Page 134 of Ivory Oath

“You know where I’ve been,” he says wearily. “I’ve been scouring this city for any sign of your father or Christos Drakos. They stole from me and they’ve threatened the Bratva. I have to respond.”

“I heard about that.”

Anatoly filled me in last night on the lost weapons and the financial fallout. The war is ramping up.

“Then why even ask?” He drops his keys in a bowl in the center of the island. The noise shatters the quiet and I realize how quiet it has been for days.

“I know where you’ve been, but I want to talk about it,” I clarify. “I want to talk about the fact that you haven’t been here.”

His hand curls into a fist. He slides it off the counter, hiding it at his side. “Staying here doesn’t keep you safe.”

“What if I don’t want to be safe?”

He frowns, and I realize I’m not even mad at Mikhail anymore. I’m just tired.

“I don’t think ‘safe’ is my biggest priority,” I explain softly. “I’d rather have you. I want my son to be here with me. I want our children to know—really know—their father.”

Because, wow, what a father he would be. Without all of the noise and pressure and threats of violence, Mikhail could really sweep up this whole fatherhood thing. He’d blow every male figurehead I’ve seen up close and personal out of the water without even trying. Our kids could be so, so lucky, and I want that for them. More than anything.

Mikhail is looking right at me, but he’s never felt further away. The week we spent in the cabin feels like another life. The version of Mikhail that taught Dante to fish and cooked us all dinner feels like another person. My stomach churns. I feel the loss of what could be like a physical, ripping ache deep inside of me.

He takes a breath. “I want our children to survive. That’s my priority.”

I want to argue with him, but I don’t know how. Mikhail cares about this family as much as I do, but we care about it in different ways. We want different things. And I have no idea how to make that work anymore.

“You should be asleep,” he says again, dragging a hand over his jaw. “You take care of yourself and the baby; I’ll deal with everything else.”

Before I can even begin to figure out what to say to that, his phone rings.

Somewhere deeper in the house, another phone rings at the same time.

Mikhail frowns, hesitating for only a second before he answers it. “Hello?”

I hear an echo of this conversation happening in the other room. Anatoly’s on the phone, too. It’s a coincidence. They both got a phone call at the same time, that’s it. Everything is fine.

I believe my own lies until Mikhail’s face goes completely white. He lowers the phone slowly like he can’t physically hold it up anymore.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as footsteps thunder through the house behind me.

Anatoly whips into the kitchen, breathing heavily. “Mikhail.”

I look from Anatoly to my husband, lost as something unspoken passes between them.

“What is it?” I demand. “What’s happening?”

Anatoly opens his mouth to respond, but Mikhail beats him to it. “It’s Dante,” he breathes, our son’s name catching in his throat. “He’s missing.”

56

MIKHAIL

Viviana already looked worn. As soon as I walked in the kitchen and saw her slumped at the counter, I wanted to wrap her in my jacket and carry her upstairs. I haven’t been around as much as I wish I could, and I don’t think she’s been sleeping. She looked exhausted and sick. Her collarbones were poking out of the wide neck of her t-shirt, and I thought, I don’t have the bandwidth to worry about her health on top of everything else.

Now, this.

“He’s missing.” I barely get the words out before Viviana buckles.

The only reason she doesn’t crack her knees on the floor is because Anatoly catches her. He helps her into a chair, but it doesn’t matter. Viviana is up and on her feet again a second later. She stumbles towards me.

---