“Of course I would have,” he says. “That’s not the point. You stepped up. That means something. It’s a debt, Petyr. And I always pay my debts.”
I sigh and rub a hand over my jaw. “If the chance ever comes up, maybe you’ll return the favor. Until then, forget it.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to decide whether I forget it. You pulled me out when I was gone. That doesn’t vanish just because you tell me it should.”
“Fine,” I say quietly. “But I’d rather see you live long enough to pay it back than talk about it now.”
“It’s not about payback. It’s about honor. And you know that better than anyone.”
I do. Men like us don’t get to walk away from the things that define us. Loyalty, duty, debt—they’re all the same chain by a different name.
Before I can say anything more, the door bursts open.
One of my bodyguards stands there. “Boss.” He’s out of breath, which tells me something must be wrong.
I turn sharply. “What?”
“It’s your wife.” His tone is clipped, urgent. “She’s in labor. Luka’s taking her to the hospital now.”
For a split second, the words don’t register.
Then the floor seems to turn to liquid under me.
Sima’s in labor.
She’s going to give birth.
Our child is coming.
Misha’s eyes meet mine. “Go,” he says. “Be with her.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
35
SIMA
The bright hospital lights sting my eyes.
Nurses move fast around me. Machines beep somewhere near my head. My whole body feels like it’s being squished between two giant palms.
Luka stays beside me in the delivery room. If I were lucid enough, I’d tell him to go. What’s about to happen to my lower regions is going to fill his nightmares for the rest of his life.
But I don’t tell him to go. And when his hand grips mine so tight it almost hurts, I don’t tell him to stop, either. I need to feel something solid.
“It’s too soon,” I whisper. “She’s not supposed to come yet.”
“The doctors are here,” Luka says. “They know what they’re doing.”
“But what if something’s wrong? What if the fall hurt her? What if she can’t breathe or her heart?—”
“Hey.” Luka’s voice cuts through my panic. “Don’t go there. She’s strong. You both are.”
I shake my head. My hair sticks to my forehead, damp with sweat. “You don’t know that. Hell,Idon’t know that. I wasn’t ready; I’m not ready?—”
Another contraction hits, and I bite down a groan. Luka’s hand tightens again to guide me through it. He tells me to breathe, slow and deep, like I can actually do that right now.
Not that he’d know. He doesn’t have a uterus. Or a baby who’s about to pop her really big head through a really small orifice in his body.
