23. Viviana

I follow the sound of Dante playing down the hallway and into the sitting room. He's standing on the leather ottoman, a pillow held over his head. Anatoly is curled up on the ground in the fetal position.

"Have mercy on me!" Anatoly screams playfully.

Dante cackles hysterically as he dives off the ottoman. Anatoly catches him in mid-air and takes a pillow directly to the face for his efforts. He turns away and grins when he sees me, his hair mussed in every direction. To be fair, so is mine.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Finally ready to join the living?"

"It's only—" I check the clock above the fireplace. "Wow. Is that clock right?"

Anatoly nods just before Dante assaults him with another pillow to the face.

I can't remember the last time I slept in. Definitely before Dante was born. Probably before I was engaged to Trofim, even. Years and years ago. A lifetime ago.

That's why my brain feels so jumbled. It has nothing to do with hugging Mikhail last night. And his bare chest? What could be mind-scrambling about that? Not a darn thing.

I'm not distracted because I'm waiting to hear his voice or wondering what surprise he has planned for the two of us tonight. No, it's all of the extra sleep that has me out of sorts. That makes the most sense.

"I didn't realize it was so late." Before Dante can swing his pillow a third time, I grab the end of it. "Have you had breakfast yet, little gremlin?"

"Stella made me pancakes!"

"Stella made pancakes?" Anatoly groans. "I can't believe I missed them."

"Wait. You didn't wake him up this morning?" I ask Anatoly.

He shakes his head. "When I came downstairs, Mikhail was already with him in the kitchen."

Dante is well taken care of in this house. Mikhail would never do anything to hurt him. I know this, but it doesn't stop that rotten bitch Mom Guilt from rearing her ugly head. She has been my constant companion since Dante was born.

"You could have come into my room after you woke up this morning. I would have eaten with you."

The same way I've eaten with you every single morning for the last five years.

Two days in this house and my son doesn't need me anymore. It's not true, but it feels true right now.

"I got Mikhail instead. I wanted to tell him I was brave last night."

I can't stop sheer shock from spreading across my face. "You went into Mikhail's room? While he was sleeping? And woke him up?"

I do manage to stop myself from asking my small child if Mikhail was shirtless. That would be inappropriate. Not to mention useless information. I don't need to know how Mikhail sleeps. It's of no consequence to me.

Dante makes a jumping swipe for the pillow, but I hold it out of his reach. He groans like this is the most boring conversation he's ever had, whereas I have never been more riveted.

"Talk to me and then you can beat up Anatoly," I tell him. "You woke Mikhail up this morning?"

"Yes," he sighs. "I ate pancakes and brushed my teeth, too. I did all the things I was s‘posed to."

It takes nothing short of a full half-hour of pleading and screaming to get Dante to finish his cereal and use the restroom every morning. To get out the door on time, I'd have to sacrifice baby lambs on an altar somewhere.

But in Mikhail's house, Dante can take care of himself with no prodding whatsoever.

That isn't sending me into a shame spiral at all. Nope. I'm doing awesome.

"Why did you go into Mikhail's room?"

"I dunno," Dante shrugs.

"If you need something, you should come to me."

"I can go to Mikhail, too," he argues. "He's my dad."

The words drop with the force of an atomic bomb. It's all I can do to stay standing. I lose my grip on the pillow and Dante takes the opportunity to snatch it away while I'm reeling from those three little words.

He's my dad.

"Who told you that?" I ask, but Dante can't hear me. He's too busy divebombing Anatoly.

Anatoly tickles Dante into submission and suggests a game of hide-and-seek while I manage to collapse down on the couch and stare straight ahead at the wall. As soon as Dante runs into the closest closet, positive neither of us saw him, Anatoly claps a hand on my shoulder.

"You okay?"

I look up at him, eyes narrowing. "Did you tell him?"

"Not a word," he claims, hands raised in surrender. "Stella didn't say anything, either. We were up late talking last night and she was still using codewords just in case."

If it was any other day, I'd ask Anatoly what he was doing staying up late to talk to Stella, but I'm too deep in my own existential panic to focus on that now.

"Would Mikhail tell him?"

"No." Anatoly shakes his head with finality. "He wouldn't. I think… Kids have a way of just knowing this stuff. It's instinctual."

"I've stopped that kid from shoving a fork in a light socket and trying to eat marbles. Children have no instincts."

"They do about this," he insists. "I mean, my father never told me he was my dad, but I knew. I also knew he liked me less than my brothers. Kids read between the lines."

"There haven't been lines to read between," I mumble.

But of course there have.

Dante and I moved into Mikhail's house the day that we met him.

Mikhail sat by his bed with me last night and calmed him after a nightmare.

Mikhail swore to Dante that he would take care of both of us.

In a lot of ways, there hasn't been much need to read between the lines. The lines themselves have been pretty damn clear.

I drop my face in my hands. "What a mess."

"It's only a mess for you, Viv," Anatoly says unhelpfully, heading for the closet. "The rest of us are doing just fine."

Anatoly pretends to look for Dante behind a plant and under the sofa before he rips open the closet door and chases Dante around the room, wailing like a ghoul.

My son is fed, safe, and happy because of Mikhail. I should be thrilled. My horoscope this morning did say that I'm finding a new balance in my life and I should embrace it. Maybe Mikhail is that balance.

But is this what balance feels like? Like a boulder sitting on your chest, slowly crushing the life out of you?

Dante ropes Anatoly into one more round of hide-and-seek. "He's not very good at this game," Dante whispers to me after he opens his eyes and immediately sees Anatoly trying and failing to cover his massive shoulders with one of the curtain panels.

"I call for a rematch!" Anatoly cries just as Stella sweeps into the room.

"The tutor is here." Stella waves for Dante to follow her, but her eyes keep flicking to Anatoly untangling himself from the curtains.

"What's a tooter?" Dante asks, making a fart noise with his mouth.

"Get it out now because you are not going to do that when we meet her," I warn him. He continues making fart noises as I explain. "She's going to be like a teacher, but here in the house."

He frowns. "I already have a teacher. Mrs. Campbell is my teacher."

This. This is why I'm not thrilled.

As great as things may seem, Mikhail still pulled my son out of his school and away from the life we built. At the end of the day, Mikhail is a Bratva pakhan. He's used to everything in life going his way. If Dante or I try to push back, he won't be open to compromising.

I ruffle Dante's hair. "I know, but now, you have two teachers! How lucky are you?"

Dante grumbles something I can't hear, but it doesn't matter because we turn the corner and there she is. Dante's tutor.

The woman has pitch black hair pulled back in a severe bun on the top of her head. She's wearing wire-framed glasses perched on her thin nose and a green sweater vest over her button-down shirt.

I want to ask what came first: the job or the wardrobe. She looks like she stepped out of an encyclopedia page for tutors.

Instead, I hold out my hand and smile. "It's so nice to meet you. I'm Dante's mom."

"I'm Mrs. Steinman." The woman shakes my hand, but her attention quickly shifts to Dante. She kneels down in front of him and, in an instant, she comes alive.

A smile spreads across her face and everything that looked severe a second ago suddenly looks approachable. The bun flops back and forth when she talks, her eyes crinkle with the grin, and her glasses are in little half-circle shapes. She looks like a real-life cartoon character.

"I'm so happy to meet you, Dante!" she beams. "Do you want to help me get set up for today? I have so many activities planned for us that I'm going to need your help."

Dante twines his hands together behind his back and shuffles his feet across the carpet, but his nerves evaporate as soon as he pulls the giant, rainbow-colored dice out of Mrs. Steinman's bag.

I watch from the doorway as Dante and Mrs. Steinman take turns rolling the dice. Each number is associated with a different activity—a dance move, making a shape out of fuzzy pipe cleaners, finding alphabet sounds around the room. Dante is grinning from ear to ear as he rolls a four and then races over to make a butterfly out of red and orange pipe cleaners.

"She isn't going to disappear with him," Anatoly whispers from behind me.

I roll my eyes but slip out of the doorway and into the hall. "I know."

"Really? ‘Cause you lurking over his entire lesson gives off nervous energy."

"I just met this woman fifteen minutes ago. Am I supposed to just walk away and leave her alone with my kid?"

"She's been vetted," he says like that is reason enough. "Mikhail actually paid to swipe her from her position with some senator's kids. She's the best of the best."

"According to Mikhail."

Anatoly sighs. "I understand the chip on your shoulder, Viv. I really do."

"I wish you'd stop calling me that."

He smirks. "And I wish you'd stop pretending you hate it—and us—so much. Maybe if you let yourself relax for a second, you'd realize that life here isn't so bad."

Anatoly is saying out loud what's been silently floating around in my head for the last twenty-four hours. So I tell him exactly what I've been telling myself.

"It's not so bad now, but it won't always be this way. Mikhail's life is dangerous. This world is dangerous."

"Life is dangerous," Anatoly retorts. "The only difference between being out there and in here is that, in here, Mikhail is going to do whatever it takes to make you and Dante safe and comfortable."

I snort. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Then keep looking around, Viv. You're family now. Mikhail is going to treat you right." Anatoly tries to pinch my cheek, but I dodge him. "Maybe he'll even treat you extra right on your date tonight."

It's his turn to dodge when I take a swing at him.

"It's not a date!" I call as he jogs away down the hallway, still laughing.