My throat tightened.
“Of not being strong enough to protect it from everything that’s coming.”
War. Power struggles. Enemies.
Prison politics.
Ruslan’s world wasn’t safe — even from behind bars.
Petros watched me quietly.
He didn’t interrupt.
He let the fear sit in the room.
Then he spoke — steady and grounded.
“You are stronger than you know.”
His tone wasn’t flattery. It was an observation.
“And this child will have you as a mother.”
He tilted his head slightly. “That is more than enough.”
His words hit deeper than I expected.
Tears gathered in my eyes again.
Not from weakness.
From relief.
From someone acknowledging my fear without dismissing it.
“Thank you, Petros.”
He nodded — respectful.
“Anything you need — day or night — you call me.”
His posture straightened again.
“Whatever resources are required. I will handle it.”
He meant it.
Not as loyalty to Ruslan. But as protection for me.
Petros leaned forward slightly as he spoke — elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together loosely but deliberately.
His posture shifted from advisor to protector.
“I will get you the best doctors money can buy.”
There was no exaggeration in his tone.
No empty reassurance.
