Page 19 of Ivory Ashes

I can’t afford to lose this job. Financially, obviously. I have bills to pay and a growing mouth to feed. Dante goes through snacks like a bear bulking up for winter. The amount of food he can put in his forty-pound body is shocking.

But also, I got this job under a false name. A false name I legitimized with very expensive fake documents that I only got by making a deal with the devil himself: my dad.

But that was under duress.

After I left Mikhail asleep in that hotel suite six years ago, I went on the run. Which mostly meant I stayed in motels that didn’t charge my card until after I was checked out. It was a simple plan that made it hard to track me.

It also fell apart the moment the exhaustion and morning sickness set in.

One day a couple months after my great escape, I was too busy hurling my guts into a barely-sanitized motel toilet to pack up and hustle off before checkout time. The motel charged my card and dear old Dad was on my doorstep within a half-hour.

He saw me hunched over the toilet. He saw the pregnancy test in the trash. I literally watched my worth dwindle in his eyes as he understood what was happening.

I was pregnant.

No one would touch me now. He couldn’t marry me off to the highest bidder if I was knocked up with someone else’s baby.

“You’re getting an abortion,” he announced. “Now. Get up. We’re leaving.”

“I can’t.”

He grabbed me hard around the elbow. “Then don’t stand. I’ll drag you if I have to.”

I shook him off. “I can stand. But I can’t get an abortion.”

“Why not?” he growled.

In that split second, I had a decision to make. The most important decision of my life.

Also the easiest.

I was going to do whatever it took to save my baby.

“Trofim may be exiled, but I have another connection to the Novikov Bratva.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then pointed down to my stomach. “This baby belongs to Mikhail Novikov.”

Just like that, I was in my father’s good graces again.

Mikhail was still young. Untested. His takeover of the Novikov Bratva was anything but certain. Iakov seemed to be rolling over for his son, but there was no way to be sure Mikhail’s mini-mutiny would finish successfully. Not yet.

Besides, my father was happy to have me up his sleeve. A trick card he could whip out when he needed it.

At least, that’s what he muttered as he paced back and forth across my room while I tried to keep some water down.

“You said Trofim is exiled?” he asked, changing trains of thought too fast for me to follow.

“Yeah. Mikhail gave him an out. He didn’t kill him.”

My father resumed his pacing, muttering something about liabilities and assurances.

Then he turned to me, a wicked smile on his face. “How much is your freedom worth, Viviana?”

I can tell you right now: it was worth enough that I don’t want to pay that price again. If I lose this job and have to start over, I don’t know what I’ll do.

The ghosts of my past are swirling around my foggy head as the elevator doors open and I step into the office proper of Cerberus Industries. Twisted metal sculptures line the main hallway, showcasing the kind of quality metals you can expect from Cerberus.

No one likes when you point out that we rarely receive quotes for art installations. Our money comes from the perpetual construction all over the city that everyone always complains about.

Stainless steel for new builds is our primary money maker. Then there’s aluminum for vehicle manufacturing, magnesium alloy for aerospace, and copper for—Oh God, what am I going to do with all of this useless information once I’m laid off?

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