“Nyet, child. Nothing is truly dead until you give up on it. Do you think your mamochka is dead? Or is she here?” When I look up, I see Zoya spreading her arms wide to encompass the whole kitchen, the restaurant. “She’s right here with us. In me. In you. And this Ariel… What you have with her is not dead unless you choose to let it die. Go to her. Beg. Grovel. Live.” A guttural noise escapes me—part growl, part sob. “She’ll shoot me on sight.” Zoya’s smile curves like her cleaver. “So be ready to duck.”
