“Obstetricians. Maternal-fetal specialists. High-risk pregnancy experts. Nutritionists. Anyone required to monitor this pregnancy properly.”
He looked directly at me.
“They will come here if necessary. Or you will go to them — escorted and protected.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I will make sure this baby is monitored like royalty.”
He ticked off details methodically.
“Ultrasounds scheduled regularly. Bloodwork tracked weekly. Prenatal vitamins imported if we have to fly them in from Switzerland. Specialist consultations on standby.”
His eyes softened — just barely.
“You will not go through this alone.”
A beat. “And this child will be born strong and healthy.”
The certainty in his voice wasn’t arrogance.
It was commitment.
“I give you my word.”
Petros didn’t make promises lightly.
He made decisions and executed them.
So when he gave his word like that — it meant protection had already begun forming around me and the life growing inside me.
My throat tightened.
Tears gathered again — not from fear now, but gratitude.
“Thank you, Petros.”
My voice wavered slightly.
He gave a single respectful dip of his head.
“You’re welcome.”
His gaze lingered for a moment longer — assessing my emotional state.
Then he slowly stood.
His joints creaked faintly — the subtle sound of years spent in violent environments and high-pressure loyalty.
He straightened his suit jacket with automatic precision.
Habit.
“Remember,” he added quietly, “If the fear becomes overwhelming — if your mind starts creating worst-case scenarios — call me.”
He gestured lightly.
“If you need food arranged. Rest enforced. A doctor brought in at midnight. Or simply someone to sit beside you while anxiety speaks too loudly.”
