Page 38 of Betrayal and Vows (Bratva Vows #2)

Anton

T he first thing I become aware of is the steady beeping of machines.

Then the dull ache that radiates through my entire torso.

My mouth tastes like copper.

And something nasty.

My tongue feels swollen.

And my throat feels like I swallowed glass.

Everything is black.

Or maybe my eyes are closed.

I can’t be sure.

I try to open my eyes, but the effort is monumental. My eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. Every breath sends sharp pain through my chest, but I'm breathing.

That's something.

Voices drift in and out. Doctors talking about blood loss, internal damage, surgical repairs. Dmitri's voice, rough with worry. And through it all, one voice that anchors me to consciousness.

Lena.

"The doctors say you're going to be okay," she whispers, her voice thick with tears. "But you have to fight, Anton. You have to come back to me. To us."

Us?

I want to ask what she means, but my throat won't work. My tongue feels thick and useless.

"I need to tell you something," she continues, her voice closer now. I feel her hand slip into mine, her fingers intertwining with my cold ones. "Something important."

The machines beep steadily around us. I try to squeeze her hand, to let her know I'm listening, but I'm not sure if my fingers respond.

"I'm pregnant," she whispers.

The words hit me like lightning.

"We're going to have a baby, Anton. Your baby. So, you can't leave me now. Our child needs their father."

Pregnant. A baby. My baby.

The revelation cuts through the fog of pain medication and trauma. I fight harder against the darkness, clawing my way toward consciousness. I have to wake up. I have to see her. I have to?—

But the darkness pulls me under again.

The next time awareness finds me; I hear her voice again. She's reading something aloud—a book, maybe. Her voice is hoarse, like she's been talking for hours.

"You missed visiting hours," she says, though I don't think she's talking to me. "The nurses tried to make me leave, but I told them you're my husband. They can't keep a wife from her husband."

Husband. The word sends warmth through my chest despite the pain.

"Dmitri helped me convince them," she continues. "He told them we got married in secret before... before everything happened. I think they believed us because I look like hell and refuse to leave your side."

I want to tell her she's beautiful even when she looks like hell. Want to tell her that calling me her husband is the best thing I've heard in my entire life.

"The baby's okay," she whispers, her voice breaking. "The doctors checked. Everything's fine. But they need their daddy to wake up. I need you to wake up."

I'm trying, solnyshko. I'm fighting with everything I have.

Days blur together. In and out of consciousness, surgeries I'm not fully aware of, the constant presence of Lena's voice calling me back from whatever edge I keep sliding toward.

"You died again," she tells me during one of my brief moments of awareness. "Third time. The doctors got you back, but Anton, you have to stop scaring me like this. I can't lose you. I won't survive it. Stop. Fucking. Dying. Do you hear me? No more."

Died. Three times. But I keep coming back. Because she's calling me. Because she needs me. Because we have a baby coming.

"The fourth time was the worst," she continues.

I realize more time has passed. "You were gone for almost three minutes. Three minutes, Anton. Do you know what three minutes feels like when you're watching the person you love die?"

I want to apologize. Want to promise her I'll stop dying on her. But all I can do is exist in this space between consciousness and oblivion, fighting to get back to her.

"Your mother would be proud of you," Lena whispers one night. "Mama told me more stories about her. About how she used to sing to you, how she protected you as long as she could. She'd be proud of the man you became. The father you're going to be."

Mother. I remember fragments now—her voice, her hands smoothing my hair when I was sick, the way she smelled. She'd want me to fight. She'd want me to live for my family.

The next time I surface, the room is different. Brighter. And Lena's voice sounds stronger.

"The Rostova estate is ours now," she's saying. "Father left everything to me in his will. Mama paid off his debts so it’s ours. I don't want it, but she thinks we should keep it. Says our baby should know where they come from. The good parts, anyway."

Our baby. Every time she says it, something fierce and protective swells in my chest. I have to get better. I have to be there for them.

"Dmitri's been sleeping in that chair for two weeks," she continues with what sounds like a smile in her voice. "He won't leave either. Says someone has to keep me from doing something stupid while you're unconscious. He's probably right."

Dmitri. My brother in every way that matters. Of course he's staying. Of course he's protecting her while I can't.

"Wake up, Anton," Lena pleads. "Please wake up. I need to see your eyes. I need to know you're really going to be okay."

I'm trying. God, I'm trying so hard.

And then, finally, the darkness lifts.

My eyes flutter open, and the first thing I see is Lena's face. She looks exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her clothes wrinkled like she's been sleeping in them. She's never looked more beautiful.

"Anton?" Her voice is barely a whisper, like she's afraid to believe it. "Are you really awake?"

I try to speak, but only a croak comes out. My throat feels like sandpaper.

"Water," I manage.

She practically lunges for the pitcher on the bedside table, her hands shaking as she pours water into a cup and guides the straw to my lips. The cool liquid is the best thing I've ever tasted.

"How long?" I rasp.

"Three weeks," she says, tears streaming down her face. "Three weeks, four deaths, and two surgeries. But you're here. You're really here."

Three weeks.

Shit.

My eyes drift down to her stomach, searching for any sign of change. She's wearing one of my old t-shirts.

When did she get that?

It hangs loose on her small frame. But now that I know what to look for, I think I can see the slightest curve.

"Is it real?" I whisper. "The baby. Did I dream it?"

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she takes my hand and places it on her stomach. "It's real. We're having a baby, Anton."

The wonder of it hits me all over again. Beneath my palm, beneath her skin, our child is growing. A piece of her and a piece of me, creating something entirely new. Something innocent and pure despite the violence that brought us together.

"Boy or girl?" I ask.

"Too early to tell. But Dmitri insists it's a boy. Says he can tell by how stubborn the baby is already." She laughs through her tears. "Just like his father, refusing to give up."

"Just like his mother," I correct. "Fighting tooth and nail for what matters."

She leans down and kisses me then, soft and careful like she's afraid I might break. I wish I had the strength to pull her closer, to deepen the kiss, to show her how grateful I am that she never gave up on me.

When she pulls back, her expression turns stern. "Don't you ever do that to me again. Do you hear me? No more dying. No more scaring me like that."

"I heard you," I tell her. "Every time. Even when I was gone, I heard you calling me back. I couldn't leave you. Couldn't leave our baby."

She dissolves into tears again. I hate that I'm too weak to comfort her. All I can do is squeeze her hand and let her cry until there's nothing left.

"I love you," I whisper. "Both of you."

"We love you too," she manages between sobs. "So much."

The door opens and Dmitri walks in, looking like he hasn't slept in days. He’s lost weight. And damn, he needs to shave. And a haircut.

When he sees me awake, his whole face transforms.

"Well, well," he says, his usual grin spreading across his features. "Look who decided to rejoin the land of the living. About fucking time."

"Good to see you too," I croak.

He approaches the bed, his eyes suspiciously bright. "You scared the shit out of us, brother. Don't do that again."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"Because everyone is right." He glances between Lena and me. "I'll leave you two alone. But first—" He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small velvet box. "You asked me to pick this up before you decided to take a three-week nap."

Lena stares at the box in confusion. "What is that?"

Dmitri winks at me and sets it on the bedside table. "Ask your husband," he says, then strolls out of the room.

"Dmitri, wait—" Lena starts, but he's already gone. She turns back to me, eyebrows raised. "Anton? What's going on?"

I look at the ring box, then at her beautiful, confused face. This isn't how I planned to do this. I wanted to be standing, wanted to be strong enough to get down on one knee properly. But we've never done anything the conventional way.

"Before the warehouse," I say slowly, "I asked Dmitri to pick something up for me. Just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"In case we survived. In case we got our chance at a real life together."

Understanding dawns in her eyes. "Anton..."

"I know this isn't romantic. I know I'm lying in a hospital bed looking like death warmed over. But I can't wait anymore, Lena. I've wasted too much time already." I gesture weakly toward the box. "Will you get that for me?"

With trembling hands, she picks up the velvet box and opens it. Inside is a simple but elegant diamond ring—not too flashy, but beautiful. Classic. The kind of ring she deserves.

"Marry me," I say, my voice stronger now. "For real this time. Not just for the hospital staff. Marry me because I love you more than life itself. Because I want to raise our child together. Because I want to spend whatever time I have left on this earth making you happy."

Tears stream down her face as she stares at the ring. "Anton..."