Page 29 of Ivory Ashes

We have to leave. Now. Yesterday. Last week.

At one point, I considered hiring an ex-detective or an investigator to keep an eye on Mikhail and the Novikov family. If they were coming for me, I wanted to know. Then I realized that Mikhail probably has a fleet of detectives who exist to catch people looking too closely at what their family is doing. Hiring someone to watch him would have put an even bigger target on my back.

Worse, on Dante’s back.

Now, Mikhail is here and there isn’t time to rehash the past or figure out what I should have done differently. I need to get Dante the hell out of Dodge.

Dante shakes my arm. “Mama? You’re not listening to me.”

“I know, buddy. I’m sorry.” I squeeze his hand as we walk through the double front doors of the school.

There’s no one waiting outside on the sidewalk, but I still expect Mikhail to pop out of a bush or parachute down from the sky and yank Dante from my arms. Heirs are important to men like him. Even if Mikhail has kids of his own—maybe with the woman who sent him the flowers?—Dante will always have a blood connection to the Novikov Bratva. If they know Dante exists, they’ll come for him.

I scan the street, but no one seems to be paying any extra attention to us. Still, I eye them all suspiciously. Every dogwalker, every stooped Hasidic grandmother, every hot dog vendor and pirated DVD salesman hawking their wares from the corners. When I came for enrollment in the spring, I liked that the school was close to a green space and the Hudson. I imagined picking Dante up and going for walks, buying ice cream.

Now, everyone in Battery Park is a threat.

Suddenly, Dante’s hand tugs out of my grip. I spin around, heart in my throat and stomach on the ground.

“Mama!” he shrieks, arms crossed and feet planted. “Where are we going?”

I blow out a breath that does nothing to loosen the knot in my chest and kneel in front of him. “Sorry. I-I’m sorry, baby. Mama is distracted right now.”

“Where are we going?” he whines, his lower lip pouting out.

We are entering the hangry danger zone faster than I expected.

I paste on a smile. “We’re going to grab lunch at a deli?—”

“The one with the special drinks?” His ice-blue eyes light up. I have to blink away the image of the man he shares them with.

“The one with the special drinks,” I confirm. It’s amazing what a cardboard box of apple juice will do to a kid’s mood. “Then we’re going to go home and pack for an adventure.”

He gasps. “What adventure?”

My heart cracks open. I look down, half-expecting to see it puddling on the ground at my feet.

He doesn’t deserve this.

I gently tap the end of his nose. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

Five-year-olds aren’t known for their patience, but the ham, egg, and cheese sandwich from the deli keeps him busy for most of the train ride and half of the walk back to our apartment. I pick at a bag of chips and try to keep up with his conversation, but it’s hard to focus on anything except the way the walls are closing in.

The adventure I’m currently hyping up to my child? Homelessness.

My grand plan involves getting home, packing the necessities, and then… The future stretches out in front of me like a black hole.

Is there something on the other side? Will we be swallowed up forever? Only time will tell.

“What kind of adventure will it be?” Dante bounces from one foot to the other while I unlock our apartment door.

“You’ll have to see.”

“Swimming?” he guesses. “Can I wear goggles?”

“It’s too cold for swimming. Grab your favorite jackets. And your stuffies.” I think about navigating the subway with Dante and multiple suitcases and correct myself. “One stuffy. Your favorite.”

He frowns. “I don’t have favorites. They’re all my favorite.”

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