Page 33 of Ivory Ashes

“No!” I slide between Mikhail and the door. “Don’t touch him.”

“Then tell me the truth,” he snarls.

Everything I’ve done since Dante was born has been to avoid this moment. Every sacrifice, every lonely night, every scraped-together bill paid to keep the lights on and food in our fridge—all of it was to keep Dante a secret from the man in front of me.

Now, I don’t have a choice. No matter what I do, I could lose Dante.

Tears well in my eyes. When I look up at Mikhail, they roll down my cheeks. “Please don’t take him away from me. Please.”

It’s as much confirmation as he’s going to get. Turns out, it’s as much as he needs.

Mikhail watches my tears with an unreadable expression. Then he tips his head towards the door. “I want to meet him.”

My instinct to shield Dante from the world rises up. I block the door. “He isn’t ready. Give him time. Let me ease him into the idea and then?—”

“If you think I’m going to walk away and give you a chance to run again, you’re wrong,” he breathes in a low rumble. “The only reason I didn’t find you for the last six years is because I wasn’t looking very hard.”

I didn’t know he was looking for me at all. That’s news.

“But,” Mikhail continues, “if you run again, I’ll raise heaven and hell to track you down and take my son back. You’ve stolen five years from me; I’m not going to give you another day. Open the door and introduce me to my son. Now.”

“Okay, but?—”

“You’re not in a position to barter.” He looms large over me to highlight exactly which position I’m in. As if I need reminding. It’s hard to forget you're in a snare while you’re being dangled upside down by your ankle.

“I’m not bartering for me,” I argue. “It’s for him. Being a father is a lot more than genetics. If you barge in there and announce yourself as his dad, you’ll terrify him and scar him forever.”

“What have you told him about his dad? Does he think I’m a flake? Dead?”

“He doesn’t think anything,” I admit. “I told him… I told him our family was complete. Just the two of us.”

It was a lie then and it’s a lie now. There was always something missing.

I’m just not convinced that the missing piece is Mikhail. But it’s too late now.

“Tell him your name and say you’re my friend,” I advise. “Don’t overcomplicate it. He has a good eye for liars.”

As I open the door, Mikhail mutters behind me. “Apparently not.”

Dante has one leg crossed over the other on the couch. Clifford has slipped sideways, his stuffed head resting against Dante’s shoulder. He doesn’t look up as we enter, too entranced by the crime-fighting dogs on the screen.

But when Mikhail clears his throat, Dante’s eyes snap up.

“Who is that?” he asks, not waiting for Mikhail to introduce himself.

The male role models in his life are slim pickings. I didn’t even officially introduce him to Tommy until he’d lived in the building for six months. I didn’t want Dante getting attached if he wasn’t going to be a long-term tenant.

Now, I’m introducing him to his actual biological father. A man I’ve spoken to for no more than one hour total in my life.

“Dante, this is Mikhail.”

Dante eyes him up and down.

My stomach twists. I feel nauseous. My instincts are screaming at me to wrap my arms around my son and shield him from what’s coming next. It’s like a bomb is about to go off, except I’m the one pushing the button.

“Is he going on our adventure, too?” Dante asks.

“Oh. Um… Well, I don’t know if?—”

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