Page 146 of Ivory Oath

As much as I want Mikhail to put our family first, we will always come second to the Bratva. Because that’s who Mikhail is. It’s who he was raised to be.

No amount of loving him will change that if he doesn’t want to change.

“Just give him time,” Anatoly urges softly.

He’s watching me like he can see what I’m thinking. I give him a tight smile.

Then the door opens.

I don’t think. I don’t make a single conscious decision. On pure instinct, I run for the open door. I run for my son.

Dante is so small and frail, curled against Raoul’s chest. But as soon as he sees me, he starts wriggling and writhing, trying to get free.

“You shouldn’t pick him up,” Anatoly reminds me. “You’re supposed to rest.”

His voice is a million miles away. It’s not in this room; not in this reality. The only thing that exists is me and my son.

“Dante!” I sob, dropping to my knees just as Raoul sets him on the ground.

He leaps for me and I fold him against my body. I bury my face in his golden brown hair and I rock with him, back and forth, back and forth. It’s the way I held him as a baby. I would hold him all night, rocking him in the dark, terrified that I would lose him.

I can’t believe I ever let him out of my sight. What was I thinking?

He’s shaking in my arms, so I stroke his back. “You’re okay, baby. I’m here. I’m not letting you go.”

And I don’t.

I hold Dante until he stops crying. Then, I carry him upstairs—despite Anatoly protesting the entire way—and give him a bath. While I rinse the dust and sweat out of his hair and wipe off his pink cheeks, he holds my hand over the lip of the tub. He keeps hold of it while I read him books in bed. Every so often, he gives my fingers a squeeze like he wants to remind himself I’m still here. Even as his eyes drift closed, he doesn’t let go.

I almost lost him.

Something about lying here with him is driving it all home. He’s safe and I now know with painful clarity that that isn’t a guarantee. We got so lucky, and I can’t count on that again.

I won’t leave his life up to chance.

He’s still breathing deeply when I slip away from him and tiptoe out of his room. I have no idea what time it is, but the house is dark. There are no voices coming from downstairs.

So I move silently down the hall and into my old bedroom.

When Mikhail first brought us here, I stashed a duffel bag under my bed, filled with everything I’d need if Dante and I had to get gone fast. It was my emergency exit plan. I almost forgot about it.

There’s a fine layer of dust on the top of the bag when I pull it out from under the bed. I sweep it off and unzip it.

There are a few changes of clothes, a roll of cash that could get us three or four nights in a cheap motel—but only if we’re okay sharing with bedbugs—and toothbrushes. The bare necessities.

Except, Dante needs more than this. For years, I thought as long as Dante and I had each other, we had everything we needed. It’s a romantic idea, but things have changed.

He needs his father. He needs stability.

“But he won’t have that here, will he?” I whisper to myself.

The truth hurts, but it’s still the truth.

I blink back tears and zip the bag closed. I hike it over my shoulder and stand up…

Just as the door behind me opens.

Mikhail is a dark shadow against the hallway light, but I’d recognize the shape of him anywhere. “What the fuck are you doing?” he growls.

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