his was in the competition. He invited him to the runway show. I came as Elias's assistant, so we both got backstage passes."

"So you've been here before."

More like I memorized the entire layout running around on errands. "The guards are in the same places they were last year. I don't think they switch it up that much. There's just more of them because of the diamond piece."

"Which reminds me: where is the piece?"

"Attention!" a voice calls from the loudspeakers. "The fashion show is about to begin. Please make your way to the runway."

The crowd starts to shift. Like a body of water, they all converge towards a single direction: a set of double doors.

"You want your piece?" I whisper into Petra's ear. "There's your piece."

I watch her eyes go wide with realization.

"They're going to show it off," she murmurs. "On the runway."

I nod. "Afterwards, it'll end up in a case just like all the other ones. It'll become untouchable."

I see her face go from pale to red: fear, doubt, rage—the whole spectrum. "So how do we take it?"

"We don't." I turn to face Petra and, for the first time since this nightmare began, I allow myself to smile. "They're gonna give it to us."