Page 56 of Ivory Oath

I nuzzle my face into his hand. “Thank you.”

“But he isn’t like other kids, Viviana. Dante is going to have to grow up sooner than you want him to.”

I nod, but only because I don’t know what else to say.

I was sitting in the tub this morning so worried about how Mikhail would handle raising a daughter that I forgot to be worried about how the two of us would handle raising any child together.

As Mikhail teaches Dante how to gut and clean the animal, to show respect for its sacrifice, it’s hard not to think about how different we are. Mikhail wants to hand down the things he was taught as a child; all I want to do is run from my past.

I have no idea how we’ll navigate any of it. All I do know is, right now, Dante is happy.

That’ll have to be enough.

25

MIKHAIL

“I like hunting with you,” Dante says, a speared marshmallow held over the fire we built. “It’s fun.”

“I like hunting with you, too, kid.”

I promised Viviana no more guns, but there’s still plenty I can teach Dante in the woods. Like how to build a fire. And, just as important, how to make a s’more.

Plus, being outside makes it all seem so much more… manageable.

The last few days in the cabin have been amazing. It’s like taking a deep breath after a lifetime of hyperventilating. Never slowing down. Never relaxing.

It also feels like a dream. Like a peek into the peaceful, domestic life I could have had if I was someone else. The longer it goes on, the more I just want it to end—because the more of it I experience, the worse it will hurt to let it go.

I know better than most what letting go feels like.

Viviana and Dante are not Alyona and Anzhelina. I know that. That doesn’t stop my brain from drawing the parallels.

My wife and daughter needed me and I wasn’t there for them. Why do I deserve a second chance at happiness now?

The question doesn’t have an answer, but I still ask it to myself countless times every day. When I wake up with Viviana’s silky hair spread across my chest. When Dante fills the bathtub with more bubble solution than water and turns it into “bubble mountain.” Every time something even resembling contentment dares to settle in my chest, the question rears its ugly head.

Why do you deserve this when Alyona and Anzhelina are dead?

The only time I can get a single second of guiltless peace is when Viviana is coming in my arms or I’m outside in the fresh air. Since I can’t fuck Viviana every minute of every day, no matter how much my body wants to, sitting around a fire in the late afternoon roasting marshmallows is a fine backup plan.

Dante points at the end of my stick. “Your marshmallow is on fire.”

“Shit.” The black, bubbling mass isn’t even recognizable as a marshmallow. I flick it into the fire and spear a new one.

“That’s a bad word. Uncle Anatoly told me not to say it when Mama is around.”

“What about when your Mama isn’t around?” I ask.

He can’t quite bite back his smile as he whispers, “Shit.”

Classic Anatoly.

I should tell Dante to watch his mouth. It’s what Viviana would say. But if a boy can’t cuss in the middle of the woods with his dad, when can he?

“That stays out here,” I tell him. “When we’re hunting together, you can cuss. But that’s the only time.”

He nods and scrunches up his forehead, his gaze cast to the fire. I just know he’s searching his brain for every other curse word he knows. God only knows what else Anatoly has whispered to him.

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