14. Viviana

Mikhail may have lured Dante in with talk of castles and kings, but I know this world of shiny objects and dark underbellies too well to be fooled by it. I grew up in it.

There aren't enough crystal chandeliers in the world to make me want to raise my child here.

The plush carpets alone are sending me into a PTSD flare-up. Let me tell you, priceless pieces of art and designer sofas don't make up for your parents leaving you alone on your birthday. Marble floors and fancy gardens don't make up for being made to play the piano for their rich friends again and again and again until your fingers cramp and bleed. Luxury can't replace love.

But for Dante, it's all new and wonderful.

It takes an extra hour to get him to bed, thanks in no small part to him gorging himself on Mikhail's endless pantry. Even after bathing him in a tub big enough to require goggles and a snorkel, I swear he still has an orange smudge of chip dust behind his ear.

But eventually, all the excitement dries up and he falls asleep in my arms as I towel him dry. I put him in pajamas and tuck him into bed. He's softly snoring when I pull the door closed.

Being away from him, even for a few minutes, leaves an ache in my chest. I'm used to him being just on the other side of a paper-thin wall. In this mansion, I could take a wrong turn and be several football fields away from him.

"Is he asleep?" Stella is leaning against the wall next to the door. Her hands are tucked behind her back. She looks relaxed. But I know better.

She's on patrol.

"Out like a light." I yawn, stretching my arms over my head for effect. "I think I'm headed that way, too."

"Already?"

"Are you telling me every thirty-something you know doesn't have a strict eight o'clock bedtime?" I joke.

She laughs. "Not unless I'm gearing up for a night out. Then I might take a power nap to recharge."

Stella looks to be about my age, wearing a pair of wide-legged trousers and a gray tee with a French tuck. She is young and fashionable and, based on the way she has been Dante's personal wish-granting genie all day, friendly.

She doesn't look like Mikhail's secret police… but I know better.

"Well, no big night out for me. I'm going to need a solid eight hours to recharge before the wild child is ready to raid the snack drawers again."

Stella's smile doesn't falter, but her eyes narrow. "Was today a big day?"

Oh, gee, let's see: There was a hostile takeover at my job, I ran into a one-night stand I thought I'd left in the dust (see also: ex-fiancé's brother and father of my child), and now, I've been kidnapped. So, yeah, you could say it has been a big day.

"Something like that."

She nods and gestures to the room across the hall. "I've put your things in here. I can take you in and show you how to run the bath. It's great when you need to unwind. Don't tell on me, but I've used it a few times."

"Your secret's safe with me." I zip my finger across my lips. "Thanks, but I can manage."

Stella was already moving towards the door when I refused, so she has to pull back. "The faucets in that bathroom are finicky. They're backwards and really touchy. It goes from boiling lava to glacial in half a second. I'll just go in and show you?—"

"That's okay," I say firmly. I tack on a smile at the end for good measure. "I don't need to wash up tonight anyway. I'm going to go straight to sleep. I'm exhausted."

Stella chews on her bottom lip like her religious beliefs involve showing me how to run a bath for myself. Like me refusing to let her teach me about shower faucets is blasphemy.

"Thanks for everything you did for us today." I edge towards the door, never turning my back on her. "You made Dante feel right at home."

"He's such a sweet boy. You've done a great job with him. I can tell you two have a very special bond."

Oh, yeah, she's definitely Mikhail's secret police. Probably the head of his secret police. This woman is responsible for war crimes somewhere, I'm sure.

Only someone truly diabolical would say something like that to a mother.

Stella wants to make me cry? She wants to soften me up and lower my guard? She'll have to try harder than that.

"You are so sweet. Thank you." I yawn again. I don't want to oversell it, but Stella has got to go.

"You're sure you don't need me to help you get settled?" she asks one final time.

"I'm sure. You've done enough already. You're off tour guide duty for the day." I open the door and Stella looks past me into the room. I have no idea what she's looking for. Maybe a rope ladder and grappling hook on the bed? But I give her one final wave and slip into the room.

Alone at last.

I stand in the middle of the room, facing the door, for a full ninety seconds. When I don't hear any sounds coming from the hallway, I start throwing everything Stella unpacked for me into a pile on the bed.

I'm not sure what Mikhail's staff did with our suitcases. Probably mistook them for garbage and threw them away. I don't blame them. The wheels were all broken off and mine was more duct tape than fabric. I actually found them originally propped up next to a dumpster.

From trash they came; to trash they shall return.

Unfortunately, that means my only option is to strip the queen-sized bed of its luxury sheets. I pile all of my things into the center and tie up the four Egyptian-cotton corners around one of the wooden rods I ripped out of the walk-in closet.

I give the rod a test swing. It could be a weapon in a pinch. But what I wouldn't give for the Taser in my bedside table right about now.

Once I have everything packed, I sit on the floor, the makeshift pack in my lap, and wait.

Minutes crawl by. One, two, ten, sixty. And then sixty more.

I'm actually starting to see some of the upsides to meditation. My mind is empty and I am all that is Zen.

Or at least, as Zen as I can be while planning to flee into the night with my son and our scant belongings balanced on a stick bundle over my shoulder like a cartoon hobo. But I'll take it.

Finally, just after midnight, I tip-toe to my door and crack it open.

The hallway is dim, but not full dark. Most importantly, it's empty. From here, it's all simple.

Grab Dante. Run for the front door. Don't stop running.

It's a full moon tonight. It will make it harder to hide, but at least I won't be navigating my way around in the dark.

Grab Dante. Run for the front door. Don't stop running.

Chanting those words to myself, I step out of my room and creep across the hall. I grab his doorknob and start to turn it…

Just as a hand wraps around my elbow.

I yelp and spin around, simultaneously throwing myself off-balance and sending my closet rod/only weapon skittering off of my shoulder and thunking to the floor.

Before I can even think about grabbing it, a large shape rises up in front of me.

"Where do you think you're going?"