10. Viviana

"Mama, where are we going?"

Dante is literally vibrating with excitement, probably because I've never picked him up in the middle of the day before. His class was heading to lunch when he saw me walking down the hallway. He grinned ear to ear and I had to bite back a sob.

I need to get him something to eat before his good mood spirals into a hangry meltdown for the ages, but there isn't time.

We have to leave. Now. Yesterday. Last week.

At one point, I considered hiring an ex-detective or an investigator to keep an eye on Mikhail and the Novikov family. If they were coming for me, I wanted to know. Then I realized that Mikhail probably has a fleet of detectives who exist to catch people looking too closely at what their family is doing. Hiring someone to watch him would have put an even bigger target on my back.

Worse, on Dante's back.

Now, Mikhail is here and there isn't time to rehash the past or figure out what I should have done differently. I need to get Dante the hell out of Dodge.

Dante shakes my arm. "Mama? You're not listening to me."

"I know, buddy. I'm sorry." I squeeze his hand as we walk through the double front doors of the school.

There's no one waiting outside on the sidewalk, but I still expect Mikhail to pop out of a bush or parachute down from the sky and yank Dante from my arms. Heirs are important to men like him. Even if Mikhail has kids of his own—maybe with the woman who sent him the flowers?—Dante will always have a blood connection to the Novikov Bratva. If they know Dante exists, they'll come for him.

I scan the street, but no one seems to be paying any extra attention to us. Still, I eye them all suspiciously. Every dogwalker, every stooped Hasidic grandmother, every hot dog vendor and pirated DVD salesman hawking their wares from the corners. When I came for enrollment in the spring, I liked that the school was close to a green space and the Hudson. I imagined picking Dante up and going for walks, buying ice cream.

Now, everyone in Battery Park is a threat.

Suddenly, Dante's hand tugs out of my grip. I spin around, heart in my throat and stomach on the ground.

"Mama!" he shrieks, arms crossed and feet planted. "Where are we going?"

I blow out a breath that does nothing to loosen the knot in my chest and kneel in front of him. "Sorry. I-I'm sorry, baby. Mama is distracted right now."

"Where are we going?" he whines, his lower lip pouting out.

We are entering the hangry danger zone faster than I expected.

I paste on a smile. "We're going to grab lunch at a deli?—"

"The one with the special drinks?" His ice-blue eyes light up. I have to blink away the image of the man he shares them with.

"The one with the special drinks," I confirm. It's amazing what a cardboard box of apple juice will do to a kid's mood. "Then we're going to go home and pack for an adventure."

He gasps. "What adventure?"

My heart cracks open. I look down, half-expecting to see it puddling on the ground at my feet.

He doesn't deserve this.

I gently tap the end of his nose. "You'll find out when we get there."

Five-year-olds aren't known for their patience, but the ham, egg, and cheese sandwich from the deli keeps him busy for most of the train ride and half of the walk back to our apartment. I pick at a bag of chips and try to keep up with his conversation, but it's hard to focus on anything except the way the walls are closing in.

The adventure I'm currently hyping up to my child? Homelessness.

My grand plan involves getting home, packing the necessities, and then… The future stretches out in front of me like a black hole.

Is there something on the other side? Will we be swallowed up forever? Only time will tell.

"What kind of adventure will it be?" Dante bounces from one foot to the other while I unlock our apartment door.

"You'll have to see."

"Swimming?" he guesses. "Can I wear goggles?"

"It's too cold for swimming. Grab your favorite jackets. And your stuffies." I think about navigating the subway with Dante and multiple suitcases and correct myself. "One stuffy. Your favorite."

He frowns. "I don't have favorites. They're all my favorite."

"We don't have space for more than one," I say as calmly as I can. "Pick the one you want to take with you. Do it fast. We need to leave."

I'll grab the folder of important documents out of the kitchen junk drawer, pack some snacks and water bottles, and then a few changes of clothes. I'd like to get everything in one suitcase if I can.

Pictures of Dante line the walls. Dressed as an elephant for his first Halloween, squeezing my neck while he's riding a rainbow-colored unicorn on a carousel. They're glimpses of the life we've built. It's small and a little shabby and not nearly as much as he deserves, but right now, it's all I want.

I don't want to start over.

I don't want to keep running.

"I'm not going!" Dante declares. His eyes are watery.

I reach for his hair, but he pulls away and crosses his arms.

"I'm sorry," I breathe. "I wish we didn't have to go, but we do. We have to?—"

"You said it was an adventure."

"It is. It is an adventure. But it's an adventure we have to go on. So I need you to?—"

"I'm not going!" he yells again, diving for the coat closet by the front door. "I'm staying here."

The closet door slams closed and I drop my face in my hands. It's not even noon and this has already been the longest day of my life.

I take a deep breath before I cross the room and lightly rap on the closet door. "I'm coming in, okay?"

I crack the closet open and Dante is curled in the very back. For a New York City apartment, the closet is surprisingly deep. I'd love to sit in the entryway and still be able to reach him, but he's too far back. I don't have a choice but to duck my head and crawl inside.

Instantly, my chest tightens. Coats and rain jackets brush against my skin and I can't breathe. It's the same ache I've felt in my chest all day, but worse, somehow. More imminent.

Get out of here before you suffocate,it says.

I breathe through the claustrophobia and squeeze my son's knee. "Honey, I wish we didn't have to leave. I wish we could stay here and you could have all of your stuffies with you all the time."

"Then let's do it," he whimpers, swiping at his nose.

"We can't. I'm sorry."

"This isn't an adventure! Adventures are s'posed to be fun."

My throat is tight. My thoughts are scattered. I'm doing everything through a haze of panic I can't shove away. "You're right. I wanted you to be excited, so I might have fibbed a little bit."

"You lied?" he says in shock, eyes wide.

I give him a tight smile. "Mamas make mistakes, too."

This Mama's mistakes, in particular, are starting to pile up. We're drowning in them.

"Are you sorry?" he asks.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "So, so sorry."

Dante thinks about it for half a second and then wraps his arms around me. "I forgive you."

Instantly, the weight on my chest lessens. I take a deep breath for the first time since I stepped through the door.

What did I do to deserve this kid?

I squeeze him back until he complains he can't breathe. Then I kiss his hair. "I love you, D. You're my favorite person in the world."

"I know," he says without an ounce of doubt in his voice. "Do we still have to go?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I wish we didn't have to, but?—"

"Clifford," he says, cutting me off. "I've had him the longest and he's the fluffiest. I'll take Clifford with me."

I crush him in another hug, plant a barrage of kisses on his cheeks, and finally let him go once he's giggling and squealing.

He runs off to take care of Clifford while I throw anything I can't bear to part with in a bag.

During a last sweep of the apartment, I pluck the picture of Dante and me at the carousel off of the wall and throw it on top of the bag. Then Dante meets me at the front door, his T-rex backpack strapped to his shoulders and Clifford tucked under his arm.

"You ready, bud?" I ask, tousling his hair.

He ducks under my hand and grabs the doorknob. "I'm going to beat you down the stairs!"

He doesn't know this is our last race down the stairs. He doesn't know we aren't coming back. That the landlord is going to put the rest of our stuff out on the curb for scavengers.

I want to hug him in the doorway and weep, but that won't help anything. Dante needs me to be strong for him. He needs me to keep it together.

I chuckle as he darts out the door onto the landing. "Okay, but make sure you wait for me at the mailb?—"

I see the figure out of the corner of my eye and reach for the tiny arm of Dante's T-rex backpack. But I miss.

Dante runs out of my reach and straight into the person standing at the top of our stairs.

"Oh," Dante squeaks, stumbling back.

I grab my son and shove him behind me, but it's too late.

It was too late the moment I heard Mikhail's voice coming towards me down the hallway this morning. The last few hours have been nothing but a delusion.

Mikhail looks past me to the little boy peeking from behind my back. The boy with the same ice blue eyes and golden brown hair.

Mikhail looks past me to his son. And I see the truth light up in his eyes: he knows.

Now, there is no place left to run.