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My temper is too short, my mood is too sour, and I can’t stop myself from snapping. Dima’s just said again how happy he is that she’s safe, and she’s just started regaling him with what’s actually happened and how she’s just now starting to get her memory back, but she remembers the time he accidentally broke her TV trying to mount it on her bedroom wall, and I blurt out, “So, you two been fucking the last six years? You raising my son, too?”
Dima blanches, but Ana is outraged. She smacks my chest hard and says, “Don’t be ayobany priduruk.”
I raise an eyebrow at Dima. “You teaching her foul language, too?”
He raises his hands in surrender.
Ana says, “I got that from Artom, actually.”
The look Dima shoots her calms me some. As long as he’s concerned about Ana throwing him under the bus— because I have no doubt that this means Dima taught my 5-year-old son how to say ‘fucking moron’ in Russian— I have the upper hand on him.
“I wouldneversleep with your girl,” he promises me vehemently. “You told me to keep an eye on her, and I did.”
“I didn’t tell you to be besties with her!”
Dima nods, breathing through any irritation at my tone. “Right. I was supposed to keep my distance unless she was in trouble, and she was in trouble pretty much the second you kicked her to the curb.”
I scowl at him as I attempt to get more comfortable on the sofa, giving up and letting my ass sink into the spot where the springs have failed. I can’t get comfortable. I’m uneasy right to my core.
Ana’s fidgety, too. “Was I... was I really that bad? I’m only remembering a few flashes, a second here and there. But I thought I was doing okay.”
The bastard softens his harsh features. “You were hanging in there. But it was you against the world, and once Tony kicked you out, you were a single mom barely able to keep everything together.”
“You should have told me,” I snarl at him as Ana squeaks out, “I thought Tony bought me my house!”
Dima holds his hand up for me to yield as he says, “Yeah, he did, but he wanted you gone after you had Artom. He promised to help you, but that didn’t last a year before he stopped taking your calls and the collection notices started up.”
“You should have told me,” I repeat, more firmly this time. I could kill Tony for this alone. “I would have paid. I would have—”
Dima smirks at me. “You did pay. I dumped a ton of their bills onto one of your credit cards, dickhead.”
“I’mthe dickhead? You never told me about my son,ublyudok!”
Dima’s low nod and long breath have an undeniably heavy quality to them, taking the mood down a notch, flipping the energy to a somber fug that has me reaching for Ana and pulling her back in. “I had to,” he says quietly, his eyes unwavering from mine,forcing me to see the truth in his words, the conviction. “It was for the best for him. And you. All of you. I’m sorry it all came out this way, but I’m not sorry for waiting until now to tell you about him.”
“He’s my son. I should have been there. I should have—fuck,”I hiss, rubbing my chest roughly with my palm, pressing into the sharp pain in my heart. “He’s my son,” I repeat more softly.
“He is. And he wants you to be his dad, even if I did call you ayobany pridurukso many times he started to repeat it. But I needed you to be solid, and you were, well,you,and Lacey was doing well, and...” He scrubs the back of his head. “You told me to make sure she was safe and happy, and the way you’ve lived your life, the way she was doing so well in Tampa, there wasn’t a good time. But wealwaystold Artom that you had to be apart because you loved him, and one day, you’d come back.”
Murderous feelings brew again. Neither Dima nor Ana had the right to decide this for me.
But I was the one who sent Ana away the second I had to take over the brigade. I was the one who couldn’t see anything else except my impending demise, so I couldn’t allow her to stay with me and grieve the death I knew was coming. Logically, I didn’t want that for any potential child either.
But Artom isn’t a potential child. He’smy son.
I bounce up onto my feet so suddenly Ana yelps, but I need to pace. I’m in a room built for pacing. I see the tracks in the floor, the paths men left behind as they awaited the killing blow, knowing their lives were over as surely as the lives of their wives, their children in the room across the hall. I follow those tracks even though I’m still here. Ana’s right here. Artom is... I don’t know where, but I trust Ana that wherever he is, he’s safe, because I know she’s a good mom.
“Was it your idea to name him Artom?”
My eyes are still hard on the floor, but Dima takes the question. “No, I was still keeping my distance then. I wasn’t even sure at first the kid was yours—no offense, Lace. I just didn’t know how far along you were until you were already having him. And then I saw him and, well...”
“He looks just like me,” I finish.
“Yep. I did some stuff behind the scenes, gave Ana some lucky days, if you know what I mean, just made sure that things went smoothly for her—oh, you’re a silent partner of her restaurant—but I kept my distance until she spotted me at a playground.”
“I remember that!” Ana laughs, and yeah, I look up to see her face light up again, and I see now that her happiness is definitely over finding the memory itself, not that it was Dima. “You were the creepy single guy. I wasn’t even the one who spotted you, it was one of the other moms. Oh my god, it was Svetlana.”
Dima blushes.