Page 101 of Savage Bratva King

The obstetrician studies the monitor, one hand placed over Gianna’s rock-solid belly

When this contraction finishes, another one starts. The doctor’s lips are pressed into a thin line, and she doesn’t speak. Two more contractions follow in rapid succession.

I wish I knew what the lines on the monitor meant. I wish there was some way for me to take the pain away from Gianna, but she was adamant that she wanted a natural birth, and I respected her wishes. But fuck me, I don’t know how much longer I can watch this going on without yelling at someone.

“Gianna.” The obstetrician finally moves away from the monitor and moves around the outside of the bath to speak to us both. “I’m concerned that the babies are in distress.”

“Are they…?” Tears well in Gianna’s eyes and I find her hand in the water and cover it with mine.

“They’re both fine, but I want to get you into the operating room and perform a C-section.” She pauses. “I know you wanted a natural birth but I?—”

“Do it,” I blurt out. “I’m not risking their lives or Gianna’s.”

The doctor’s dark eyes skim mine and return to Gianna. “I want you to understand that this is in the babies’ best interests, but I need your consent, Gianna.”

I sense the contraction mounting inside Gianna’s body even before she starts howling. All eyes are on her while she rides the pain, and I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.

“Okay,” she whispers, tears streaking her face.

That’s all it takes.

The rest happens in a blur.

I lift Gianna out of the bath and onto the bed, her face contorted into a grimace of pain. I walk alongside the bed as they wheel her to the delivery room, holding her trembling hand in mine and whispering all the way, “I love you, printzessa. I’m right here. I’ve got you and our babies, and everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

I pull on a sterile gown and mask and cover my shoes and try not to think about the promise that isn’t mine to keep. It should be. I vowed to always look after her, to protect her and keep her safe, and here I am relegated to the role of onlooker.

It doesn’t sit well with me. In fact, it strikes every shade of wrong inside my gut, but I force a smile and hold her hand and remind her how much I love her, over and over, until the sound of our babies’ squally cries fills our eyes with tears.

* * *

While Gianna sleeps, I sit in the visitor’s seat in the private hospital room and cradle our baby daughters in my arms. They are perfect. Identical twins, but already I can spot the tiny differences that make them unique.

Anya, named after my grandmama, has a tiny, almost imperceptible freckle tucked into the corner of her left eye, while Liliya’s fair hair curls the opposite way to her sister’s right on the crown.

Liliya is going to be the feisty one who takes after her mother. Even in slumber, she keeps opening one eye, just a fraction, enough to keep an eye on me and make sure that I haven’t put them back inside the clear-sided cribs provided for them. Anya’s hair is a shade darker than her sister’s. Swaddled inside the pink thermal blanket, her head nestled on my chest above my heart, she hasn’t stirred, as if she has already learned that she is protected.

I kiss their foreheads. “I love you,” I whisper.

“They love you too.”

I raise tear-filled eyes to meet Gianna’s gaze. She looks more beautiful than ever, with her hair fanning the pillow, and her cheeks still flushed from the exertion of labor. Looking at her, no one would ever believe what she’d just endured, and I rise carefully, crossing the room in easy strides so as not to wake our daughters.

I settle them in her arms and kiss her forehead. “Thank you, printzessa, for making my world complete.”

She smiles. “You’d best not let Marvel hear you say that.”

“He has three little sisters to protect now. He’ll be exhausted trying to keep an eye on them once they start crawling.”

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” She can’t take her eyes off our babies, and I can’t blame her.

Right now, I can’t imagine ever letting them out of my sight, and if anyone ever dares to touch them… The world will not have experienced rage like it. “Of course, they are. They take after their mom.”

“Mika was right—she knew they would both be girls.” She sucks on her bottom lip, remembering what day it is. “The grand opening. You should be there, Leo.”

“And leave my girls behind? Not a chance in hell.”

Footsteps approach the room, and as if they knew that we were talking about them, the door opens and Mika and Cartier come in, arms overloaded with pink soft toys and bunches of flowers.

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