Konstantin
7 months later (Location: The mansion at Shadow Hill)
“Breathe,milaya, visualize the rose petals opening… more and more…”
I can’t believe this is my voice.
Me, Konstantin Belov,Pakhan, real estate mogul, and the man who once made a grown man piss himself just by smiling—now whispering about fucking rose petals while my wife squeezes my hand like she’s about to break every bone in it.
Bella’s face is flushed, damp tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead as she grips my hand. She’s wrapped in one of my old button-down shirts, the fabric soft against her skin, floating around her shoulders like a makeshift robe. We’re in the middle of our bedroom, or what used to be the bedroom—the four-poster bed has been shoved to the far wall, making room forthe massive birthing pool that looks like someone’s about to host a toddler’s pool party. Except instead of floaties, there are soft towels, lavender-scented candles, and Elena in the corner holding a goddamn tambourine.
“Hypnobirthing, Konstantin,”she’d said, waving the tambourine like a lunatic when she first pitched this whole idea.“You’ll thank me.”
Right now, I’m not sure if I want to thank her or throttle her. Especially since the tambourine clashes horribly with Arseny’s attempt at playing classical music on the piano in the next room. The man is a tactical genius, but he’s got the rhythm of a sedated bear.
“Kon… Kon…” Bella pants, her grip tightening. Her eyes search mine, wide and wild. “OHHHHH my GOD… another… whatever-the-hell-this-is is coming,” she grits out. “Why do they call them surges? This feels like a goddamn tsunami.”
“I’m here,” I say, rubbing slow circles into her lower back the way Dr. Katya showed me during our “Hypnobirthing for Mafia Bosses” session. “Remember? Breathe in the roses, out the thorns.”
Bella glares at me like she’s debating whether to murder me or kiss me. “I swear… if you say roses one more time…”
“Okay, okay. No roses.” I press a kiss to her temple, feeling the dampness of her skin. “How about peonies? You love peonies.”
Elena’s tambourine shakes like it’s possessed, and Bella lets out a long, low moan that makes my stomach twist. Dr. Katya leans over the pool, her gloved hands gentle as she whispers something I can’t hear. Outside the door, I can hear the kids—Alya, Lila, Lev, Nikolai, and Julian—making bets on whether the baby will come out looking like a Belov or a Marquez.
“Ten bucks says she has her mom’s nose!” Julian calls out, his voice too loud.
“Five says she comes out with Konstantin’s resting bitch face,” Elena shouts back, tambourine shaking.
“I can still hear you!” Bella yells between breaths, and I swear to God, she sounds like a lioness. Fierce. Wild. Perfect.
She grabs the front of my shirt, eyes blazing. “I can’t do this, babe.”
“Youaredoing it,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You’re the only woman I know who could make it through this surrounded by bad tambourine playing and… Is Arseny playing the ‘Titanic’ theme?”
Sure enough, the haunting notes of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” drift in from the living room. Elena loses it, snorting so hard she nearly drops the tambourine, and Bella lets out a bark of laughter that turns into a sob.
“Okay, okay,” Dr. Katya says, her voice calm and steady. “Bella, you’re almost there. Konstantin, keep holding her. She’s doing amazing.”
And she is. God, she is.
I watch her, every inch of her, from the fierce determination in her eyes to the way her body shakes with effort. This is Bella—the woman who stood up to mob bosses, protected her family with a gun in her hand, and never backed down from a fight. But this? This is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen her do.
She pushes again, teeth gritted, and there’s a moment—a split second—where everything stills.
“Yes, I can see her head now,” Dr. Katya announces, her voice calm but urgent. “One more, Bella. Just one more.”
Bella sucks in a deep breath, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Okay, okay,” she mutters. “Last push, baby girl. Let’s do this together.”
“You got this,milaya,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Show them how strong you are.”
“Oh, she’s about to show us all right,” Elena calls from the corner, tambourine shaking. “Come on, baby Belov!”
Bella bears down, the air thick with tension, and then—a cry fills the room. A high, sweet, angry wail that cuts through me, sinking right into my chest.
Bella collapses against me, panting and sobbing as Dr. Katya lifts our daughter out of the water, her tiny body slick and pink and perfect. The baby blinks, her eyes opening wide, and for a split second, she looks right at me. And I swear to God, she knows me.
