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“You’re pregnant?” The world around me spins, and I have to brace myself on the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing.

Seraphina bites her lip and swipes at her tear-stained cheeks. Her chest heaves, and she can hardly look at me. For a split second, I wonder if I misheard, if my mind is playing tricks. But she nods, and I realize she’s dead serious.

She folds her arms protectively over her abdomen. “I just found out a few days ago. I know the timing couldn’t be worse, and it probably sounds like…” She trails off, but I catch her drift. It sounds like a manipulation. But even after everything, I can’t imagine her using a child as a ploy.

My stomach turns. A child. My child.

Part of me wants to rage and demand how she could let this happen when our world is a constant threat. Another part, maybe the stronger part, can’t ignore the rush of protectiveness flooding my veins. I push a hand through my hair, trying to steady my thoughts.

“I assumed you were on something,” I tell her, my tone oddly subdued. “I never imagined this could happen so soon, not when we—”

“I was,” she interrupts. “I must’ve missed a dose or something. Things have been a little hectic, you know.”

I inhale, struggling for composure. My resolve to tear her father apart weakens with every passing second, replaced by the realization that I’m going to be a father. I think back to how I confronted her father, how I threatened to spill his blood for betraying me. Now, the idea of plunging our unborn child into that horror rips at my conscience. “And you found out a few days ago?”

She nods, and her gaze drifts to the floor. “I didn’t know how to tell you. You’re already angry at me for helping him, for lying. I was afraid you’d think I did this on purpose.”

“That’s not… No, I don’t think that.” I swallow, and words tangle on my tongue. “But you’ve got to realize how big this is. It changes a lot of things.”

“Does that… Does that mean you won’t kill my father?”

I stiffen, recalling the vow I nearly made to put a bullet between that man’s eyes. My anger reignites, but then I think of her standing here, trembling with news of our child, and it cuts through the vexation. With a sigh, I force myself to speak calmly. “As long as he keeps his distance. He stays out of our way, he stops meddling, and he never hurts you or our baby… I won’t kill him.”

Relief slackens her face, and she slumps as though a weight lifts from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. He’s on thin ice, Seraphina. If he does anything else to threaten us, I can’t promise to spare him again.”

“I understand,” she whispers as her eyes glisten with tears she’s trying not to shed.

Without even thinking, I reach for her hand. “We should verify everything with a doctor. Make sure everything is okay.”

She looks startled by my suggestion. “We? You want to come with me?”

“This child is mine too, and I intend to be there for whatever happens next.”

“Alright,” she agrees, nodding slowly. “I have an appointment set for next week.”

I almost insist on going right now, but we’re well past office hours. Instead, I take a deep breath and force myself to relax. My body aches, and the adrenaline of the last few days seeps away, leaving exhaustion behind. But I can see she’s as exhausted as I am, if not more. Her eyes droop, and dark circles mar the pale skin beneath them. She hasn’t slept much, if at all.

I squeeze her hand and step back, trying to find the right words. It’s a strange feeling, being unsure what to say. After all, we’re not exactly the lovey-dovey sort. “Let’s go to bed.”

***

We arrive at the doctor’s office under the watchful eyes of two of my most trusted men, including Anton. Seraphina insists they wait outside while we handle this privately, and I yield. This place feels so cold and sanitized. I never pictured myself here like this, guiding my wife to an exam room to confirm we created a life together.

A nurse in pastel scrubs leads us to a small room, instructing Seraphina to change into a gown. I stand by the door, uncertain where to place my hands. She disappears behind a curtain, and I hear the rustle of cloth as she changes. My mind flashes through every scenario—what if something’s wrong with the baby? What if her father tries to use this as leverage? I wouldn’t put it past the asshole.

My teeth grind at the thought. No one touches her. No one touches our child. If Evan so much as breathes a threat, I’ll do whatever’s necessary.

The door opens again, and the nurse returns with a cart of equipment. She sets up a monitor and asks me to step aside so she can start the procedure. I comply, watching Seraphina settle onto the exam table with a sheet draped over her lower half.

The nurse applies some gel across Seraphina’s abdomen and explains the process. I listen intently, more anxious than I’ve ever been, which is saying something for a man who’s seen his share of violence. The machine emits a low hum, and an image appears on the screen.

Seraphina’s eyes lock onto that screen, unblinking. The nurse points to a small little object shaped like a lima bean. “There. That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

My own heart stalls. A flutter of movement pulses on the grainy screen, so small it hardly seems real. Seraphina’s face crumples with emotion—relief, awe, maybe fear. I step closer, swallowing the lump in my throat. That little lima bean is ours. Something we made in the midst of betrayal and chaos.

The doctor joins us a bit later and confirms everything appears healthy for how far along she is. She rattles off some guidelines—prenatal vitamins, a balanced diet, avoiding stress. I almost laugh at that last part, given our lives. But I store the advice away, determined to figure out how to shield her from the storms that plague our world.

When it’s over, the nurse leaves us with a small printout of the ultrasound. Seraphina clutches it like it’s the most precious thing in existence. I stand by her side, uncertain how to articulate the level of protectiveness and vulnerability swamping me.

She glances up with tears brimming in her eyes. “Everything’s okay.”

“So it seems.” My gaze roams over the printout, a blurry snapshot of something that will anchor us together for the rest of our lives—or shatter us if we’re not careful.

Returning home, I hardly have time to process the relief before my brothers corner me. News travels quickly in this household. They at least wait until we step inside to greet us in the foyer with a barrage of questions and congratulations.

Aleksei slaps a hand on my shoulder, making me tense. “You’re really joining the dad club now?”

“I guess so,” I answer, though a part of me warms at his enthusiasm. He’s balancing his own brood of triplets. If anyone knows how to handle fatherhood in this insane world, it’s him.

“Congratulations, brother,” Dmitri tells me.

Akim comments, “So we’ll have another Barkov running around soon. Is the city ready for that?”

Maksim, who is across the room, leaning against the wall with his usual aloof stance, smirks. “We’ll need to baby-proof your entire mansion, you realize that, right? Kid’s gonna be climbing everywhere in a year or two.”

Nikolai approaches Seraphina directly. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?”

She looks startled by his kindness but shakes her head. “I’m okay. The doctor said everything’s fine.”

A ripple of relief moves through the group, and Aleksei claps his hands together. “We should celebrate.” He casts a sidelong glance at Seraphina. “I know it’s probably not the best time, but a small toast, maybe?”

My jaw clenches involuntarily, recalling the reason we can’t just relax: Evan Thorne, the Irish threat, and the tension with Seraphina’s father. But I don’t want to deny my brothers’ show of support. “Fine,” I relent. “A short toast.”

They cheer and lead us into one of the larger sitting rooms. A few minutes later, a tray of glasses appears, courtesy of my vigilant housekeeper, Galina. I watch Seraphina from the corner of my eye. She’s still pale and obviously overwhelmed, though she attempts a smile when Bianca appears to congratulate her in a quiet, heartfelt hug. Bianca shoots me a pointed look, as if reminding me to handle Seraphina’s emotions with care.

Aleksei pours some sparkling cider for Seraphina, while the rest of us take wine or whiskey. I lift my glass, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. “To the new addition,” I say tersely. “May they bring something good into this family for once.”

It’s a weak toast, but it’ll have to do. My brothers laugh, clinking glasses.

Maksim downs his drink in one swallow. “I’m sure you’ll manage fatherhood, Grigor. Just don’t expect me to babysit.”

“God forbid,” Dmitri mutters, rolling his eyes. “You’d teach the kid to gamble before they could walk.”

This moment, here with my family, should feel triumphant, but I catch Seraphina’s gaze drifting to me with worry in her eyes. She knows as well as I do that nothing about our life is simple. This baby is healthy, but the world we’re bringing them into is anything but secure.

My vow not to kill her father stands, but we’re hardly out of danger. The Irish are planning something—I feel it in every fiber of my being. And Father Thorne, with his old grudges and cunning ways, might still try to undermine us. This calm we’ve found is temporary, a lull before the inevitable storm.

Tomorrow, I’ll meet with the brothers again away from my wife to finalize new security protocols for Seraphina and coordinate protective details for the shipments. We’ll adapt to keep her and our baby safe. But for now, in this moment with my family, I allow myself to hope we can make this fragile peace between the two of us last a little longer. She needs me to be steady, so that is exactly what I will be.