25. Mikhail

"I like hunting with you," Dante says, a speared marshmallow held over the fire we built. "It's fun."

"I like hunting with you, too, kid."

I promised Viviana no more guns, but there's still plenty I can teach Dante in the woods. Like how to build a fire. And, just as important, how to make a s'more.

Plus, being outside makes it all seem so much more… manageable.

The last few days in the cabin have been amazing. It's like taking a deep breath after a lifetime of hyperventilating. Never slowing down. Never relaxing.

It also feels like a dream. Like a peek into the peaceful, domestic life I could have had if I was someone else. The longer it goes on, the more I just want it to end—because the more of it I experience, the worse it will hurt to let it go.

I know better than most what letting go feels like.

Viviana and Dante are not Alyona and Anzhelina. I know that. That doesn't stop my brain from drawing the parallels.

My wife and daughter needed me and I wasn't there for them. Why do I deserve a second chance at happiness now?

The question doesn't have an answer, but I still ask it to myself countless times every day. When I wake up with Viviana's silky hair spread across my chest. When Dante fills the bathtub with more bubble solution than water and turns it into "bubble mountain." Every time something even resembling contentment dares to settle in my chest, the question rears its ugly head.

Why do you deserve this when Alyona and Anzhelina are dead?

The only time I can get a single second of guiltless peace is when Viviana is coming in my arms or I'm outside in the fresh air. Since I can't fuck Viviana every minute of every day, no matter how much my body wants to, sitting around a fire in the late afternoon roasting marshmallows is a fine backup plan.

Dante points at the end of my stick. "Your marshmallow is on fire."

"Shit." The black, bubbling mass isn't even recognizable as a marshmallow. I flick it into the fire and spear a new one.

"That's a bad word. Uncle Anatoly told me not to say it when Mama is around."

"What about when your Mama isn't around?" I ask.

He can't quite bite back his smile as he whispers, "Shit."

Classic Anatoly.

I should tell Dante to watch his mouth. It's what Viviana would say. But if a boy can't cuss in the middle of the woods with his dad, when can he?

"That stays out here," I tell him. "When we're hunting together, you can cuss. But that's the only time."

He nods and scrunches up his forehead, his gaze cast to the fire. I just know he's searching his brain for every other curse word he knows. God only knows what else Anatoly has whispered to him.

Once he's covered in melted marshmallow and chocolate, Dante and I load up and head back to the house. Today amounted to little more than a hike and some birdwatching, but that's fine. Time in the woods with my boy is enough.

We're close enough to the cabin that I can smell the smoke from the fireplace when Dante reaches out and grabs my hand.

Instinctively, I flinch back. But Dante doesn't even seem to notice. He keeps a firm hold as if linking hands with me is as natural as walking on two feet.

I glance down and he's smiling to himself, staring off at the forest around us.

Anzhelina was murdered when she was still so little. The closest we ever got to this moment was when she wrapped her little hand around my finger in the hospital. She was blotchy and covered in slime, but I placed my finger against her palm and she held it tight.

If she was still alive, would I be holding each of their hands right now? Would they be dancing around my feet, fighting with each other and racing through the trees?

The image plays in my mind for a second before reality settles in.

If Anzhelina was here, Dante wouldn't be.

If Anzhelina was here, I'd still be married to Alyona. I never would have slept with Viviana. I probably wouldn't have tried to take over the Bratva from Trofim at all.

If Anzhelina and Alyona were still here, my life would be entirely different and Dante's never would have started. Viviana wouldn't be inside waiting for us right now.

This reality I'm living is as fragile as the tiny, clammy hand settled against my palm. I know exactly how quickly it can all be snatched away.

I squeeze Dante's hand just a little tighter.