Page 4 of Mabilia

“What have we here? A Russian princess?” A Ukrainian-accented voice comes up from behind me. I’m on the street. It’s a busy street, but my hand still reaches into my bag for the pistol Papa makes me carry around wherever I go.

“Nah, I think she’s an Italian princess,” a similar-sounding voice replies.

“You’re wrong. This one is the prime jewel. She’s both,” a third tells them.

Ignoring all three men, I keep walking, my hand firmly gripped around my gun inside my bag.

“Whoa, there. Hold up, princess. We just wanna talk,” one of them calls out after me.

“Go find someone else to talk to.”

Instead of another reply, I get a pair of arms grabbing me from behind. A hand wraps around my mouth and then I’m dragged into an alley. I wait until we’re out of sight before I pull my gun out of my bag.

Shoot first and ask questions never.That’s what my grandfather always says. They don’t see it coming. I look up and aim right for the fucker’s head. Once he’s down, I take out the one right in front of me. I don’t get to the third before he clocks me in the side of my face with a closed fist.

I fall to my knees, making sure not to drop the gun. I hold on to that thing like my life depends on it, because it very well could. Rolling over onto my ass, I look to the guy who is now looming over me. And before he can get another hit in, I shoot. Blood splatters everywhere. All over my face, my chest, my arms.

For a minute, I stay on the ground, too stunned to move. I’ve never shot anyone before. Never. And now I’ve just shot three people. They’re not moving, not making a sound.

Oh god, I’vekilledthree people. Shit.

My hands shake as I reach into my bag to find my phone. Then I dial the only number—the only person I want right now.

“Printsessa, where you at?”

“Papa…” My voice cracks as soon as his comes over the line.

“Mabilia, what happened? Where are you?” He sounds panicked now.

“I didn’t mean to…” I cry into the phone,

“It’s okay, baby. I’m coming. Stay right where you are. I’ll be right there,” he says.

“Papa, hurry,” I whisper.

“I’m coming. Do you need a doctor? What happened?” he asks, but I can already hear him moving in the background.

“No. I’m okay. But they’re not,” I tell him.

“Who arethey?”

I hear car tires screech and men yelling out orders in Russian. “The guys who grabbed me. There’re three of them, Papa,” I explain while wiping the tears from my cheeks.

“You got them all?”

“I did.”

“Good girl. You did real good, printsessa. I’ll be right with you. I’ve tracked your phone. I’m coming for you,” he says.

“I love you, Papa. I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Mabilia. I’m right around the corner.”

A couple of minutes later, my father comes running down the alleyway. He spots me and scoops me up into his arms. His expression hardens when he looks down at my face. And a string of curses leaves his mouth before he kicks at one of the dead guys on the ground.

“Find out who the fuck they are and who the fuck they work for. I want their body parts delivered to each fucking member of their families. Send a goddamn message,” Papa tells his men before turning back to me. “Are you okay? It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“I’m okay now that you’re here,” I say.

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