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But I was alive. And somewhere in this too-bright, antiseptic wing of the hospital, so was my niece.

My niece, Zasha’s daughter.

The baby Yelena held on to through panic and fear and contractions triggered by the worst night of our lives. Stas had told me earlier that Zasha made it just in time to witness his daughter coming into the world. And everyone else had seen her except for me.

The maternity ward was quieter, lights dimmed for night hours. A nurse blinked at me when I shuffled past.

“Sir? You can’t⁠—”

“I’m the uncle.” I gestured at my bandaged face like that would explain anything. “It’s an emergency.”

“It’s a maternity ward.”

“Exactly.” I kept walking. “There’s a baby I need to see.”

She sighed. I made it fifteen more steps before she gave up.

I found Yelena’s room, barely recalling Stas mentioning earlier on one of his trips, ping-ponging between his daughter’s room and mine. From inside came the soft chatter of voices and, distinctly, Stas’s. He sounded gentle, a far cry from the way he’d thundered at his man earlier for neglecting his duty to protect me.

At the time, I’d been in too much pain to appreciate how hot he was when he protected me. It was hard to reconcile the man who’d put a bullet through someone’s skull last night with the one who unraveled whenever I called him a slut.

I knocked once, then slowly pushed the door open. Yelena lay propped in bed, exhausted but radiant, her hair pulled back, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. A clear plastic cot sat beside her, but I couldn’t see what was inside from my position.

Stas was sitting by the bed, but the moment he saw me—bandages, IV pole, wobbly steps—he shot to his feet so fast the chair scraped back with a loud squeak.

“Yuriy.” His voice hit that low, dangerous register he used when he was upset. “What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

I lifted a finger in greeting. “Visiting my niece. Obviously. I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten the chance to meet her.”

He clenched his jaw so hard a muscle twitched.

He crossed the room in three long strides, swept me right off my feet—literally—and carried me like I weighed nothing, IV pole running after us.

“What—Stas!” I thumped weakly at his chest. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“No.” He set me firmly into the chair beside Yelena’s bed and tucked the IV pole close to me. “You nearly died tonight. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Okay, wow,” I muttered, adjusting my IV tubing. “Maybe we should get a divorce. I didn’t realize being with you meant I lost my autonomy.”

Yelena snorted a laugh, then winced and held her stomach. “Please don’t make me laugh. Everything still hurts.”

I turned my attention to her, softening immediately. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Her eyes softened. “But good. Our baby’s healthy. Zasha was here earlier, but he’s being looked after by the doctor. He said he’ll be back soon.”

Relief washed through me. Finally, something good tonight.

Stas moved to the cot, his eyes softening as he took in the baby. Carefully, he slid his hands under her tiny body and lifted her with the gentleness of a man who could break necks but chose to cradle instead.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured. “What do you think, Yuriy? She looks a little like you, no?”

I’d never heard his voice like that. Soft. Almost scared. He brought her over to me and eased her into my arms. My breath hitched.

She was a beautiful, chubby thing. Her face scrunched a little, her nose wrinkling. A tuft of dark hair curled against her forehead. Her fingers flexed in her sleep, gripping nothing and everything.

“Hey, little one,” I whispered. “I’m your Uncle Yuriy. I’m going to teach you lots of important things. How to hold a gun. How to⁠—”

“No,” Stas said.