I take it.
His grip is weak. So weak. This hand that taught me to hold a gun, that struck me when I failed, that clapped my shoulder the day I made my first million—this hand can barely close around my fingers.
"You..." Another cough. Blood flecks his lips. "You will..."
"Mr. Baganov, please." Dr. Petrov's voice carries genuine distress now. "You're damaging your throat. The tumor?—"
"Let him speak."
Petrov falls silent.
My father's eyes never leave mine. Something burns in them.
"You will be..." He gasps, fights for air. "...pakhan."
"I know."
"No." His fingers tighten on mine with surprising strength. "You don't... know." Another rattling breath. "They will... test you. The moment I'm... gone."
"Let them."
A sound escapes him. It might be a laugh. It might be a sob. I can't tell anymore.
"Proud." The word comes out on an exhale, barely audible. "Should have... told you. Before."
My chest cracks open.
So many years of striving, of proving myself, of waiting for those words. And he gives them to me now.
His hand squeezes mine again. Weaker this time.
"Get them." His eyes drift toward the door. "All of... them. My children."
I look at Nurse Katya. She's already moving, slipping out of the room without a word.
Aleksander steps closer to the bed. Oleg finally lifts his head.
We wait.
My father's breathing fills the silence. Each exhale takes longer than the last.
I don't let go of his hand.
Minutes stretch into eternity. The monitors beep their steady rhythm. Dr. Petrov checks readings, makes notes, says nothing.
My father's eyes stay closed. Conserving strength. Waiting.
The door opens.
Karolina enters first, Vladimir follows and behind them, Natalia.
My youngest sister looks like a ghost. Her dark hair hangs limp around her pale face. Her eyes are too large, too bright, fixed on the figure in the bed with something close to terror.
She doesn't want to be here. I can see it in the way she hovers near the door, in the way her hands twist together, in the way she can't quite make herself step forward.
Our father's eyes open.
They sweep across the room, counting his children. All of us here.
