11. Viviana

"That's my son," Mikhail breathes.

He says it softly like he's trying to convince himself. But it doesn't take much convincing. Not once you see Dante and Mikhail in the same room.

"Mama…" Dante grabs onto my leg. He's always been shy around new people. Mostly because he hasn't met very many of them. I keep our circle small on purpose.

I squat down next to him. He's taller than me like this, so I have to look up to see his eyes, though he keeps sneaking glances at Mikhail.

Does Dante see the resemblance, too? Does he know?

"Go back inside, okay?" I wrinkle my nose in a smile. "I'll come get you in a minute."

"Can I watch a show?"

I wordlessly swipe to his favorite show on my phone and hand it to him. Strict screen time rules can take a back seat, seeing as how life as we know it is on the brink of collapse.

Dante sinks into the far end of the couch, Clifford sitting next to him. He smiles as the theme song plays. I pull the door closed behind me.

Mikhail is still standing at the top of the stairs. He's staring at the place where, a second ago, Dante was fidgeting next to me. If it's possible, he looks stunned.

"Listen, Mikhail, I don't know what you want, but I just want to?—"

"My son." His gaze shifts to mine. Hardens into steel. "That's my son."

Yes. Of course it is.

"No." I shake my head. "He's mine. We just want to leave. Whatever is happening here, I don't want any part in it."

I've gotten good at hiding over the years. At giving people tiny snippets of me, but never the whole. Even with my own father, I had to hide. What I wanted—who I loved—was never good enough for him. I'm a pro at shapeshifting into who I need to be in any given situation.

But with Mikhail, there is no hiding.

He stares at me, peeling me apart layer by layer until I'm flayed open in front of him. "He is why you lied about your name. He is why you disappeared."

"You are why I disappeared," I snap. "You told me to run while I had the chance. You told me I shouldn't let myself be anyone's pawn."

"That's before I knew you were pregnant with my son!" He's in front of me in a second, pinning me against the door, roaring in my face.

I want to go inside, but I don't want Dante to see this. I've hidden him from this world for five years. I'm not going to throw him into the middle of it now.

"Lower your voice. My kid is in there," I hiss.

Mikhail dips his head. We're in the same position we were back in Mr. Fredrickson's office, but this time, I'm ready to fight. I'll do anything to shield my son from this.

"Are you trying to protect him from me, Viviana?" His voice is low and even, but there's a dangerous edge to it. Trofim had to yell and scream to show me how big and scary he was. Mikhail simply needs to exist. He breathes and I quiver, simple as that.

"This has nothing to do with you," I lie. "I'm protecting him from that entire world—yours and mine."

"That's right. You have a foothold here, too. Does your son know his mom is a mafia princess?" Mikhail starts to smirk, but a thought occurs to him. "Your father… He knows about your son."

It isn't a question, but I seal my lips together anyway.

Mikhail laughs bitterly. "I knew there was something strange about the way he supported me becoming pakhan. I mean, I fucked over your little arrangement with Trofim. Agostino should have hated me. Turns out, he had a good reason to want me in charge. A baby is even better than a marriage when it comes to alliances."

"My son isn't some bartering chip." I jab him in the chest. "Stay the hell away from him."

Mikhail snatches my wrist and pins it over my head. It thuds against the door, and I hear Dante inside. The show he's watching pauses.

"Mama?"

Mikhail's breath is hot on my neck. I look into his cold eyes and try to keep my voice even as I talk through the door. "Sorry, bud. That was me. I'll be inside in a second."

Dante's show starts back up and Mikhail leans in closer. "He's mine, Viviana. Admit it."

I shake my head.

He traces my jawline with his thumb. I feel like I'm being circled by a predator. "Don't lie," he drawls. "I'm sure you've noticed the resemblance."

Only every day for the last five years.

I shrug. "I don't see it. Maybe it's because the sight of Dante doesn't make me want to punch him in the face."

Mikhail leans away and sighs. "If you aren't going to cooperate, I don't have much choice. You know how these things are. I can't have my offspring running around the streets unaccounted for. If you won't give up what I need to know, I'll get it myself."

"How?"

He starts to push me to the side, reaching for the doorknob. "I'll take the kid and get a paternity test done. It'll only take a couple hours. I'll bring him back when I'm done… probably."

"No!" I slide between Mikhail and the door. "Don't touch him."

"Then tell me the truth," he snarls.

Everything I've done since Dante was born has been to avoid this moment. Every sacrifice, every lonely night, every scraped-together bill paid to keep the lights on and food in our fridge—all of it was to keep Dante a secret from the man in front of me.

Now, I don't have a choice. No matter what I do, I could lose Dante.

Tears well in my eyes. When I look up at Mikhail, they roll down my cheeks. "Please don't take him away from me. Please."

It's as much confirmation as he's going to get. Turns out, it's as much as he needs.

Mikhail watches my tears with an unreadable expression. Then he tips his head towards the door. "I want to meet him."

My instinct to shield Dante from the world rises up. I block the door. "He isn't ready. Give him time. Let me ease him into the idea and then?—"

"If you think I'm going to walk away and give you a chance to run again, you're wrong," he breathes in a low rumble. "The only reason I didn't find you for the last six years is because I wasn't looking very hard."

I didn't know he was looking for me at all. That's news.

"But," Mikhail continues, "if you run again, I'll raise heaven and hell to track you down and take my son back. You've stolen five years from me; I'm not going to give you another day. Open the door and introduce me to my son. Now."

"Okay, but?—"

"You're not in a position to barter." He looms large over me to highlight exactly which position I'm in. As if I need reminding. It's hard to forget you"re in a snare while you're being dangled upside down by your ankle.

"I'm not bartering for me," I argue. "It's for him. Being a father is a lot more than genetics. If you barge in there and announce yourself as his dad, you'll terrify him and scar him forever."

"What have you told him about his dad? Does he think I'm a flake? Dead?"

"He doesn't think anything," I admit. "I told him… I told him our family was complete. Just the two of us."

It was a lie then and it's a lie now. There was always something missing.

I'm just not convinced that the missing piece is Mikhail. But it's too late now.

"Tell him your name and say you're my friend," I advise. "Don't overcomplicate it. He has a good eye for liars."

As I open the door, Mikhail mutters behind me. "Apparently not."

Dante has one leg crossed over the other on the couch. Clifford has slipped sideways, his stuffed head resting against Dante's shoulder. He doesn't look up as we enter, too entranced by the crime-fighting dogs on the screen.

But when Mikhail clears his throat, Dante's eyes snap up.

"Who is that?" he asks, not waiting for Mikhail to introduce himself.

The male role models in his life are slim pickings. I didn't even officially introduce him to Tommy until he'd lived in the building for six months. I didn't want Dante getting attached if he wasn't going to be a long-term tenant.

Now, I'm introducing him to his actual biological father. A man I've spoken to for no more than one hour total in my life.

"Dante, this is Mikhail."

Dante eyes him up and down.

My stomach twists. I feel nauseous. My instincts are screaming at me to wrap my arms around my son and shield him from what's coming next. It's like a bomb is about to go off, except I'm the one pushing the button.

"Is he going on our adventure, too?" Dante asks.

"Oh. Um… Well, I don't know if?—"

"I'm taking you on your adventure," Mikhail interrupts.

"You are?" Dante looks at me to confirm, but I don't have the words.

Mikhail nods. "Pack whatever you want. We're leaving soon."

He holds up Clifford. "I already did. Mama said only one stuffy could come with us. I chose Clifford."

Mikhail takes a step forward and I trail silently behind him, a ghost. "Well, things have changed. Now, you can take as many stuffed animals as you want."

Dante's eyes light up. This time, he doesn't look at me as he asks, "I can?"

"You can. Just do it fast. I need to get back to my castle."

If it was possible for a little boy's jaw to unhinge, Dante's would be on the floor right now. "You live in a castle?"

"Of course I do. All kings live in a castle."

"You're a king?!" Dante jumps up, a wide grin on his perfect face. "I didn't know kings were real life!"

Mikhail slides his hands in his pockets casually. He doesn't need them to rip my life up by the root. It comes easily for him. The same as everything else in his life.

"I'm real life, aren't I?"

Dante looks him over like he wants to pinch him to check. I share the instinct. "Yeah."

"So, there you go. Kings are real." Mikhail waves him off. "Go finish packing and you can come live in my castle."

Dante is halfway down the hallway before he turns back. "If I live in your castle, what does that make me?"

"I believe that would make you a prince, Dante." Mikhail looks at me, amusement written in every line of his face. "Wouldn't you agree?"

I'm going to be sick.

Dante bounces to his room and I slump back against the door. My six-year-long detour was for nothing. I'm right back where I started.

Except, this time, I took Dante down with me.