Page 173 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“You don’t have to sit with me,” I say. “You don’t have to answer questions. You don’t have to pretend this is normal.”

Anna looks at me then. Ivan’s pencil rolls once beneath his palm. “Then why are you here?”

Because I am your mother.

Because I have loved a ghost for eight years, and now he is sitting in front of me with graphite on his fingers.

Because I know the shape of your father’s smile and the exact color your eyes were before I ever saw them open.

Because the world owes me something impossible, and I am trying not to collect it from you.

None of that belongs in his lap. So I choose the smallest true thing. “Because I know the man who sent that woman. And I want to help make sure he can’t scare you or your mom again.”

Ivan’s fingers tighten around the pencil. “Is he bad?”

Anna blinks.

“Yes,” I say.

He believes bluntness more than comfort.

“He is,” I repeat, softer this time. “But he can’t come here. And he’s not taking you anywhere.”

Ivan looks at Anna. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Anna says immediately.

His eyes come back to me, wary and exhausted. “Are you going to take me anywhere?”

No one moves to save me from the question. I know Aleksander is somewhere near the edge of the room. I know Mikhail has gone quiet. I know Anna is looking at me, every part of her braced around the answer.

There was a time, not very long ago, when the honest answer would’ve been yes.

Yes, I would’ve taken him. Yes, I would’ve run. Yes, I would’ve burned Anna’s life to ash if it meant filling the grave my father dug inside me.

That woman is still in me.

She is not the one who answers.

“No,” I say.

I force the next words to come evenly because if they break, he might think the answer can break too.

“I’m not going to take you away from your mom, Ivan.”

He looks down at the drawing. His pencil moves once, adding a hard, uneven line to one of the paths.

“Good,” he mutters.

The word cuts through me.

After a moment, he says, “The back room is wrong.”

I don’t understand at first. Then I realize he is talking about the drawing. The unfinished blue house with the crowded trees and too many windows.

I keep my hands at my sides. “Can I see?”

Ivan hesitates. Then he turns the paper one inch, not toward me exactly, just enough.