49. Viviana

I'm still awake when Mikhail slips through our bedroom door.

It's been two days of not knowing where he was. Two days of wishing he was here. Now that he is, I wonder if he wasn't safer in custody.

He's padding softly across the floor, but he stops when I roll over to face him. "You should be asleep."

"Probably," I agree. "But I'm not tired."

It's not true; I'm exhausted. That doesn't mean it's easy to lie down and turn my brain off.

"Stress isn't good for the baby."

"Tell that to the men trying to kill my husband."

He kicks off his shoes next to the bed and climbs in next to me. "If they were trying to kill me, I'd have a lot less to worry about."

"Everything is such a mess," I whisper. "If you'd just married Helen, then?—"

"Then I still would have come to my senses, divorced her, and gone looking for you." His hand strokes warm circles into my lower back. "Nothing would have changed, Viviana. It was always going to end up like this."

It's sweet, in a way. The idea that Mikhail and I are destined to be. It would be a pretty picture if all this pesky war and bloodshed would stop getting in the way.

"Just call off the war."

"I can't just?—"

"Surrender," I continue, talking over him. "Wave the white flag. Whatever it is you have to do to make it stop. Why can't you do that?"

"You grew up the daughter of a don. You know why."

"Tell me anyway."

He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Because they won't stop coming for me even if I stop fighting back. Surrendering will just make it easier for them to get to you and Dante."

"So, what? That's it? They decide they want to come after you and you're forced into this fight? It's not fair. You should get to back down if you want to."

"I don't want to back down. War is in the job description. I knew what I was signing up for when I overthrew Trofim. It's the world I was born into."

"And I was born into a family who wanted to trade me to the highest bidder!" I retort. "I didn't like it, so I left it behind."

"Your father isn't letting us forget it, either," he mumbles.

He's not wrong. I left, but that life is still breathing down my neck. Down all of our necks.

I frown. "I'm the reason you didn't marry Helen. And the only reason my father is after you is because I ran away. This is all?—"

"It's not your fault," Mikhail interjects.

I shake my head. "Maybe I should have stayed away. Dante was probably safer with you when I was gone."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen him," Mikhail says darkly. "He's better with you around."

"Except I'm the picture in the center of several dartboards right now. The closer Dante is to me, the more likely he gets hit." My stomach churns. I've been nauseous for days, but this is a new kind of sickness. "I'm his mother, Mikhail. He's supposed to be safe with me."

"Maybe it's time we consider…" Mikhail pauses, considers his words carefully. I know whatever he's about to say, I'm not going to like. "The mansion might not be the safest place for Dante right now."

I sit bolt upright. "No."

I knew the boarding school conversation would come back around sooner or later, but I'm not ready for it now. I thought we'd circle back when Dante was seventeen… and a half.

Maybe in his last semester of senior year he could transfer to a boarding school in the city.

And visit me every weekend.

"You said it yourself: the closer he is to you, the less safe he is."

"That doesn't mean I want to send him away!" I fire back.

Mikhail sits up and drags a hand over his face and I can see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

"We should go to sleep," I announce. "I haven't had enough sleep—ever—to have this conversation. Let's sleep on it and talk about it later when we're more rested."

Considering we're in the middle of a war and I'm pregnant, I don't think sleep is in the cards for us for the next eight years. At least.

"We aren't sending him away forever, Viviana."

"He won't be here with us."

"He'll be close by. The boarding school I found is close by. It's in the city."

I shake my head. "You told me it was in Moscow. You wanted to send him to Russia."

"I'm trying this new thing. It's called compromise." He nudges my arm with his shoulder. "You ever heard of it?"

He's trying to be cute, but I'm not in the mood. He's my husband, but he's also the man who wants to send my baby boy away. "I'm familiar, but I didn't think you were."

"That's why I said it was new." He sighs. "I don't want this, either, Viviana… if that makes you feel any better. But that doesn't mean it's not the best choice for Dante."

He's right. I know he's right, but I can't bring myself to say it. I can't bring myself to say anything. If I open my mouth, I'll fall apart.

Mikhail must be able to sense my resignation because he grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. "He'll be safer there, Viv. I wouldn't send him if I didn't believe that."

"But Mrs. Steinman is my school!" Dante looks at me with wide, blue eyes. "I already have a teacher."

"Mrs. Steinman is a tutor. She isn't the same as school," Mikhail explains. "You're going to go to a place with more teachers and other students. It's a big building with lots of classrooms."

It looks like a prison.

Mikhail showed me pictures online this morning and told me to "keep an open mind." Well, my mind was wide open and now, it's stuffed full with pictures of that brick building outfitted with quadruple-layered glass that could probably withstand everything up to and including a nuclear bomb.

According to the website, there are metal detectors, a three-point sign-in system, and fencing and guards around the perimeter of the school.

He'll be safe there, I tell myself for the umpteenth time this morning. I keep repeating it, but the words don't seem to stick.

So what if it's safe? Dante is a kid. He needs fresh air and sunlight and his mother.

"Is there recess?" Dante asks.

"You'll get breaks," Mikhail tells him. "It won't be school all the time. Sometimes, you'll get to hang out with your friends and spend time in your room. There's a gym and a movie theater. There's a restaurant in the lobby and you can?—"

"We're moving there?" Dante turns his Bambi eyes on me, waiting for an answer.

But my mouth goes dry.

How am I supposed to tell my son I'm abandoning him in a bombproof building full of strangers?

He'll be safe there.

This is the right choice.

Mikhail reaches over and pats Dante's knee. His large hand swallows most of Dante's leg. "You'll be moving there. You're going to have your own room."

"Where are you moving?" he asks, his eyes still locked on mine.

"We aren't moving," Mikhail explains. "Your mama and I are staying here."

He'll be safe there.

He'll be alone.

This is the right choice.

He needs me.

I clench my fists tightly in my lap, trying to keep it together. I promised Mikhail I could do this, but that was before I had to stare into my six-year-old's teary-eyed face. That was before a mother's worst nightmare was sitting in front of me with a wobbly chin and questions I can't answer.

"I'm going alone?" Dante's voice breaks and this might actually be torture.

"You'll have a blast." Mikhail tries to sound upbeat, but there's nothing upbeat about what we're doing here. "The school isn't for adults. It's for kids. You'll make friends and learn so much."

Dante stands up and the sight of his too-long pants hanging over his socked feet does me in. A sob wrenches out of me.

He grabs my hand. "I'll be good, Mama. I won't be naughty."

"This isn't—" I swallow down another sob. Tears fill my eyes and I have to blink them back furiously just to be able to see Dante. "You're a good boy."

"Then why don't you want me anymore?" His voice is watery and my heart cracks in half.

"Dante, that's not—" Mikhail sighs and I can't listen to him explain this. I can't sit here and pretend I'm not dying inside.

I fumble towards the door, crying so hard I can't see.

This is the right choice.

Even if nothing about it feels right at all.