Mabel Shot Part 2

"I don’t want to seem rude..." I hiss and raise my hand in a gesture of apology, shrugging my shoulders as I look at her, preferring to admit that I'm terrible with names. "But I don’t remember your name, ma’am. Please don’t be angry with me, but I’m really bad at remembering names..."
"I would never be angry with you, Mabel," she interrupts my words, making me freeze, unable to move as her arm rises. I feel the luxurious fabric of the glove glide slowly across my cheek.
It’s strange how her touch on my face triggers a feeling of ancient familiarity, like a tactile memory. The way she looks at me makes me feel as if I’ve received that same affectionate gaze and been caressed by that gentle touch before. But I don’t understand why, since the only time I saw her was when I arrived in Moscow. She barely spoke to me, let alone touched me. But here, now, with this sudden gesture of her arm rising to touch my face, it’s as if I’ve known her for years.
"Mabel, there’s a woman looking for you at the entrance." The strange connection this woman makes me feel is broken by one of the receptionists calling for me. I take a step back, distancing myself from the elegant woman's touch.
"Oh, of course..." I blink quickly, dissipating the cloud of nostalgia that had caught me. I glance quickly at the receptionist, nodding as I move my head forward. "I’ll be right there, thanks for letting me know."
"Don’t worry about me, I was just leaving." I turn my face to the elegant woman as she speaks calmly, gazing at me. "I just stopped by to take a look. Good night, Miss Shot."
I watch her walk away, silent, just as she came, leaving through the other exit to the left and dragging her long white fur coat on the ground.
"Mabel, you should go now." I look at the receptionist, who stares at me and chuckles. "The woman who’s looking for you is drawing the attention of the guests..."
"How?" I shake my head, not understanding what she means.
I know it’s Sieta; she’s the only one coming here. Czar had left early; I didn’t even see when he arrived or when he left. I just knew he went home because of his pillow, which had the mark of his head. I hurry along, following the receptionist, repeating in my mind the excuse I had made up to give to Sieta for not going to this party. Maybe, if I got really lucky, I could convince her that we were just going out for dinner and then returning home. I forget what I had planned to say to her as soon as I spot her in a form-fitting leather jumpsuit, wearing high-heeled boots, slowly walking among the guests and admiring the paintings. Her black hair is completely pulled back, with not a single strand out of place. Her makeup is heavy in dark tones, from the wine lipstick on her lips to the smoky black eyes. I hold back a laugh and see what the receptionist was referring to. I understand why she draws the guests' attention. There’s no way to miss her feminine curves with the deep neckline of her sexy catwoman outfit. She just needed the mask to resemble the comic book character.
"Hey..." I say to her, stretching out my hand, waving, as I rush toward her.
"Hey, are you ready?" She smiles at me and winks as I stop in front of her.
"I just have to change out of my uniform and grab my bag, and then we can go." I look around, noticing the stares on her are increasing. "Do you mind waiting for me here, or would you prefer to meet me at the back exit for staff?"
"Back exit, for sure!"
"Okay. I promise I won’t take long!" I smile at her and nod my head positively.
I watch Sieta walk away, moving quickly and decisively toward the exit, not bothered by all the attention she’s drawing.
"I thought I wouldn’t see that damn Gregovivk entering this gallery again," Boris says bitterly, stopping beside me and scolding me.
"And I thought that after your robbery, you would be a more sensible man, Mr. Boris!" I turn my face to look at him, raising my eyebrow and confronting him.
"Do you really think I’m afraid of that murderous bastard?" He lowers his face and brings it close to mine, covertly looking at my cleavage, murmuring with a fake smile. "I’m just waiting to see how long it will take for your body to be found charred." His eyes return to my face. "A waste of a body, but it will be well-deserved for getting involved with a murderer."
"What are you talking about..." I murmur, stepping back, distancing myself from this fake snake, not understanding why Boris is calling Mr. Gregovivk a murderer and saying these things. "You’re making things up."
"Am I?!" He laughs cynically, pretending we’re having a casual conversation, and not that he’s insinuating that Czar killed someone. "You chose wrong, Mabel. You could have done much better if you had picked the right guy to get into your pants."
"Why are you saying he’s a murderer?" I ask nervously, lowering my voice as I look around, disguising a smile when a couple of guests pass by us.
"If you don’t know, I’m not the one to tell you!" He raises his glass of champagne to his mouth and gives me an ironic look, turning to walk away from me.
On impulse, I grab his arm before he can move away, forcing him to stay where he is.
"Tell me what you started, Mr. Boris." I dig my nails harder into his arm, knowing it’s the one Czar hurt. I press down harder and see him wince in pain. "Or I’ll cross this hall right now and go to your uncle and suggest he carefully review the gallery’s ledger!"
"Are you really threatening me? Do you think that..."
"I don’t care what you think, but I know exactly what your uncle, Mr. Rumeu, will think when he realizes that the sales closures of the paintings made by his nephew don’t match what’s in the ledger!"
"Bitch!" he curses at me angrily and pulls his arm back. He raises his hand and pushes his hair back, disguising a fake smile on his lips. "The stupid bitch of his mother, whom Huslan Gregovivk dragged out of the gutter, but who never stopped being a miserable wretch, even covered in the best jewels of Moscow, was murdered by her own son."
"Christ!" I take a deep breath and feel my fingers trembling. "You’re worse than I thought. Besides being a fucking creep who harasses the employees, you’re also a lying worm. Mrs. Gregovivk died saving her son from a fire; how can you be so low..."
"She died getting that shit of a son of hers out of the fire that he himself caused on purpose." Boris smiles and straightens his jacket lapel. "Because he’s exactly what I told you, a shit of a son who killed his own mother! And that’s exactly how you’re going to die when he chars your little body." He sniffs the air and laughs. "What’s the smell of a dumb whore being burned?"