Page 123 of Ivory Oath

I ease down the hall, waiting for a break in the shredding and smashing that I realize isn’t going to come. So I push the door open and step inside.

Or at least, I step as far as I can before there’s a boiling sea of clothes, jewelry, and shoes blocking my path. I’m about to pick my way through the mess when another bundle of clothes comes flying out of the closet, followed by the drawer they must have been in.

The drawer is solid wood, but Viviana manages to hurl it across the room and hit the bed frame. A chunk of wood splinters away and the front of the drawer breaks off with a pained, groaning crack.

I don’t give a shit about the furniture or the house. But if she doesn’t stop this, she’s going to hurt herself.

I hop over a tangled mass of hangers and make my way to the closet. Viviana is standing in the middle of it, our tipped-over dresser on the floor next to her with the bar she ripped out of the wall balanced on top. She’s still in her cotton pajamas, her skin shimmering with sweat.

“Viviana.”

Every muscle in her body goes rigid. She turns to me slowly and I almost expect not to recognize her. As if she’s been possessed by some vengeful spirit.

But she looks at me and… it’s still Viviana.

Her eyes are swollen from crying, but they’re as green as they’ve ever been. Her mouth is twisted into a scowl, but her lower lip is ever-so-slightly fuller than the top.

She’s the woman I love—and she’s a wreck.

I stand in the doorway, my arms opened wide. “Take it out on me.” Her brows pinch together and I wave her forward. “Whatever you’re feeling, malysh, let it out on me.”

Viviana is frozen in the middle of the room for only a second. Then she launches herself at me.

51

VIVIANA

I hate him.

From the moment I woke up alone in bed, walked across the hall, and found Dante’s room empty, I’ve hated Mikhail.

Finally, I get to do something about it.

I throw every single ounce of my weight at him, but he barely sways on his feet. I claw at whatever parts of him I can grab—his sleeves, his hair, his clothes.

“You’re a liar!” I snarl. “You’re a filthy fucking liar and I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

I don’t recognize my own voice. The thoughts in my head belong to someone else, too.

As soon as I tore through the mansion and realized my baby boy was gone, I became another person. Someone broken and desperate and wild.

I wanted to kill Mikhail.

Now, here he is, standing in the mess with his arms spread like some kind of savior, and I have never wanted to hurt anyone as much as I want to hurt him.

No one has ever taught me to fight. There was no reason to. My father didn’t care if his daughter knew how to throw a punch. As long as I could smile and nod, I knew everything he wanted me to know.

I wish I’d taken a kickboxing class in the years on the run. Something, anything, that could make this an even fight.

Seams rip and my fists ache from pounding against his chest, but Mikhail doesn’t move. Doesn’t defend himself. He stands there and takes it without flinching.

“That’s it,” he encourages softly. “Whatever you need to do, Viviana.”

“Shut up!” I punctuate the point with two poorly-placed jabs to his ribs. “Fight back!”

“I’m not going to fight you.”

I fall back, already panting and out of breath. There are a lot of rooms in this mansion. Destroying them all one by one took a lot out of me. “Why not?”

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