Page 91 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

The applause from Ekaterina, Sasha, and Yara is loud, but it feels distant, like the wind in the trees.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, heavy, and completely filled with a soft, beautiful warmth that tells me the war is finally over. He reaches down, his callused thumb wiping the tears from my cheeks, his smile small, quiet, and entirely real.

"You're mine, Via," he whispers.

"I know," I say, my head resting flat against his chest, my fingers locking with his.

36

ILYA

“Ilya! Your pacing is making my head dizzy.”

I’m pacing the length of the waiting room, my boots heavy and loud on the white linoleum, my left leg carrying a dull limp that always gets worse when the weather turns damp. My chest is tight, my hands clenched into tight fists inside my pockets, my jaw locked so hard the muscles in my neck are screaming.

"Ilya, sit down," Ekaterina says, her voice tired as she sits on the vinyl bench, her drawing pad resting on her knees. "You've been walking for three hours. You’re going to wear a trench in the floor."

"I don't want to sit," I growl, making the young nurse at the reception desk slide further behind her computer screen.

"You're terrifying the staff," Yara says, her arms crossed over her chest, a faint, amused smile scratching at the corner of her mouth. "They’ve already doubled the security on the floor and they think you’re planning a heist."

"I’m not planning a heist," I snap, my eyes locking onto the double doors of the labor wing. "I’m waiting."

It has been twelve hours.

Twelve hours since Via’s water broke in the middle of our bedroom, turning my entire estate into a chaotic, screaming disaster. I’ve never run a red light in my life, it’s bad for surveillance, but last night, I drove through four of them at eighty miles an hour, my hand honking the horn of the Mercedes while Via sat in the passenger seat, screaming at me to "stop driving like a maniac" between her contractions.

I brought four diaper bags. Yara told me we only needed one, but I wanted to be prepared. I had the gate guards pack them like tactical gear, with three different sizes of baby blankets, twelve sterile pacifiers, and a high-security lock for the stroller.

A muffled, high-pitched shriek carries from the room at the end of the hall.

My body goes completely rigid, my hand dropping to my holster before I remember the security guards made me leave my Glock in the glove compartment of the car. I spin on my heel, my boots squeaking loudly on the tiles as I run toward the double doors, my broad shoulders forcing the swinging panels open before Yuri can even hit the security release.

"Pakhan, you can't go in there without the sterile scrubs," Yuri says, his hand reaching out to grab my arm.

I look down at his hand, my eyes narrowing into slits. "Get out of my way, Yuri."

He pulls his hand back instantly, his face turning pale as he steps back into the corridor.

I push open the door to the delivery room, and the noise hits me like a physical blow.

Via is sitting in the center of the massive hospital bed, her golden hair damp and sticking to her forehead in a messy, wet wave. Her face is flushed, her hazel eyes wide, dark, and completely wild with exhaustion. She’s clutching the metal handrails of the bed, her knuckles white, her chest heaving under her hospital gown.

The obstetrician, a quiet, brave man named Dr. Volkov, is crouching at the foot of the bed, his green scrubs covered in sweat.

"I hate you, Ilya Kovalevskii!" Via screams, her voice a sharp, piercing shriek that rattles the glass of the medicine cabinet. "You did this to me! You and your giant, ridiculous head!"

I close the distance to the bed in three strides, my boots heavy on the floor. I reach out, my large, rough hand wrapping over hers where it clutches the handrail. "I'm right here, Via."

"Don't touch me!" She grabs my hand anyway, her fingers locking around my bones with a sudden, bone-shattering strength that makes my jaw clench. "If you tell me to breathe one more time, Ilya, I swear to God I will name this child Kiwi! I’ll do it! I’ll write it on the birth certificate while you’re asleep!"

"I didn't say anything about breathing," I rasp, my thumb gently tracing the back of her hand, trying to stay calm, trying to be the steady anchor she needs while my own heart is trying to kick its way out of my ribs.

"You were thinking it!" she pants, her eyes closing as another wave of contractions hits her body, her back arching off the mattress. "Oh, God... it’s... it’s happening."

"The head is crowning, Mrs. Kovalevskiia," Dr. Volkov says, his voice quiet, steady, and professional. "On the next contraction, I need a long, steady push. Five seconds."

"I can't," she whimpers, her head tossing back against the pillows, her forehead wet with sweat. "Ilya, I can't. It hurts too much."