33. Mikhail

"Is bacon made from chicken?" Dante asks as he slips his third strip from the plate at the center of the table.

Viviana plucks it out of his hand just as he tries to take a bite. "No, it comes from pigs. And you've had two strips already. Eat your fruit and then you can have some more."

He grumbles, but stabs a strawberry with his fork. "Do pigs come from chickens?"

Viviana sighs and launches into an explanation on why interspecies births aren't possible, and it's all so… normal.

I can't remember the last time I sat down at a table and had a meal. Since Viviana and Dante moved in, I've taken most meals in my office. Or I get home too late and eat leftovers at the island in the dark.

This is… different.

Especially as Dante ducks his head and tries to slyly grab another piece of bacon without Viviana noticing. She lets him get all the way to the plate and lift a strip of bacon before she rears back and swats it out of his hand.

"Stuffed!" She picks up the bacon and takes a bite. "Get that outta my house, Dante. You aren't sneaky."

He sags in disappointment, but he can't quite stop a smile from spreading across his face. Viviana ruffles his hair and pours him some more milk.

It's normal, but also bizarre. Watching them feels like watching some nature documentary. Because this is nothing like breakfasts in my family.

My parents weren't playing with me or gently reminding me to eat my fruits and vegetables. We weren't smiling and laughing together. I can't remember a single time my entire family sat down to share a meal.

The only reason I woke up early this morning and ordered a big breakfast is because I couldn't stay in bed with Viviana for another minute.

She was asleep next to me, her lips parted, her lashes fluttering as she dreamed. I could have stayed there next to her for hours. But I knew when she woke up and rolled over that I'd be done for. She would blink up at me, a sleepy smile on her face, and I'd want her too fucking much. More than is good for either of us.

What are we doing, Mikhail?

I have no fucking idea.

So I got up and took a cold shower, but here I am anyway.

Wantingher.

Even worse, I want whatever Viviana and Dante have. This ease that lets them love each other and coexist.

They've had five years of practice, so it makes sense that they're good at it. But it still makes me wonder if this is what things would be like if I'd known Viviana was pregnant with Dante.

Would breakfast together be the norm? Would I be the one blocking his attempts to wolf down an entire package of bacon in the morning and ignore his fruit bowl?

No.

Everything would have been different.

I never would have been that parent. We never would have been that kind of family. We can't be. I stood over Alyona and Anzhelina's graves and promised I'd never replace them. Anzhelina was so young that I barely even know what being a father was like, anyway.

Viviana's hand lands on my wrist. "Mikhail?"

I jerk away from her touch and don't miss the hurt that flashes there.

She would leave if she could.I can see it in her eyes when I look at her. If I gave her the opportunity, she'd take Dante and run. I can't forget that.

She tips her head towards our son. "Dante said your name."

Dante is looking up at me out of the corner of his eyes. He's chewing nervously on his lower lip. Viviana does the same thing when she's nervous.

"What's up?" I ask as cheerfully as I can.

He shifts in his seat. "I like Mrs. Steinman and the games she has. She taught me checkers and sometimes, I get to color with markers. But I want to go back to my school."

Viviana stiffens, but doesn't say anything.

"Mrs. Steinman is your school," I tell him. "She's your teacher now."

Dante looks from his mom to me, trying to make sense of this. "Am I ever going back to kindergarten?"

"You're in kindergarten right now."

He shakes his head, huffing in frustration. "Am I ever going back to my friends? To my normal school?"

They would both leave if they could.

I carry my plate to the sink and rinse it off. "No."

"I'm not going to see Emerson anymore? Or Gianna?" He grabs Viviana's hand and tugs on it, his voice watery. "We were supposed to have a pajama party because we learned all of our sight words. I have a book from the library and Mrs. Witt says we get in trouble if we don't take them back."

"You're not going back." It comes out more harshly than I mean it to. I take a breath. "This is your normal school now, Dante. You aren't going to see them again."

I can see him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. "But?—"

"You need to get dressed. Mrs. Steinman will be here soon. Your mom can help you."

Viviana is staring down at her plate, but her knuckles are white around her fork. It takes a significant effort to lay it down on the table and stand up. But when she does, a paper-thin smile is smeared across her face.

"Come on, bud. Let's go find some clothes to wear."

Dante starts to argue, but Viviana swipes the last strip of bacon off the plate and dangles it in front of him.

He snatches it out of her hand and trots down the hallway, happily snacking.

I'm alone for a blissful fifteen seconds before Anatoly whistles. "You're going to get it from Viv later."

"Go away, Nat."

"She looked piiissed." He plucks a raspberry out of the fruit bowl and plops it in his mouth. "What do you think, Raoul?"

Raoul slinks out of the back hallway, his head down. At least he has the decency to look ashamed for eavesdropping. "It wasn't great."

"He asked me a question and I told him the truth."

"When he asks if Santa Claus is real, make sure you really let him have it," Anatoly suggests. "Kids these days are too soft, anyway, with all of their childhood magic and hope."

"Fuck off. It's not the same." I shove away from the counter and head for my office.

Anatoly and Raoul fall right into step behind me. "If you want my advice," Anatoly starts, "you should?—"

"I don't."

"You should take it easy on both of them."

I slam to a stop and spin around. "I'm giving them a roof over their heads and making sure Dante has the best education money can buy. I'd say that's ‘taking it pretty easy.'"

"That's all nice, but it's not the same as freedom." Raoul slides his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. "Living with you was better than being with my parents, but it still wasn't quite… At first, it wasn't the same. It took some getting used to."

I understand why Raoul sees similarities here. The only reason Viviana has any connection to the Novikov Bratva at all is because her father handed her to Trofim on a silver platter. But it's different. Viviana is different.

She isn't some consolation prize of war. She isn't a slave.

She's my wife. The mother of my child.

She's… different.

But I can't explain that now without Anatoly making kissy faces at me and I'm not in the mood.

So I nod. "Yeah. I'll keep my cool. I'll give them both time to adjust."

And I mean it.

Or… I want to mean it.

Then, ten minutes later, Viviana throws open the door of my office. I swear I see heat rippling off of her.

"You had no right," she growls, arms crossed over her chest. She's changed into her work clothes and the buttons on her top are straining with every ragged inhale. "No. Fucking. Right. Dante misses his friends and his life and you told him he was never going to see them again. He's heartbroken."

"He looked heartbroken," I snark. "It took twenty whole seconds and a strip of cold bacon to take his mind off of it."

"That shows how well you know him. Dante needs time to process. He's okay now, but I'll be the one holding him—again—while he cries—again—because of you—again."

Even Anatoly thought I was harsh with the kid, so I can own that. But the rest of it?

"Whose fault do you think it is that I don't know my own son, Viviana?" I stand up, rounding my desk slowly. "You kept him from me. You're the reason he's not prepared for the life he's going to lead."

She flicks her hair over her shoulder, one leg cocked to the side. "A life where he hides away in this mansion all day and doesn't have friends? Doesn't sound like much of a life to me!"

"Better than hiding from who he really is. It's better than running forever."

Fire burns in her eyes and I still want to pull her close.

What in the fuck is wrong with me?

"We were only running because of you!" She squeezes her eyes closed and rubs her fingers into her temples. "I can't do this. I can't—I want to take Dante home."

"He is home."

"To my home. Our home," she says, squaring her shoulders. "You can still be in his life, but there's no reason we need to live together."

"We're married."

"Legally," she points out. "In every other way, it wouldn't make any difference whether I'm here or not. It's not like you care."

Of course I don't care. Why the fuck would I care?

Why the fuck do I care?

"I care whether my son lives or not. You can't protect him in that shitty apartment. The doors are paper-thin and the security is nonexistent."

"I did just fine for the last five years."

"Because no one knew who you were, Margaret!" I stop in front of her, looking down. "Is this about Tommy?"

It takes her a second to switch gears, to understand what I'm talking about. Who I'm talking about.

"My neighbor? You think this is about—Jesus, Mikhail, this isn't about him. This is about me and Dante. This is about what's best for us!"

"This is about what you think is best for you," I sneer. "You want to hide out in that apartment and pretend to be Margaret. You want to date a boring man like Tommy and hide from what you really want."

Her eyes narrow to slits as she glares up at me. "And what do I really want, Mikhail?"

I lean towards her. Instantly, her face softens. Her full lips part. She's so responsive to me. She can't help herself.

I want to pin her against the wall and show her what she wants. I want to give it to her. Now. Later. Every day until I'm fucking dust in the ground.

Instead, I step away. "This isn't about you and me, Viviana. It's about Dante. What he needs is to learn what it takes to become pakhan."

"He's five!"

"Which is five more years of freedom and innocence than most heirs get."

"You said—" Her voice breaks and she swallows past a lump in her throat. "You said he could have more time."

"And you said you wouldn't try to come between me and Dante anymore," I remind her. "Moving him out of my house wouldn't exactly bring us all together, would it?"

"So you're not going to let me leave?" The words are little more than a whisper. Viviana can't even look at me. She's staring at the wall over my shoulder, her gaze far away.

I knew Viviana would leave if she could, but hearing her admit it out loud does something strange to me.

I shove the feelings aside. They don't matter.

"We're a family," I tell her, the words ringing every bit as cruel and hollow as I intended them to sound. "Families stay together."