Page 94 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

We time the contractions while gathering last-minute items, and sure enough, they intensify and move closer together with remarkable speed. By the time we’re ready to leave for the hospital, they’re coming every seven minutes and strong enough to make conversation difficult.

The drive to the hospital feels surreal after months of being driven everywhere in armored vehicles with armed escorts. Nikandr is behind the wheel of our family car with no security detail following us. We’re just two people heading to the hospital to welcome their first child. It’s normal, domestic, and exactly what I dreamed of during the darkest moments of our relationship.

“Are you nervous?” I ask between contractions, watching his profile as he navigates traffic with careful attention.

“Terrified. Excited. Anxious to meet our daughter.” He reaches over to squeeze my hand. “You?”

“All of that, plus wondering if I’m actually ready to be someone’s mother.” I have some doubt about squeezing out a baby too, but I don’t burden him with that.

“You’ve been ready since the moment you found out you were pregnant. I’ve watched you prepare for this, plan for every possibility, and love her before you’ve even met her.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “She’s lucky to have you as a mother.”

The hospital feels welcoming rather than threatening, with cheerful nurses who guide us through admission paperwork and preparation for what could be a long labor. They settle me into a private room with windows overlooking the city, and for the first time in years, I’m in a medical facility because somethingwonderful is happening rather than because someone I love is dying, or someone tried to kill us.

Labor progresses steadily though not quickly, with contractions that build in intensity while never quite becoming unbearable. Nikandr stays beside me through every wave, offering water and encouragement and the kind of steady presence that makes me feel safe even when the pain becomes overwhelming.

Hours pass in a blur of breathing exercises, position changes, and medical monitoring that confirms our daughter is handling the stress of birth beautifully. The sun sets outside our window, and we wait, working together toward the moment when our family will finally be complete.

When the pushing stage finally arrives, everything happens quickly. After hours of gradual progress, suddenly there’s urgency and purpose and the incredible sensation of our daughter moving through my body toward her first breath.

“I can see her head,” Dr. Price says with professional excitement. “One more good push, Sabrina.”

I bear down with everything I have, and suddenly she’s here. She’s slippery, perfect, and screaming with healthy indignation at being evicted from her warm, dark home. The room goes still for a moment as everyone processes the miracle of new life.

A girl, as expected. Healthy and strong, with dark hair like her father and lungs that announce her displeasure at being born. “Elizabeth Claire,” I whisper as they place her on my chest, skin to skin, her tiny body warm and impossibly real against mine. “Hello, beautiful girl.”

I hold my daughter against my chest, exhausted and trembling with emotion and the aftermath of birth. She’s perfect in everyway that matters—ten fingers, ten toes, a button nose, and the kind of fierce expression that suggests she inherited my determination along with his coloring.

Nikandr stands beside the bed watching us both, and I’ve never seen him look so stunned or completely overwhelmed by emotion. He doesn’t say much as he reaches out to stroke her tiny cheek with one finger while tears stream down his face. “She’s beautiful,” he finally manages, his voice rough with wonder. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Do you want to hold her?”

He nods and carefully takes our daughter in his arms, supporting her head with the kind of reverence usually reserved for priceless artifacts. Elizabeth settles immediately against his chest, as she recognizes his voice from months of hearing it through my belly.

Looking at them together, this is the happiest I’ve ever been.

EPILOGUE

Nikandr

The ceremony is small and intimate in the way I never thought I’d want but now can’t imagine any other way. We rented an estate in the countryside outside Modesto, which is all rolling hills dotted with oak trees and wildflowers that stretch toward mountains in the distance. It’s the kind of place where the only sounds are wind through grass and the occasional call of birds overhead.

We have no security detail, weapons checks, or bulletproof vehicles hidden behind the barn. There are just twenty people who matter to us, gathered to witness something I never thought I’d live long enough to experience.

Jessie stands at the makeshift altar holding our daughter, her role as maid-of-honor complicated by Elizabeth refusing to let anyone else but her or us hold her for more than a few minutes at a time. At thirteen months old, our daughter has developed strong opinions about most things, especially about who she trusts with her care.

Maksim adjusts his tie beside me, clearly uncomfortable in a tux, though he’d never complain about standing as my best man. The transition from lieutenant to friend has been smoother than either of us expected, and I’m grateful he agreed to be here for this moment.

“You ready for this?” he asks quietly while we wait for the music to begin.

“I’ve been ready since the night I met her.”

He smiles.

The string quartet begins playing something classical and beautiful that Sabrina selected weeks ago, though I only have ears for the rustle of movement behind me as she prepares to walk down the aisle. When I turn to watch her approach, everything else fades into background noise.

She walks toward me in a simple ivory dress that skims her ankles, her hair pinned back in an elegant updo with a feathered fascinator that showcases the delicate earrings I gave her this morning. She wears no veil, and there’s no elaborate train or anything that might suggest she needs to be hidden or protected from the world. Just Sabrina, radiant and confident and choosing to spend her life with a man who used to solve problems with violence.

She meets my gaze and doesn’t look away, her smile soft and certain as she closes the distance between us. Each step feels deliberate and meaningful, like she’s walking not just down an aisle but into a future we’ve built together from the wreckage of everything I used to be.

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