Page 89 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

“Which is essentially what it was.”

He cracks a smile that causes a cut at the corner of his mouth to start bleeding again. “Essentially.”

Outside, the night air feels impossibly clean after the stale atmosphere of the warehouse. Three black SUVs wait in the parking lot, engines running and ready for immediate departure. An older man I assume is Dr. Lewis approaches us, though he’s clearly more accustomed to treating gunshot wounds than pregnant women who’ve been through traumatic stress. “Any pain or unusual symptoms? Cramping, bleeding, anything that might indicate distress to the baby?”

“Some cramping earlier, but there’s been a lot of stress and physical exertion.” I submit to his examination in the back of an SUV while Nikandr hovers nearby, clearly wanting to be closer though respecting the doctor’s need for space. “She’s been moving normally though.”

“Pulse is elevated though that’s expected given the circumstances. Blood pressure is higher than ideal for this stage of pregnancy, but again, not surprising.” He checks my pupils with a small flashlight. “Any head trauma? You’ve got some blood here.”

“I was hit during the kidnapping. Knocked unconscious.”

He clicks his tongue. “Concussion is possible though your responses seem normal. We’ll want a full evaluation at the clinic, including an ultrasound to make sure the baby wasn’t affected by the stress.”

Nikandr moves closer, his presence immediately calming despite the cuts and bruises covering his face. “How long before we know if there’s any damage?”

“Babies are remarkably robust, especially at this stage of development. The amniotic fluid provides excellent protection from external trauma, and maternal stress, while not ideal, rarely causes direct harm to the fetus.” Dr. Lewis packs his equipment with efficient movements. “Still, given what she’s been through, monitoring is advisable.”

Before I know it, he ushers me to the back seat, Dr. Lewis takes up the front spot beside a man I don’t know but recognize from the estate, since Maksim remains behind to coordinate the clean-up, and we’re soon at the clinic. The doctor does a more detailed exam and ultrasound before declaring I need rest and can go home.

Relief washes over Nikandr’s features, transforming his expression from barely controlled worry to something approaching peace. We leave the clinic, and he helps me into the vehicle, settling beside me with careful movements that favor his injured ribs.

“Home?” he asks.

“Home.” The word feels like a promise, like safety and warmth and everything that’s been missing from my life for the past several hours. “I want to see the nursery again. I want to remember what we’re building together.”

As our convoy pulls away from the clinic, I press my hand to my belly, feeling our daughter’s movement beneath my palm. She’s safe, we’re both safe, and the threats that have shadowedour relationship since the beginning are finally eliminated. We might actually get our happy ending.

33

Sabrina

During the ride home, Maksim calls with an update, and also news that Jessie was never in danger. She’s at the club working her shift, unaware that Eli is currently getting the beating of his life after being dragged out through the employee entrance. “I can kill him,” he offers hopefully.

I consider it for a second but shake my head, though he can’t see it. “No, that’s okay. Just teach him a lesson he won’t forget.” There’s been enough death tonight.

Later, when we’re home, we go straight through to the bathroom, past Eugenie who seems poised to fuss but lets us pass without speaking. The hot water runs over us in steady streams, washing away the blood and gunpowder residue and the lingering scent of violence that clings to our skin. Nikandr’s hands are gentle as he helps me clean the cuts on my wrists, his touch careful and reverent despite the exhaustion weighing down both our movements.

We’re both too drained by everything that’s happened to make love, though the need to touch and be touched runs deeper than desire. This is about reassurance, about confirming we’re both alive and safe and together again. His fingers trace the bruises on my arms with the kind of tenderness that makes my chest tight with emotion.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs against my temple while the steam rises around us.

“We’re both here.” I press my palm against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my hand. “That’s what matters now.”

He wraps his arms around me, careful of my injured wrists, and holds me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip. The shower beats down on us while we stand there clinging to each other, processing the reality that it’s finally over.

Later, we collapse into his bed—the same bed I left when his lies shattered my trust. The sheets smell like him, like safety and home, and I curl into his side with my head on his shoulder while our daughter moves restlessly between us. His hand rests on my belly, fingers spread wide as if he can protect her through touch alone.

Sleep comes in fits and starts, interrupted by dreams of gunfire and the weight of Irina’s lifeless body sliding down the wall. Each time I jolt awake, Nikandr is there, his voice soft in the darkness as he reminds me where I am and that the danger has passed.

We wake earlythe next morning to pale sunlight filtering through the bedroom windows. My body aches in places I’d forgotten existed, and the events of last night feel both impossibly distant and brutally immediate. Nikandr is already awake, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom, needing a few minutes alone to process everything that’s changed. When I walk back into the bedroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for me, fully dressed despite the early hour.

The adrenaline that carried me through the rescue has faded completely, leaving behind clarity and the kind of emotional honesty that comes after surviving something traumatic. We can’t go back to the way things were before. Too much has happened for us to pretend last night didn’t fundamentally alter who we are.

He looks up at me, and I see guilt written across his features like a map of every mistake he’s made. “I need to apologize for not keeping my promise. I was wrong to lie to you about going after Vadim.”

I settle across from him, wrapping a robe around myself while considering his words. “Part of it was to protect me?”

---