Page 86 of Ivory Ashes

“A retired detective who worked the scene mentioned some hair tie or clip or something tangled up in Trofim’s sheets. They think there was a woman there with him that night.”

“A woman?” I feel nauseous. I suddenly wish I hadn’t eaten a single bite.

“What’s the matter, Viviana?” Mikhail leans forward, and I freeze. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of the woman my brother was fucking.”

A shaky laugh huffs out of my tight chest. “God, no. I just hope the woman got out of there okay.”

“I’ll let you know when I find her.”

“You’re looking for her? Why?”

“Because she may be the last person to have seen Trofim alive.”

My heart is wedged firmly in my throat. “You think she killed him?”

“Or she knows who did.” Mikhail shrugs. “It’s worth looking into.”

“Why, though?” I blurt. “I mean, you exiled him. Why look?”

“He’s my brother.”

“The brother you exiled. The brother who killed Anatoly’s mother and treated everyone like shit. I don’t want to be harsh, but… who cares if he’s dead?”

Forget crossing lines—I’m burning them. I’m eradicating lines and dancing on the other side of decency.

Of course, Mikhail doesn’t mind. “He is associated with the Bratva. If someone killed him, I want to know why and make sure it has nothing to do with me and mine.” He sits back, a smile playing on his lips. “But I had no idea you were so ruthless. You really hated Trofim, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t hate him. I just—Okay, yes, I hated him,” I admit. “But only because Trofim represented all of the worst parts of this world. He was heartless and brutal for no reason. He only cared about gaining power and he didn’t care who he crushed on his way to the top. Men like him are why I didn’t want Dante living in it.”

“What about men like me?” Mikhail asks with surprising softness. “I got rid of Trofim. I protected you. But you still didn’t want Dante in my world.”

“It was more complicated than?—”

“He was my son and you knew that,” Mikhail interrupts. “Did you think I would hurt him?”

We haven’t talked about why I kept Dante away from Mikhail. Not really. Not at length. If the other option wasn’t talking about Trofim, maybe I would try to change the subject.

“I didn’t know what you would do,” I tell him honestly. “I barely knew you, Mikhail. I saw you around at a few parties. Then you burst into that bridal suite the night before my wedding and told me you were bad. You looked me in the eyes and said that you weren’t going to be good for me. What was I supposed to think?”

“He is my son.”

“Exactly. Your son. The son of the new Novikov pakhan. But I didn’t want that for him. I still don’t.” I tug my lower lip into my mouth, trying to find the words. “It’s not about you anymore. I know that you’re going to take care of him now. But you can’t stop what’s coming for him. His future.”

“I don’t want to stop it,” Mikhail declares proudly. “Everything I’m working towards right now, I’m going to pass on to him. He’s going to carry on my family’s name.”

The thought weighs heavy in my chest, but I understand. I do. Mikhail is proud of what he’s done and he wants to share it with his son—with our son.

“But not yet.” My voice breaks in a plea. “Right now, he’s a little boy. I want him to be a little boy.”

Mikhail’s blue eyes make a slow study of me. “That’s why you’re the perfect mother for my child, Viviana.”

My heart stutters, and I have to remind myself. He didn’t say perfect woman or perfect wife.

“We balance each other out,” he explains.

“Does that mean you agree to give him more time to be a normal kid before all of the Bratva training?”

“It’s not like I’m shipping him off to boot camp.” The corner of his mouth twists upward wryly. “Marriage is about compromise, isn’t it?”

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