Page 150 of Ivory Oath

When Dante slides his hand in mine while we’re walking aimlessly through the trees.

The way Viviana curls against my chest in her sleep.

Right now, those tiny moments are all crushed under the weight of responsibility.

“I think I was getting close with Stella,” Anatoly admits quietly. He swipes a hand over his face, but it’s too dark to see if he’s crying. Even if he is, I don’t want to see it. I feel shitty enough as it is. “But I didn’t move fast enough and… I lost her.”

I shake my head. “I lost her. I should’ve known Pyotr was a spy. If I’d been paying attention, then?—”

He holds up a hand to stop me. “I didn’t come here to blame you, Mikhail. I don’t blame you. I never did. I’m just here to tell you that the world we grew up in is a tiny sliver of what’s possible out there. And if you want to test some of those other options out… well, no one would blame you.”

He says it like it’s as simple as trying on a hat. Slipping one off and popping another one on.

What he’s suggesting, what Viviana is asking—it isn’t some minor thing. They’re asking me to give up who I am. Who I’ve been for thirty-five years.

“I can’t. You know I can’t. Too many people depend on me.”

“Because you don’t give us a choice!” Anatoly laughs. “You take on everything by yourself and don’t give anyone else a chance to figure it out on their own. But I promise you, the men you lead are capable. They’ll land on their feet even if you aren’t there to catch them.”

I know he’s right, but… “This is our family’s legacy.”

He turns to me, his eyes wide and clear. “You’re my pakhan and I respect the hell out of you. But I’m also your brother, so please hear me when I say, Fuck our family’s legacy.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Otets is probably rolling in his shallow grave hearing that.”

“Good,” he spits. “It’s what the fucker deserves. He definitely doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”

“I’m not loyal to him. I’m not doing any of this for him.”

“Okay.” Anatoly slides his hands in his pockets. “Then who are you doing it for?”

The question hangs in the air between us, unanswered and unanswerable.

After a beat, Anatoly pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll see you at home.” His crunching steps grow quieter until they’re gone.

“Who the fuck am I doing this for?” I whisper to myself.

When I decided to overthrow Trofim and take the Bratva for myself, I was doing it for me. I’d lost Alyona and Anzhelina. I had nothing else—no one else. The last thing I wanted was for the only other constant in my life to be run into the ground because my brother was an incompetent psychopath.

Being pakhan made sense then.

Now, I have Viviana and Dante.

Does it still make sense?

“She’s right,” I breathe. “Viviana is right. This world is killing them. It’s destroying us. The way it destroyed you.”

I could have taken Alyona and Anzhelina and fled the city. I wasn’t pakhan yet; we could have outrun the war and lived a quiet life. But I stayed. I stayed and I fought in my father’s war because I thought it was my duty. That misplaced loyalty cost my family their lives.

I already lost one family to the Bratva.

I won’t lose another.

61

VIVIANA

He didn’t choose me.

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