51. Viviana

I hate him.

From the moment I woke up alone in bed, walked across the hall, and found Dante's room empty, I've hated Mikhail.

Finally, I get to do something about it.

I throw every single ounce of my weight at him, but he barely sways on his feet. I claw at whatever parts of him I can grab—his sleeves, his hair, his clothes.

"You're a liar!" I snarl. "You're a filthy fucking liar and Ihate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

I don't recognize my own voice. The thoughts in my head belong to someone else, too.

As soon as I tore through the mansion and realized my baby boy was gone, I became another person. Someone broken and desperate and wild.

I wanted to kill Mikhail.

Now, here he is, standing in the mess with his arms spread like some kind of savior, and I have never wanted to hurt anyone as much as I want to hurt him.

No one has ever taught me to fight. There was no reason to. My father didn't care if his daughter knew how to throw a punch. As long as I could smile and nod, I knew everything he wanted me to know.

I wish I'd taken a kickboxing class in the years on the run. Something, anything, that could make this an even fight.

Seams rip and my fists ache from pounding against his chest, but Mikhail doesn't move. Doesn't defend himself. He stands there and takes it without flinching.

"That's it," he encourages softly. "Whatever you need to do, Viviana."

"Shut up!" I punctuate the point with two poorly-placed jabs to his ribs. "Fight back!"

"I'm not going to fight you."

I fall back, already panting and out of breath. There are a lot of rooms in this mansion. Destroying them all one by one took a lot out of me. "Why not?"

"Because that's not what you need."

"Don't fucking tell me what I need!" I hiss, top lip curled back like a hyena. "Don't steal my son from me in the middle of the night and then dare to tell me what I need."

"I didn't steal him. We agreed to send him to the school," he explains with infuriating calm. "You know it's the right choice."

I fling myself at him again. This time, I take aim at his annoyingly pretty mouth. That's what got us into this mess in the first place. Everything sounds better when it comes from a face like that.

My fist cracks against his jaw. It's the first half-solid punch I've landed. As soon as I do, pain radiates up my arm.

"Ow! Shit!" I pull back and Mikhail follows me.

His face is creased with worry. For me. I just punched him in the jaw and he's concerned about me.

"I hate you," I spit one more time, shoving him away from me.

I try, at least. Mikhail doesn't budge. He reaches for my hand, trying to inspect it. "Did you break something?"

I draw my foot back and kick him in the shin. Finally, he grunts, but he doesn't stop trying to triage my hand. Meanwhile, my toes feel like I just kicked a steel beam.

"What are you, the fucking Bionic Man?" I grimace, hopping on my good foot and flexing my toes. "Goddammit!"

Mikhail growls in frustration. Then he grabs me by the arms, picks me up, and toes shattered wood and clothes out of the way to drop me on the edge of the bed.

"Don't touch me!" I try to twist away from him, but he pins me in place.

"Then stop trying to punch me!" he snaps, his calm finally withering away. "You're hurting yourself."

I narrow my eyes. "Don't act like you care about me now. You're a liar. You told me we would take Dante together. ‘We made this decision together, Viviana.'"

"We did."

"You lied! You did what you thought was best without asking me."

"Because you can't be rational when it comes to Dante."

"Don't do that!" I shriek, jabbing a finger at him. "Don't treat me like some insane, emotional woman!"

He throws his hands in the air, flailing around to highlight the carnage I left in my wake. "Look around, Viviana. This looks pretty insane!"

He's not wrong. The room is destroyed. It's going to take the entire staff all day to clean this up. We'll need a new bed. New art on the walls. A new dresser.

The destruction is sobering in ways I wish it wasn't, so I focus on Mikhail. On the pain that cuts through me like the knife I hurled at Anatoly when he tried to defend Mikhail's actions. Every time I look at Mikhail's face and remember what he did—that Dante is gone—my chest aches.

"And you look pretty heartless." I jab at the rip I left in his shirt, directly over his heart. Like I was trying to claw my way through his skin and rip it, still beating, out of his chest. "I should have known better."

He arches a brow. "Known better about what?"

"I should have known better than to trust you. I mean, look at your father! Your brother!" I can feel my mouth running away with me, but I don't hit the brakes. I slam on the gas, actually, leaning forward to fling every word at him. "You pretend to be better than them, but you're a Novikov through and through. You don't care about anyone but yourself."

For the first time, Mikhail flinches.

Finally, I've landed a blow… and it doesn't feel at all like I thought it would.

"Do you feel better?" Mikhail asks evenly after a painful moment has dragged past us.

My teeth grind together. I clench my jaw to keep myself from blurting out the truth.

"Because if you're done," he rasps, "it's my turn to tell you what I know about you."

I brace myself for everything I deserve. Mikhail was right: when it comes to fighting him, I'm always the one who will end up hurt. It's coming in three, two, one…

"You, Viviana Novikov," he says, firing my new last name at me like a bullet, "care so fucking much about everyone in your life. About me. And, most of all, about Dante."

I frown. This isn't where I thought this was going. I'm perfectly still on the edge of the bed, waiting for the shoe to drop. For him to throw the knockout punch.

"You've spent your entire life sacrificing yourself—your happiness, your freedom, your desires—to make sure Dante was safe and cared for. You worked your ass off for six years to take care of him on your own."

"What are you—" I start.

But Mikhail presses the pad of his thumb to my lips, silencing me. "You don't know how to let someone else take care of the two of you."

I swat his hand away. "You lied to me."

"Because you couldn't handle it," he fires back. "You were going to fall apart and it would have scared Dante. He was finally okay with leaving, and I didn't want you to make things worse for him."

"I'm his mother! I wouldn't make things worse. I would have?—"

"Sobbed," he finishes. "You would have fallen apart the same way you did here, except you would have done it in front of Dante and all of his classmates and his teachers."

I want to tell him he's wrong, but I can't. This explosion has been brewing inside of me for days. Weeks. The moment Mikhail brought up boarding school again, it was only a matter of time.

"When you're thinking clearly, you know sending him away is the right call," he says gently. "I didn't want one moment of weakness to undo everything."

"You left me," I blurt. My voice breaks and I slap a hand over my mouth. Angry tears burn in my eyes.

Mikhail's face softens. He curls warm fingers around my jaw. "The only way for me to take care of you was to leave you behind. Just for a little while."

I'm still angry. Livid, actually. Rage is still simmering low in my belly.

But I don't hate him. Of course I don't. How could I? Mikhail did what he does best, what he's always done: he made the tough call and stuck around to face the consequences.

There's still so much energy sizzling under my skin, but I don't want to hit him. I don't want to destroy anything. I want to… I don't know what I want.

As always, Mikhail does.

He spreads his arms again, his voice a low rumble. "Take it out on me, Viviana."

I throw myself at him again, but this time, I wrap my arms around his neck. I curl my body against his strong chest and let him hold me as I kiss the scratches on his throat and the red welts on his cheeks.

His hands grip my butt, pinning me against the erection I feel growing between us. "I'm so mad at you," I pant between kisses.

"I know." He walks me to the bed, laying me back as he falls over me.

His weight presses me down and I scrape my nails over his shoulder blades and the thick bands of muscle on either side of his spine, trying to draw him closer.

His beard scratches along my jaw and my collarbones. My flimsy pajamas are like gauze in his hands. He rips my top in two with one tug. Then his palms are over my breasts. He rolls my nipples between his calloused fingers and the nervous energy under my skin finds purpose.

It demands more.

I slide my hand between our bodies and find the hard length of him. He groans, a deep, strangled sound low in his throat, when I wrap my hand around his cock and stroke.

"Like this," I croak, opening my thighs to make more space for him. "Take me like this, Mikhail."

I don't want to wait. I don't need him to take me to the edge. I'm already there. I've been here for hours. Now, I want to fall with him.

He presses hot kisses to my collarbone and my pulse point. His teeth nip at my earlobe before he breathes, "Whatever you need, Viviana."

Mikhail shoves my panties to the side and wastes no time. He presses me open, parting me gently at first. Then he slides deep.

The only reason I can survive a morning like the one I just had is because, deep down, I know Mikhail will take care of me. Everything he's ever done has been to take care of me. Even now, when he's ripped my quivering heart out of my chest and packed it up for boarding school, I know he's only doing what he thinks is best.

I hate it, but I trust him.

I'm livid with him, but I love him.

He slides away and then fills me again. Each time he pulls back, he comes back even harder. Faster.

"You've got me." His arms bracket either side of me, the muscles flexing and straining with every thrust. Mikhail rises over me, driving into me harder and harder. "Fuck, you've got me, Viviana."

I kiss the flushed skin of his chest. I hold onto him with my arms and my legs, memorizing the way he feels. The way his weight pins me to the mattress and how he can stretch me to my breaking point, but make it feel so deliriously good.

I come hard, digging my nails into his back and burying my scream in his chest. Mikhail curses and falls, too. He grips my hips and spills into me, holding our bodies together until he slides out and grabs my face instead.

"I'm going to do everything in my power to protect our family." His eyes are bright blue and almost pleading. He brushes tears from my cheeks with his thumbs, and I didn't even know I was crying. "I've failed before—but I'm not going to fail with you and Dante and our new baby."

"I know," I sob, circling my hand around his thick wrist.

He kisses my forehead and whispers. "I'm going to take care of you."

I believe him.