46. Viviana

The plane touches down after midnight and everyone is exhausted.

That's what I tell myself, at least, as Mikhail wordlessly gets out of his seat and grabs our luggage. The words run on a loop in my brain as he carries a still-snoozing Dante to the car and buckles him in.

We're all exhausted beyond words, I think as the ride back to the mansion is perfectly silent.

Mikhail is sitting in the front seat next to Pyotr while I'm in the back with Dante. He's an arm's length away, but it feels so much farther. Especially after days of downright casual affection. Hands twined together under the dinner table, brushing my hair away from my face, stroking my hand down his arm.

Touching him like that felt natural.

Not anymore.

Goodbye, Vacation Mikhail and your cuddles. You shall be missed.

When we get to the mansion, Pyotr takes our luggage inside and Mikhail comes around to my side of the car. He opens my door and I think he's going to offer me his hand to help me out.

Instead, he says, "I'll take Dante up to bed. Wait for me in the living room. We need to talk."

Does anyone else hear a funeral march playing or is it just me?

"What do we need to talk about?"

"Later," is all he says. His mouth is pressed into a flat line and he won't look at me.

He won't look at me, but he wants to talk? Raging alarm bells layer in over the funeral march to create the world's worst symphony in my head.

Mikhail carries Dante into the house and I slump along slowly behind them. The first day we arrived, walking into the mansion felt like walking into my own prison cell and locking the door behind me.

Now, it feels like stepping into my own coffin.

Mikhail and I just had four of the best days I've ever had. In my entire life. I'd naively hoped we were past the hot and cold part of our relationship. That every high didn't need to come with an equal but opposite low. Apparently not.

Worst-case scenarios rip through my head on fast forward.

He isn't just going to avoid me for the next few days; he's going to kick me out of the house. Mikhail is going to annul our marriage, take custody of Dante, and boot me to the curb. He's going to sic bloodthirsty hounds on me and feed my body to vultures and make sure all my favorite TV shows get canceled—not necessarily in that order.

The house is quiet. I assume it's because everyone is asleep, but when I walk past the kitchen, I hear hushed voices.

"… didn't think you'd be back until tomorrow," Anatoly whispers.

"Me, either," Stella says. "Mr. Novikov changed our departure time. He wanted to leave as soon as possible."

Mikhail said he has business to take care of. Is it me? Am I the business?

"You know how he gets," Anatoly muses. "He likes to nip things in the bud as soon as possible."

"But tonight?" Stella lets out a long sigh, her voice dropping even lower. I lean towards the doorway to hear better. "Viviana is tired. He should let her sleep before he?—"

"Did you forget something in the car, Miss?" Pyotr asks.

I practically jump out of my skin, yelping and stumbling into the doorway in full view of Stella and Anatoly.

The two of them are huddled over the island. When they see me, they spring away from each other.

Pyotr is standing in the entryway, smiling and completely oblivious.

"No, I didn't forget anything," I mumble before rushing down the hall to the living room.

I try to sit on the sofa, but my body is buzzing. I can't relax. What was Stella going to say? Mikhail should let me sleep before he…?

Murders me?

Breaks up with me?

Ties me up in the dungeon and tortures me?

The plausible options aren't great. What's even worse is that I'm not sure which of them is the most terrifying.

The possibility that this could have something to do with Trofim's murder isn't off the table, but I don't know how I'd ask about that without putting the idea into Mikhail's head that I have something to do with Trofim's murder.

When Mikhail walks into the living room, I'm a bundle of exposed nerves. My hands are shaking and my stomach twists. I feel sick.

"Thanks for waiting," he says. "It's been a long weekend and I know you're tired, but?—"

"I should go to bed," I blurt. "We both should. I'm not in the right headspace to talk. We should do this in the morning."

Yes, my life crumbling around me will feel better in the morning.

He shakes his head. "No. We're doing it tonight. It's important."

My throat closes up. I seriously consider stuffing my fingers in my ears and singing la la la until he goes away. Would that work? I guess you never know until you try.

My fingers twitch towards my ears just as Mikhail continues. "I have a gift for you."

I freeze. "A gift?"

"It's why we went away for a few days," he explains. "I needed to get things in order here."

"I'm sorry…" I shake my head. "You're giving me a gift? Like, a present?"

"Is there another kind?"

I almost bring up the Trojan Horse and ask him if this is anything like that, but I decide not to test my luck. I thought Mikhail was going to break up with me and now, he's giving me a gift. This is a net positive, for sure. Though my anxiety hasn't seemed to have gotten that message.

"Where is it?"

He waves for me to follow him. "In the basement."

The basement? I've never been in the basement. I'm not even sure I know where the basement door is. Up until fifteen seconds ago, I would have said the mansion didn't have a basement at all.

So I have a hard time believing going into the basement is a good thing.

Still, I follow Mikhail on leaden feet. As it turns out, the reason I've never seen the basement door is because it's tucked into an alcove behind the pantry. I haven't cooked a single meal since we've lived here, so beyond grabbing Dante some fruit from the bowl on the island or sneaking a bag of Cheez-Its for myself, I've never been back here.

Mikhail pulls out a long key and unlocks the door.

The stairwell disappears into darkness, but I can see every single one of the metaphorical red flags lining every inch of the path forward.

Three days ago, my horoscope told me the path ahead was "murky." I applied it to my relationship with Mikhail and thought, Obviously. I mean, duh. When isn't it? But maybe I should have taken it more literally. Maybe it was trying to warn me about this exact moment.

I freeze at the top of the stairs and Mikhail reaches back for me.

"The stairwell is narrow, but it opens into a large room," he explains. "You won't be claustrophobic down here."

"I'm actually not worried about tight spaces right this second. I'm more worried about being chained up down here and left to die." I say it as a joke, but every joke has a kernel of truth. Or, in this case, a giant heaping pile of truth with a kernel of a joke.

My heart is thundering in my throat and my breaths are coming to me in shallow gulps.

"You'd have to do something pretty bad to deserve that." It's annoyingly vague and potentially suggestive.

Trofim's face flashes in my mind. Mikhail hated his brother, but if he thinks I had anything to do with Trofim's murder, would he consider that bad enough to deserve imprisonment? Would he leave me down here?

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Mikhail releases my hand and presses his palm to my lower back. He guides me down a narrow hall and stops in front of a metal door.

"You told me the other day that things could have been easier for you if your father had killed the men who kidnapped you."

My eyes flick from Mikhail to the door and back again, trying to understand what's happening. Unless there is a surprise party behind this door—which I highly doubt is happening at one in the morning—I don't see how this is a gift for me.

"Y-yeah," I stammer. "Yeah, I said that."

"You needed closure. Someone hurt you and your family didn't do anything about it. That was wrong of them." Mikhail's eyes glow in the darkness. He looks more serious than I've ever seen him. "Family should look out for family."

He knows.Oh, God, he knows. Mikhail thinks I had something to do with Trofim's murder and now, he is going to look out for his brother, even in death. He's going to throw me in this room and… I can't even think about what he'll do.

Maybe things will be better if I confess. If I tell him right now what my father made me do… If I explain that I was pregnant and desperate and out of options, maybe he'll take mercy on me.

"Mikhail, I don't know what you?—"

My admission goes stagnant on my tongue as the door swings open.

The room is bare and damp. The light is muddy and I have to blink into the darkness before I see the three men leaning against the far wall. Their hands are suspended above their heads by stainless-steel chains. And I smell blood.

The metallic tang burns my nose and I stumble back into Mikhail's chest. "What is happening? Who are they?"

Other people who have crossed Mikhail? Am I going to hang on chains next to them?

"These were the men who kidnapped you," Mikhail explains calmly. As if he's describing a painting in an art gallery instead of the contents of an active torture chamber. "They worked for a small-time drug lord and made their money targeting the children of wealthy families. They built their fortunes ransoming little kids like you back to their families. And now, they are all dead."

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, but I can't move. Can't breathe.

"Raoul and Anatoly found them while we were gone," he explains. "I didn't want you or Dante to be in danger if they were part of a larger organization and decided to come back to finish what they started. But they were nobodies. Monsters who preyed on little kids to pay their bills. They deserved what they got."

"This is the gift," I breathe. "You… You tracked down the men who kidnapped me."

I should be horrified. I should be disgusted and repulsed. Mikhail tortured people and called it a gift. He had men killed and then presented them to me like a present.

"You and I are married, Viviana. We are family now." Mikhail turns my stiff body towards himself, his warm hand stroking down my arm. "Which is why I'm going to look out for you."

Mikhail found out something bothered me and he took care of it. I had a problem; he fixed it.

It's bizarre and bloody and horrifying… but it's him.

It's us.

I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.

After a beat of hesitation, Mikhail hauls me against his body. He crushes his mouth to mine and carries me up the stairs to his bedroom.