Taken By the Bratva Boss by Sarina Hart
Epilogue
Seven months later
The light is bright, and I concentrate on it, on the feel of his hand in mine, on every breath in and every breath out because anything is better than the pain. Even the smell of antiseptic and sweat that permeates the room.
Time would tell whether or not the old wives were telling the truth or not, if the pain would be forgotten and the reward outweighed the agony of my body slicing itself into pieces.
Leon smiles down, kisses my forehead, lets me squeeze the blood from his hand, feeds me ice chips. He is patience in its human form, and he probably deserves some kind of husband award for it, but right now, I want to kick his shin.
“Leon, labor isn’t meant to last for thirty hours.” I barely have the strength to speak, but I hold the sobs back. It’s been a long road and I’m exhausted and still, no baby. I’ve grunted and pushed. I’ve walked and bounced on a ball. I’ve shuffled and twisted. Sat in a pool of warm water. This kid is content to stay right where he is, and I want him out. I hope this isn’t a precursor to his temperament.
“I know, baby.”
“They say it’s going to hurt, but this is…” Another contraction is building. My stomach clenches even though I’m trying to relax. Even my legs go tense and mid-contraction, I have a leg cramp and he’s on it, rubbing, massaging the pain away, loosening the muscle while my hips and I battle for supremacy. Hips are winning.
“This kid better go to Harvard.” My throat is dry, so the words rasp out even though I’ve kicked some emphasis into the tone and the volume. It’s guttural, pained, a commentary in itself of the suffering and pain required to push a child out into the world.
“I promise.” And now that he’d said it, it would come true. What Leon Krilov promised, he delivered. I should’ve made him promise this wouldn’t hurt.
He’s been patient and kind, supportive even, but this pain is unimaginable, and I barely have a minute between contractions to relax. Holding onto my husband on one side and a bed rail on the other, I breathe through another contraction then let my eyelids flutter shut.
The Millers are waiting outside with Anna, Adrian, and Jacob, and there is a betting pool with Mrs. Miller’s pie and now about three zillion dollars in quarters as prize for the one who picks the hour the baby finally gets here. I lost the last of the twenty dollars I had on me seven hours ago, and I’m out of cash which is the only ante Mrs. Miller will accept.
The doctor breezes in with her pristine white jacket over her light pink scrubs. She’s thin and pretty, and if she doesn’t get this baby out of me and very soon, this hospital is going to be one doctor short because I’m going to toss her out the window. I can’t even sit up without help, but I’ll find the strength to manage.
She smiles. “How are we doing?”
She hasn’t broken a sweat, but I’m the picture of what death looks like in its human form. I don’t inform her that there is no we in this situation. There’s me.
Instead, I huff out a “Dandy” and refrain from telling her to go stuff herself.
But there’s no smile because she’s going for the glove, for another check. And as with this and every check before it, it’s like one thing is trying to push its way out of me and she’s shoving it back in. I really want to sit up and smack her, but I’m saving my energy for the doctor-toss out the window.
“I think we’re ready.” She uses we in its royal sense because we aren’t ready. I am, and I have been for hours now.
“Really?” But I’m back to loving her. Considering having Leon pay to dedicate a new wing of the hospital to her as nurses flutter around my bed, taking it apart and adding pieces, and then time means nothing because it doesn’t matter anymore.
One push, three breaths and another push later, and my baby is in the world, being laid in the center of my chest so his head is over my heart, and his skin is against mine.
I’m a mess. A bawling, snotty mess of new mommy. I’m already Anna’s mommy, and now we’ve added a son to our family. If that isn’t enough to justify the tears, nothing is.
I glance at Leon. He has tears in his eyes as he kisses the top of my head and lays a hand on our son’s back. For someone who never had a real family of my own, I have so many people now, even extended people I call family.
The nurse gives a minute then takes the baby for weights and measures and to clean him up, and Leon stands beside me, holding my hand, bending to kiss me at random intervals until they are all finished, and my clothes have been changed, and I’m sitting up with my swaddled son in my arms.
“He’s got your eyes.” The resemblance even now between father and son is visible. “I don’t know if the world is ready for two of you, but I want to name him Leon.”
Who would’ve thought my husband, tough, Russian Bratva boss, would be touched by something so simple? It’s so heartwarming, I can’t even put into words how much I love him.
“Thank you.” He smiles at me.
“I got so lucky the day you found me.” Oh, God, we have come so far since then. And I mean it more than I’ve ever meant a single word, except my wedding vows. When I said I do, I did, and I meant it. Now and forever.
He lifts his hand to cup my cheek and then leans down to press his lips against mine. “Should I get Anna?”
God, yes. She’s going to be excited, and I can’t wait to see her face or how excited she is. Mostly, I just want my family—all of them—to share in our happiness, and no one has been more excited than Anna. It would be wrong to wait another minute.
THE END
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