Page 94 of Ivory Ashes

Then, ten minutes later, Viviana throws open the door of my office. I swear I see heat rippling off of her.

“You had no right,” she growls, arms crossed over her chest. She’s changed into her work clothes and the buttons on her top are straining with every ragged inhale. “No. Fucking. Right. Dante misses his friends and his life and you told him he was never going to see them again. He’s heartbroken.”

“He looked heartbroken,” I snark. “It took twenty whole seconds and a strip of cold bacon to take his mind off of it.”

“That shows how well you know him. Dante needs time to process. He’s okay now, but I’ll be the one holding him—again—while he cries—again—because of you—again.”

Even Anatoly thought I was harsh with the kid, so I can own that. But the rest of it?

“Whose fault do you think it is that I don’t know my own son, Viviana?” I stand up, rounding my desk slowly. “You kept him from me. You’re the reason he’s not prepared for the life he’s going to lead.”

She flicks her hair over her shoulder, one leg cocked to the side. “A life where he hides away in this mansion all day and doesn’t have friends? Doesn’t sound like much of a life to me!”

“Better than hiding from who he really is. It’s better than running forever.”

Fire burns in her eyes and I still want to pull her close.

What in the fuck is wrong with me?

“We were only running because of you!” She squeezes her eyes closed and rubs her fingers into her temples. “I can’t do this. I can’t—I want to take Dante home.”

“He is home.”

“To my home. Our home,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “You can still be in his life, but there’s no reason we need to live together.”

“We’re married.”

“Legally,” she points out. “In every other way, it wouldn’t make any difference whether I’m here or not. It’s not like you care.”

Of course I don’t care. Why the fuck would I care?

Why the fuck do I care?

“I care whether my son lives or not. You can’t protect him in that shitty apartment. The doors are paper-thin and the security is nonexistent.”

“I did just fine for the last five years.”

“Because no one knew who you were, Margaret!” I stop in front of her, looking down. “Is this about Tommy?”

It takes her a second to switch gears, to understand what I’m talking about. Who I’m talking about.

“My neighbor? You think this is about—Jesus, Mikhail, this isn’t about him. This is about me and Dante. This is about what’s best for us!”

“This is about what you think is best for you,” I sneer. “You want to hide out in that apartment and pretend to be Margaret. You want to date a boring man like Tommy and hide from what you really want.”

Her eyes narrow to slits as she glares up at me. “And what do I really want, Mikhail?”

I lean towards her. Instantly, her face softens. Her full lips part. She’s so responsive to me. She can’t help herself.

I want to pin her against the wall and show her what she wants. I want to give it to her. Now. Later. Every day until I’m fucking dust in the ground.

Instead, I step away. “This isn’t about you and me, Viviana. It’s about Dante. What he needs is to learn what it takes to become pakhan.”

“He’s five!”

“Which is five more years of freedom and innocence than most heirs get.”

“You said—” Her voice breaks and she swallows past a lump in her throat. “You said he could have more time.”

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