Page 57 of Ivory Oath

Once he’s covered in melted marshmallow and chocolate, Dante and I load up and head back to the house. Today amounted to little more than a hike and some birdwatching, but that’s fine. Time in the woods with my boy is enough.

We’re close enough to the cabin that I can smell the smoke from the fireplace when Dante reaches out and grabs my hand.

Instinctively, I flinch back. But Dante doesn’t even seem to notice. He keeps a firm hold as if linking hands with me is as natural as walking on two feet.

I glance down and he’s smiling to himself, staring off at the forest around us.

Anzhelina was murdered when she was still so little. The closest we ever got to this moment was when she wrapped her little hand around my finger in the hospital. She was blotchy and covered in slime, but I placed my finger against her palm and she held it tight.

If she was still alive, would I be holding each of their hands right now? Would they be dancing around my feet, fighting with each other and racing through the trees?

The image plays in my mind for a second before reality settles in.

If Anzhelina was here, Dante wouldn’t be.

If Anzhelina was here, I’d still be married to Alyona. I never would have slept with Viviana. I probably wouldn’t have tried to take over the Bratva from Trofim at all.

If Anzhelina and Alyona were still here, my life would be entirely different and Dante’s never would have started. Viviana wouldn’t be inside waiting for us right now.

This reality I’m living is as fragile as the tiny, clammy hand settled against my palm. I know exactly how quickly it can all be snatched away.

I squeeze Dante’s hand just a little tighter.

26

VIVIANA

“What’s wrong?”

Mikhail doesn’t startle when I break the silence we’ve been stewing in all evening. More and more these days, I think it’s impossible to surprise him. He just blinks and turns to me. “Nothing.”

I tap the side of his now-cold mug of hot chocolate. “You never even took a sip of this and you haven’t said a word in half an hour.”

He places his mug on the coffee table. “I’m just enjoying the fire.”

I’m tempted to let my weird feeling go. It’s been a good day. Dante came home all jazzed up from his “boy time” in the woods. He was sugared up and muddy. I gave him a bath and read him one and a half books before he was softly snoring and drooling on his dinosaur pajamas. Now, Mikhail and I are curled up in front of a fire with mugs of hot cocoa.

It’s the kind of stuff Hallmark movies are made of. It’s perfect.

Except it’s hard to relax when tension is radiating off of Mikhail like nuclear fallout.

I slide closer to him, my knees curled against his strong thigh. “I like staring into a fire as much as the next person, but you’re not staring into it.” I reach over and trace the deep line etched between his brows. “It looks like you’re trying to become one with it. I’m a little worried you’re going Johnny Flame on me and this whole cabin is about to be reduced to ashes.”

Mikhail doesn’t move. “It’s just work stuff. I’m fine.”

If his goal was to end my line of questioning, he’ll have to try a lot harder than that.

“What work stuff?” I press, trying to hide the tinge of panic in my voice. “Are we still safe here?”

Finally, he drags his eyes from the crackling hearth to meet mine. “I’ll keep you safe, Viviana. I can handle your father.”

“So this is about my father?”

He shakes his head.

I want to scream. No—I want to drill into his brain and pour his thoughts out into a sifting pan so I can sort through the mess. It seems to be the only way to get to the root of what he’s thinking.

“You seemed fine earlier. Did you get a call while I was putting Dante to bed? Was it Raoul or Anatoly? What’s happening back at the mansion?”

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