Ace, laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.

"Ace, I said that's cheating!"

"Use your sword."

"I can't―when you're―tickling―me!"

"Look past that," Ace commanded. "Focus on fighting me off."

"Tickling―isn't―fair!"

Ace had the good sense to think twice about saying, It is better than torture.

Her father had tortured her. Had strapped a collar full of electricity to her neck.

Fight, lapochka! Fight through it!

In the beginning, she hadn't been able to. Her fingers would twitch, but the sensation was all-consuming. The volts of electricity, thundering through her, bleeding white-hot against her closed eyelids.

But it had been a week of swordfighting, and just like Ace had, Isla was learning to see past this.

Now, Isla's fingers did more than twitch.

With renewed strength, she latched onto the sword. And with a small, fierce battle cry, she swung her blade against Ace's chest.

Ace sprang back. Right where she was standing, the sword cleaved the air.

"A killshot," Ace said approvingly.

Ace had not wasted time with wooden swords. The weight of steel was something it took time to get used to, and wasting this precious time they had now―while they were safe―would be unwise.

As soon as Isla grinned, slackening her grip, Ace dove again. Tickling her.

"Mom!" she shrieked between gasps of laughter. "I just won―fair―and―square!"

Ace did not let that word―Mom―distract her.

"You're―cheating―again!"

Ace did not know why, but she glanced up. Towards the woods. Was that Mavis, crackling in the bushes?

A second later, Ace looked back down. Isla had the sword in her hand again, and she was aiming it with ruthless efficiency.

Ace moved aside again. The sword scraped into the grass so deeply it drew dirt.

"I did it!" Isla crowed.

Ace was still fixed on that spot at the clearing. But Mavis did not appear. Did not push aside the leaves and tease, "Training without me again, huh?"

No, Ace had imagined it.

"Malen'kiy nindzya, it is getting dark. One more round of training and then we must go inside."

"Two!"

"Okay, two," Ace relented.

, and guess what I came up with?"

"The function for quantum physics."

"No! Even better."

"The theory of relativity?"

"No! I made a ship name for you."

Ace paused, holding the cup in mid-air. "Where did you find a ship?"

"No, not that kind of ship. Like a love ship."

"What love ship?" Ace growled, with thoughts of burning it to the ground.

"A ship name is like when I mix your name and Mavis's name to make one name."

Ace did not ease her fighting stance. "Why?"

"Because it's cute!" Isla rolled her eyes. "Why else?"

Ace considered this. "What is my ship name?"

Isla paused dramatically. "Mace."

"The aerosol self-defense spray?"

"No, like Mavis and Ace. Mace. What do you think?"

"I do not understand."

"I considered Avis, but that just sounds like Mavis without the M. And Mace is so cute. I would name a dog Mace."

"A dog named Mace," Ace said, frowning.

"Yes, a cute baby Alaskan malamute!"

"Alaskan malamutes are in the same family as wolves."

"And aren't wolves such adorable little bloodthirsty creatures?"

Ace chose not to answer that one.

"It is almost time for dinner," she said instead. "Change out of your practice clothes."

"Fine, fine," Isla sighed. "I'm going!"

Once she had disappeared into her room, Ace's eyes slid to the window. Violet clouded the sky, deepening the colour into dusk.

Where was Mavis?

Wrongness tugged at Ace's chest. Mavis should have been back by now.

Was she wandering around, lost?

Had the Mafia found her?

No. If that was true, they would have targeted Isla first. She was the heir.

Yes, it was time for Ace to start searching.

But first, she stopped in the room her and Mavis had been sharing. On the dresser, the sculpture of the songbird glinted.

Such a small thing. It had kept her alive, but―

She didn't need it anymore.

Ace was planning to destroy it. To set it free, in a way. Because she had realized that the songbird she had seen in her dreams, in her hallucinations . . . it had become something else.

And Ace had not known, but Mavis was what she had been waiting for.

Even the name Mavis, she had discovered, meant songbird.

Now, Ace picked up a different sculpture. One she had carved in secret.

She had been planning to give this one to Mavis.

It was a figurine of a dancer.

Smooth, silvery grey rock. Delicate little arms raised above her, with the hips of Aphrodite and a skirt over her thighs like an unfurling rose. Her eyes were closed, and that was peace etched into her full lips, into the lines of her jaw.

A dancer, because one day, Ace wanted to see Mavis on a stage. Fighting for that dream.

But now . . . it was evening, and Mavis still was not back.

Ace could not shake the feeling that there was something wrong. That something had happened in the woods.

Tucking the dancer into her pocket, she knocked on Isla's door.

"It is time to go look for your mother. Bring your sword."

"Why? Is Mama okay?"

"I do not know. Be prepared."

Isla appeared only a minute later, ready for battle. A sword on her hip, her little fists clenched.

From there, Ace locked the cottage behind them and led Isla into the forest.

me if you met Vladimir Putin."

Isla had begun talking in a low, nervous voice. The twilight was dark, heavy, lush with purple tones. But the forest itself was unwelcoming, with distant howls and the chirp of hovering insects.

"I have," Ace finally admitted. "Once."

"Really?"

"Before he was the president, he was a KGB foreign intelligence officer. He and my father were close . . . friends. When I was a child, my father pulled a few strings so I could be taught the ways of interrogation."

"Wow," Isla murmured.

A sudden sound pierced the silence. Leaves crackling.

"What was that?"

Ace did not say, Stay here. Isla would be much safer if she was closer to Ace. Instead, she breathed, "Follow me."

Male voices.

Fear plunged into Ace's chest, ice-cold.

If there were people here, that meant Mavis had not simply gotten lost.

She had been taken.

Ace did not wait one moment longer. She lunged towards the source of the voices, and she had already slit the throat of the first man before the other could scream.

But she did not kill the second. She needed this one.

Before he opened his mouth, everything in her body tensed.

Russian or American?

If the Russians had Mavis, she was already dead.

"I―I don't―I'm―"

American. A breath hissed out between her teeth.

"How many more?" Ace said coldly. Behind her, Isla was frozen near the bushes.

"I'm―I don't―my―"

"How many more?"

"None," he sobbed. "It was just me and Darrell. We were coming to get the girl. We already have the mom."

They did have Mavis.

"Why did you take her?"

"She found us," he choked. "She would have figured it out. Darrell dropped his gun, she picked it up, and she would have put it together."

"You were here," Ace said. Not a question. "Watching us. Why have you been waiting?"

"Because of you," he whimpered. "The boss told us to lie low and observe you. To see if you were really as dangerous as they say."

"And?"

"We were going to bring more men. We saw you fighting, training them―so we had reinforcements due today. But they never showed, and Darrell got careless, and Mavis saw the gun, so―"

"You took her. Where is she?"

"Probably already back in Chicago," he sobbed. "Please, let me go. Please, I―"

"Where in Chicago?"

"It's a―it's a pizzeria. John's Pizzeria. That's where our hideout is."

"How do I get in?"

Tears trickled down his face. Pathetic. "Order a broccoli and pineapple pizza."

"What will they do with her?"

"The boss was curious. He―he wanted to see her. I don't know, I don't, I swear I don't―"

Ace believed him.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

"We should call 9-1-1," Isla said.

It was dark―too dark for Isla to have seen what Ace had just done.

"Yes," Ace promised. "We will call 9-1-1 once we are gone. But now, I need you to pack everything. We are leaving."

Isla nodded. In the shadows, her eyes were gilded in silver despair. As though, deep in her heart, she knew she had just witnessed the murder of two men.

Ace prepared herself for tears. For screaming.

But Isla only lifted her chin. Breathing out into the darkness. "Let's go get Mama," she agreed.

It took thirty-seven minutes to pack everything they needed. By the time they were done, the small stolen red car was brimming with relics of their time painting.

Once Isla was tucked into her seatbelt, Ace shoved the key into the ignition and twisted.

The engine growled.

"Ace?"

Ace twisted the key again.

The engine coughed. Sputtered.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Isla asked.

The pitch-black sky was fading into navy blue outside. How long would it take them to get to Chicago without a car?

Ace twisted the key for the third time.

The engine croaked. And died.

"Get out of the car," Ace commanded. "We are going to walk."

"Walk? Ace, we can't walk all the way to Chicago!"

"Yes, we can."

Isla's eyes lit up. "I have a better idea."

weighed down by a Dora backpack and bags full of ceramic, Ace and Isla waited on the side of the road.

When a truck passed by, Isla held up her thumb.

"This is supposed to work," Isla growled.

"Have you done this before?"

"No, but I've seen lots of movies."

That was . . . reassuring. When the next car sped by, Ace tried the hitchhiker signal with her thumb.

"Why isn't anyone picking us up?"

Ace frowned. Most of the drivers passing by were farmers―men with rolled-up sleeves and uneven tan lines. A few had even tossed their cigarettes out the window while driving by.

"Kiska, go crouch behind that rock."

"Why?"

This was Ace's least favourite skill in her disposal. Seduction.

"I will explain later, but you must trust me."

Isla sighed and ducked behind the rock.

Now, Ace set down her bags. Let her blonde hair free. And when the next driver rolled by, she tilted her head and smiled at him.

He stopped the car.

"I'm Jim. Do you need a ride, Blondie?"

"Don't call me that," she snarled, reaching for her gun before she realized it was not a good idea to shoot him. Yet.

His eyes widened. Jaw clicking.

Ace quickly sweetened her voice. "I do need a ride, and so does my friend."

His eyes glazed, probably at the thought of two hot blondes in a car with him.

This time, Ace motioned to Isla.

Jim's jaw dropped. He looked between both of them, as if trying to decide whether it was worth it.

And it seemed he was about to say no when Ace added, "Please? My friend's destination is earlier than mine."

That seemed to resonate with him. He nodded and gestured for them to climb in.

Once they were buckled in, Jim cleared his throat. "So where are you two ladies going?"

"To the heart of the American Mafia so I can rip Evan Powell's heart from his chest and feed it to his mutts."

"She means we're going to a pizzeria in Chicago," Isla clarified.

"Oh," Jim said. Probably trying to decide if she had been joking. Eventually, he let out a weak laugh, as if she just had a strange sense of humour. "So, what brings you to cottage country?"

Ace opened her mouth to mention something about being wanted by both the Russian and American Mafia, but Isla quickly said, "My parents are on their honeymoon."

This made Ace's chest ache. For Mavis, for her soft skin, for the glitter of her liquid brown eyes.

And the hurt that had flashed in Mavis's face the last time they had spoken.

No, Ace would make this right.

"Cute, cute," said Jim. Ace noticed now that he had a Southern accent. "There's a gas station up ahead, by the way. I'm gonna make a quick stop."

Ace did not like the way his voice sounded.

Her fingers tightened on her gun.

After Jim pulled his truck up to the gas station, he handed a twenty dollar bill to Isla.

"Go crazy," he said lightly. "Get some candy. Whatever you want."

Isla's eyes brightened, but she looked questioningly to Ace first. Asking for permission.

Ace nodded. She had a clear view of the gas station's convenient store. The only person inside was the reed-thin cashier with a black beanie.

Isla hopped out of the truck and dashed inside.

But Jim did not get out of the car to pump gas. Instead, he leaned over Ace to lock her door. And he grinned up at her with a missing tooth.

"How about a quickie right now?" His breath was hot against her jaw. "Payment for the ride, you know."

A quickie?

By all means, Ace wanted a quickie.

If that meant what she thought it meant, then yes―she would make his death quick and easy.

"Stop," Ace said softly.

His large, callused hand reached for her chest. He was dead in three seconds―a bullet to the head.

Ace glanced over to the convenient store. Through the glass, she saw Isla deciding between Reese's Pieces and M&M's.

Jim's dead body rolled onto her lap. Ace hoped Isla picked the M&M's.

As for Jim, this was . . . inconvenient.

Ace had to get rid of the corpse. Now. Before Isla got back.

And if there was one benefit to a gas station, it was the gasoline.

already burning when Isla pushed open the door to the convenient store.

"It is time to go," Ace said brusquely.

"Ace! Why is the car on fire?"

"Because I poured gasoline on it and lit it on fire. That is why."

"Ace," Isla groaned. "Now, how are we going to get to Chicago?"

That was a fair question. Why, exactly, had Ace burned down the truck with the body?

The thought of fire . . . of something burning . . . it had sung in her veins. Maybe it had been the thought of something that would match how she felt on the inside. Mavis was missing. Missing―and Ace had sworn to protect her.

In her pocket, Ace's fingers closed over the dancer's figurine.

Yes, how would they get to Chicago now?

Well, there was one other car in the parking lot.

Isla's eyes widened, sliding to the cashier in the window, his black beanie slung low over his dark eyes.

"We can't take Robbie's car!"

Ace smashed her fist through the window and unlocked the door from the inside. "Are you coming or not?"

Isla rolled her eyes and climbed in.

Chicago passed in a blur. Ace kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, with a single thought in mind: Mavis.

When it started snowing, Isla gasped.

"Mom―Ace! Look!"

Ace glanced over to the window. "Yes?"

"The snow. Mama always says it's her most favourite thing in the world."

Ace almost did not register that. She turned around to look at Isla, who was pressed so close against the window her nose was flattened into the glass. "She likes snow?"

"She loves snow." Isla sighed happily. "I guess it's because we almost never get it, but Mama says when she was a kid, there was a lot of it every winter."

Something in Ace's chest tightened. In Russia, the snow draped the world like a thick sheet of white lace, covering the marble-and-granite palaces like a soft sheet of satin.

One day, Ace would show Mavis the world.

But for now, she had a few people to kill.

"John's Pizzeria is further down the street," Ace said, slamming the car to a stop.

"So why are we in front of a hotel?" But Isla's eyes already dimmed with recognition. "No! Ace, you can't make me stay here. Mama is in there and I―"

"You are their real target."

"Of the Russian Mafia, not the American one." Isla's set her jaw stubbornly. "I am aware of things, you know. The Russians want me dead because I'm the heir to the American mob. So what reason would the Americans want me dead for?"

"They will not want you dead. They will want to keep you."

"Keep me?" Isla squeaked.

"Yes. They will raise you―mold you. You are the eldest child of the American Mafia's boss. And they―" For a moment, the memory of Ace's own father flashed in front of her. Telling her, One day, you will be feared by all, lapochka. "They will remake you into your father's image."

"My . . . father?"

For the first time, Isla's voice was weak. Hushed.

"Yes, your father."

"I want to come." Louder. "Please, Ace. I want to meet him."

Ace thought of how she had begged her father to know about her mother. How she had dreamed, for years, of a woman who would pull her into her arms and say, I love you. I love you without strings. I love you unconditionally.