HEART STEALER'S POINT OF VIEW
Late night walks, beers, penthouses, a snow on my wedding dress, this night felt like a movie scene.
The snow crunched beneath my heels as I pressed the second rock into place, completing the eyes of our lopsided snowman. It leaned slightly to the left, a little misshapen, but it had character—just like us. I took a step back to inspect it, brushing my hands together.
"Well," I muttered, tilting my head as I surveyed our creation, "he's... something."
"Just so you know." Jazz hardly says beside me, trying to compose the right words himself, he drank too much, and I piqued in, waiting for his follow up response.
"I'm going to wife you up." He says while staring at the snowman.
I giggled, "You're gonna wife up the snowman, okay."
It was almost finished, and he didn't respond after that. I looked around and took a stick I picked up on a tree, and makeshifted it to arms complete of hand, what's left was the nose.
I saw Jazz, sitting on the cold ground with his long legs stretched out facing the snowman, his red lips curled into a devil-may-care smirk, eyes half-lidded from the effects of alcohol, as if he was having a stare off with the snowman he's going to wife up.
The street was eerily silent, the kind of silence that amplified every blow of wind with vapors of snowflakes that breezed on us, on my wedding dress and on Jazz' suit. The world was wrapped in a soft white blanket, the faint light from the streetlamps catched the falling snowflakes.
It was peaceful in a way it felt absurd—two criminals sitting on a quiet Moscow street, side by side, staring at a crooked snowman.
The snowman's uneven grin and lopsided carrot nose seemed to mock us. I couldn't help but stare back, as if challenging it to laugh out loud.
Then, without warning, Jazz's head slumped onto my shoulder. The weight of him startled me at first, but when I glanced over, I saw his sharp features softened by sleep. His thick lashes rested on his cheeks, his breath slow and even.
I sighed. "Oh my God," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. "Why did he drink so much?"
Jazz Silvester Klein, the towering, intimidating leader of Alasteer, now reduced to a drunken deadweight.
I slipped my arm around his shoulders, grumbling as I tried to lift him. The disparity in our heights made it almost impossible—me, a petite woman, dragging this six-foot-seven man through the snow-covered streets of Moscow. If anyone were watching, they'd think I was a reluctant bride dragging my drunken groom.
"Jazz...Wake up please." I mutter to myself.
I was half-convinced I'd be stuck here all night when two figures emerged from the shadows. They were bundled in thick coats and ski masks, one tall and the other noticeably shorter. My muscles tensed, instincts flaring to life.
No way was I letting them take the first move.
Before either of them could speak, I lunged. My fist swung toward the taller one's jaw. He dodged, his movements quick and practiced, but I was faster. Even drunk, I wasn't someone to be underestimated.
The shorter one tried to circle me, but I twisted, throwing a low kick that caught him off guard. He stumbled back into a snowbank with a yelp.
