Page 83 of Sinful Union

“You’ve got this. Just breathe—slow and steady.”

Kat’s fingers clamp down on mine like a vise, and I wince. I’ve handled gunfights, ambushes, and high-stakes negotiations without breaking a sweat, but watching her go through labor knocks the breath out of me.

She turns her head, eyes blazing despite the exhaustion.

“Pavel,” she grits out between contractions. “I love you to pieces, but if you tell me to breathe one more time, I swear—”

Another contraction seizes her, cutting off whatever threat she was about to issue. I rub her back, feeling completely useless, but desperate to do something.

The nurses in the room are infinitely calmer than either of us, and they coach her through each step. “You’re doing amazing, Mrs. Fetisova. Just a little more.”

Amazing? My wife is a damn warrior.

Kat screams, throwing her head back as she gives one last push. Time slows, stretching out with unbearable tension, and then—a sharp, furious wail shatters the room.

My lungs finally start working again. The nurses check him over. The second they place our son in Kat’s arms, my whole world narrows down to one moment.

Kat, exhausted, stares at him like he’s the greatest thing.

And he is.

He’s tiny, with a wrinkled little face that’s absolutely perfect.

My chest tightens with something fierce and familiar, similar to what I felt when I found out Ana was mine. Love, of course, but bigger, heavier, a responsibility I never knew I was capable of holding.

Kat glances up at me, her lips curling into a tired smile. “We made this.”

I laugh. “We did.”

The baby lets out another little cry. I let go of Kat’s hand to gently brush a fingertip across his soft forehead. He’s so small, so delicate, but at the same time, he’s everything.

“We still haven’t picked a name,” Kat points out, stroking his tiny back.

We’ve spent months going back and forth, shooting down each other’s suggestions, never quite settling on anything. But looking at him now, I know.

“I think I have one,” I say, clearing my throat. “Mikhail.”

Kat’s eyes widen, fresh tears welling up. “My father’s name?”

I nod. “He should have something of his grandfather’s, something of both families.”

She presses her lips together, cradling our son closer. “Mikhail Andreev Fetisov,” she whispers, testing it out. Then she looks at me, her expression soft and loving. “It’s perfect.”

“Yes,” I say, leaning in to kiss her temple, then the tiny bundle in her arms. “Just like him.”

The baby makes a slight noise as he settles against Kat’s chest, his tiny fingers curling. I watch him, completely lost in the moment.

We’ve fought for this—through hell and back. And now, finally, we have something untouched by all the violence, all the pain.

We have him.

She gives me a tired smile. “I love you,” she whispers, breath catching on the last word.

I set my forehead against hers.

“I love you,” I echo.

Kat sniffles, then laughs, brushing away fresh tears as she gazes down at Mikhail. “He’s…he’s just so…perfect,” she says, and I couldn’t agree more.

---