Page 161 of Vendetta Crown

His hand cradles my face with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. I taste salt on his lips and realize he's crying. I am too.

When we finally break apart, Ruslan presses his forehead against mine, our tears mingling as we breathe the same air.

His hand finds mine and settles it over my belly, and that's when I feel a tiny familiar flutter as our children start moving again.

43

RUSLAN

FOUR AND A HALF MONTHS LATER

The hallway feels infinite.

I've faced down rival bratvas, survived near-assassination attempts, navigated lethal business deals—but nothing has prepared me for the white sterile corridor outside this delivery room.

Aurora's screams rip through the wall every few minutes. Each one slices straight through me like a knife between my ribs. I cannot see her. Cannot help her. Cannot take this pain for her.

I pace another circuit, my expensive shoes clicking against the polished floor.

"Sit down before you wear a hole through the tiles," Artyom says, his voice steady. "Doctors do this every day."

"But they don't delivermychildren every day," I snap back.

Hannah looks up from her phone, dark circles under her eyes matching mine. "She's survived worse than childbirth," she reminds me. "This is Aurora we're talking about."

My mother sits regally in a corner chair, her composure unbroken despite the hour. "Labor with twins takes time, Ruslan," she says in Russian. "Lev told me that your father paced exactly like this when you were born."

I pause, hating the comparison. "I am nothing like him."

"In this thing, you are." A ghost of a smile touches her lips.

Another scream echoes from behind the doors, and my hands clench into fists. The urge to break through those doors is overwhelming.

"What if something's wrong?" My voice drops to a whisper. "Kristofer nearly killed her. What if?—"

"She'll be fine," Artyom cuts me off. "This is the best team in all of Los Angeles."

I rub my jaw, feeling the strain of sleepless nights catching up with me. After everything we've been through—building a family from the ruins of betrayal, claiming my place as pakhan of pakhans, watching Aurora become more than anyone expected—it seems impossible that I might lose it all to something as ordinary as childbirth.

"Here." Hannah stands and presses a coffee into my hands. "And for God's sake, stop imagining worst-case scenarios. You're not doing yourself any favors with that."

I drain the coffee without tasting it, my eyes fixed on those damn swinging doors. Behind them, Aurora is fighting the most important battle of her life.

"Come," my mother says, patting the seat beside her. "Sit with me and tell me what names you've chosen."

"Andrei for our son," I tell her. "And Nadia for our daughter."

"Andrei and Nadia," she repeats, the name rolling off her tongue like a blessing. "They're good names, Lanchik. Names with a future, not just a legacy."

Another cry pierces through the doors, and I instinctively rise halfway from my seat before a single look from my mother forces me to sit back down.

Suddenly, a new sound cuts through the hallway—a high-pitched wail that stops my heart. Then another joins it, a perfect harmonic counterpoint to the first.

My children.

I stand frozen, unable to move until the nurse pushes through the doors.

"Mr. Dragunov?" she says. "You can come in now."

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