Page 180 of Ivory Ashes

“This isn’t about Mikhail—it’s about Iakov,” I explain. “He’s coming for me because of what you made me do.”

“I didn’t make you do anything. You had a choice. And if you’ll remember, you didn’t uphold your end of the bargain.”

“My end of the bargain was to risk my life killing Trofim and then hand you my son. It was a shit deal and it was never really an option.”

“Is the bastard boy with you now? Or am I right in assuming he’s with his father while you’re in some rat-infested motel?” I don’t answer, but I don’t have to. He laughs. “You stabbed me in the back and lost the boy anyway. Now, you’re on the run and desperate. It’s just like the last time I came and scooped you up off the pavement.”

He has no idea how right he is. Down to the positive pregnancy test sitting in front of me.

“I won’t survive this time.”

Every cell in my body wants to lie and tell my father I’ll make it on my own, but I know I won’t. My choices over the last six years are catching up with me. I tried, but it just wasn’t enough. I wasn’t smart enough or brave enough to make it.

Dante’s face flashes in my mind. I can still feel his head heavy on my shoulder, his soft breath against my neck.

I squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself not to dissolve into more tears. Not in front of my father.

“Please,” I beg. The word is bitter, but appealing to my father for help is my only choice. “I’ll do anything.”

He hums as he considers and I can hear the amusement. He’s loving this far more than he should.

Then his answer comes as swift as an executioner’s ax.

“No.”

I freeze. “What?”

“No,” he repeats. “You have a current and a former Novikov pakhan after you. All because you turned your back on me and ran.”

“Dad—”

“I was willing to help you before, even after you ran the night before your wedding. I was willing to pick up the pieces of your broken promises. But now… Now, you need to face real consequences, Viviana. You need to understand what it’s like when I’m not playing the hero and cleaning up your messes.”

If I wasn’t so panicked, I’d laugh. My father has never been the hero. Not once.

But I can’t even formulate coherent thoughts, let alone words.

“Good luck,” he says into the stunned silence. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

The line goes dead and I throw my phone against the wall. It leaves a dent, but it’s just one of many in the trashed room.

“You won’t see me once I’m dead!” I shriek.

I swipe my arm across the table in front of me, sending the pregnancy test and half of the supplies I bought from the drugstore flying across the room.

The anger fuels me for another ten seconds before I collapse on the floor and start gathering up the mess.

I have no idea where I’m going to live, how I’m going to get more money, or where my next meal is coming from. I can’t afford to throw a fit.

I stack the non-perishables and water bottles on the table and then drop to my hands and knees to find the pregnancy test under the bed. I don’t need it anymore. I already know what the result is. But I have to stare at it some more to convince myself this nightmare is real.

I’m pregnant with Mikhail Novikov’s second child.

I’m on the run.

I’m all alone.

I press my hand to my stomach. Maybe not all alone.

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