Page 39 of Ivory Ashes

“Considering I didn’t know my son existed until an hour ago, I don’t give a fuck about what she knows,” I growl. “She’s going to do whatever I tell her to do.”

An image of Viviana lying beneath me fills my head. Her legs spread wide. She looks exactly the same, but I want to see all of her. I want to see her body now that she’s carried my child. I want to see the ways I changed her.

“She might try to run again,” Raoul says.

“She’s in even more danger now than she was before. She won’t run. I won’t let her.”

I push away from my desk and move to the bar cart. I pour myself a shot of vodka and toss it back.

Viviana can’t leave. I won’t let Dante end up like Anatoly. He’s going to have an inheritance. He’s going to have a mother and a father. I’m going to do for him what my father should have done for Anatoly.

When I turn back around, Raoul and Anatoly are looking at each other. They’ll gossip about me later, I’m sure. Right now, I don’t fucking care.

“Boys,” I announce, “I have a job for you.”

14

VIVIANA

Mikhail may have lured Dante in with talk of castles and kings, but I know this world of shiny objects and dark underbellies too well to be fooled by it. I grew up in it.

There aren’t enough crystal chandeliers in the world to make me want to raise my child here.

The plush carpets alone are sending me into a PTSD flare-up. Let me tell you, priceless pieces of art and designer sofas don’t make up for your parents leaving you alone on your birthday. Marble floors and fancy gardens don’t make up for being made to play the piano for their rich friends again and again and again until your fingers cramp and bleed. Luxury can’t replace love.

But for Dante, it’s all new and wonderful.

It takes an extra hour to get him to bed, thanks in no small part to him gorging himself on Mikhail’s endless pantry. Even after bathing him in a tub big enough to require goggles and a snorkel, I swear he still has an orange smudge of chip dust behind his ear.

But eventually, all the excitement dries up and he falls asleep in my arms as I towel him dry. I put him in pajamas and tuck him into bed. He’s softly snoring when I pull the door closed.

Being away from him, even for a few minutes, leaves an ache in my chest. I’m used to him being just on the other side of a paper-thin wall. In this mansion, I could take a wrong turn and be several football fields away from him.

“Is he asleep?” Stella is leaning against the wall next to the door. Her hands are tucked behind her back. She looks relaxed. But I know better.

She’s on patrol.

“Out like a light.” I yawn, stretching my arms over my head for effect. “I think I’m headed that way, too.”

“Already?”

“Are you telling me every thirty-something you know doesn’t have a strict eight o’clock bedtime?” I joke.

She laughs. “Not unless I’m gearing up for a night out. Then I might take a power nap to recharge.”

Stella looks to be about my age, wearing a pair of wide-legged trousers and a gray tee with a French tuck. She is young and fashionable and, based on the way she has been Dante’s personal wish-granting genie all day, friendly.

She doesn’t look like Mikhail’s secret police… but I know better.

“Well, no big night out for me. I’m going to need a solid eight hours to recharge before the wild child is ready to raid the snack drawers again.”

Stella’s smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes narrow. “Was today a big day?”

Oh, gee, let’s see: There was a hostile takeover at my job, I ran into a one-night stand I thought I’d left in the dust (see also: ex-fiancé’s brother and father of my child), and now, I’ve been kidnapped. So, yeah, you could say it has been a big day.

“Something like that.”

She nods and gestures to the room across the hall. “I’ve put your things in here. I can take you in and show you how to run the bath. It’s great when you need to unwind. Don’t tell on me, but I’ve used it a few times.”

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