Page 133 of Ivory Oath

I drop down in the closest barstool. “Did he tell you that? Did he say he was trying to avoid me?”

Anatoly pulls out an armful of chef-prepared meals and dumps them on the counter. One of the containers has mold growing up the inside wall. I’m not surprised—I haven’t eaten anything but sleeves of salted crackers and obnoxiously sugary cereal in days. And if Mikhail is eating, he isn’t doing it here.

“No, he didn’t say he was trying to avoid you. That is my point.” Anatoly dips his chin, looking at me from under his brows. “You’re both liars.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Said the liar,” Anatoly retorts. “You were sneaking down that hall—with all the grace of a horse in tap shoes, by the way—to catch a secret glimpse of your hubby because you’re too afraid to walk into his office and talk to him.”

“I’m not afraid,” I mumble.

I can still feel Mikhail’s hand around my throat. When I close my eyes, I see the fear burning in his. I didn’t understand it in the moment, but since I’ve had days on my own to think about it, I realized something: for a second, Mikhail was just as afraid of himself and what he was capable of as I was.

“And Mikhail,” Anatoly charges on, ignoring me, “is, once again, burying himself in work and responsibilities to procrastinate dealing with his personal life.”

I don’t want to ask and give Anatoly the satisfaction of knowing I care, but I can’t stop myself. “He’s done this before?”

“After Alyona and Anzhelina,” he says quietly. “It went on for years, actually… Until he met you.”

My heart twinges. I fiddle with the hem of my shirt to hide the fact that my hands are shaking. “Maybe Mikhail just likes work. Maybe this has nothing to do with me and this is just how he is. He’s a workaholic. Everything comes second to the Bratva.”

Anatoly is quiet for long enough that I look up. He’s watching me, looking unusually somber.

“What?”

He breathes softly. “I wasn’t born under the same pressure Mikhail was, being a bastard and all. Even as the second-born, a lot was expected of Mikhail—from Iakov and everyone else. Boys picked fights with him growing up just to say they beat up a Novikov. Then there was Trofim… God, he was such an asshole. Still is, I’m sure, wherever the fuck he is.” Anatoly blows out a harsh breath and continues. “Mikhail couldn’t let his guard down unless he wanted to risk getting hurt. And that was before he had people who depended on him.”

“He wanted that,” I point out. “He overthrew Trofim so he could run the Bratva. He wanted to?—”

“He wanted to make sure no one had to live under Trofim’s thumb,” Anatoly corrects. “If you think becoming pakhan was all about power for Mikhail, then you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

I could argue with him, but he’s right. I know it was about more than that. No matter how upset I am with him right now, Mikhail is a good man with a good heart.

Even if he works hard to make sure no one ever sees it.

“If Mikhail hadn’t taken over, I would have left the Bratva,” Anatoly admits.

“Really?”

He nods. “There was no good reason for me to stay. Not after Trofim killed my mom. The only reason I stuck around is because I wanted to support Mikhail. Even still, I would have given it all up for the right person.”

“For Stella?” I guess.

Anatoly’s eyes darken for a second. Then he shakes his head, waving away the question. “All I’m saying is, there are a lot of things more important to Mikhail than the Bratva.”

I want to believe Anatoly, I really do. But no matter how hard I try, there’s no part of me that can imagine a future where Mikhail isn’t running the Bratva. Where death and war aren’t constantly intruding on our doorstep.

I knew all of that when we got married—twice. But I thought I was agreeing to face it together. If I’d known I’d be facing it all alone, I’m not sure I would have made the same choice.

Anatoly warms something up for dinner and leaves, but I stay at the island. I sit there for a long time, thinking through everything Anatoly said, everything Mikhail and I have been through. I’m not specifically waiting for Mikhail, but I don’t flee to my room when I hear him coming in the front door late.

He walks down the hall towards the kitchen and I hear his steps falter when he sees me at the island. Then: “You should be asleep.”

“I can’t. Not until we talk.” I turn to face him. His beard is longer than I’ve ever seen it and his hair is sticking up like he’s run his hands through it one too many times today. He looks tired and there’s probably a better time to do this, but I have no idea when that would be. I’m not sure it would ever come. Now is all I’ve got.

His jaw clicks. “About what?”

“About where you’ve been.”

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