Page 80 of Bratva Bidder

“Mommy…who was that man?”

My heart stops. I keep my breathing even, my fingers trailing lightly up and down his back. “What man, baby?”

“The one from earlier. The one with Mila.” He pauses. “He looked really serious. But not mean.”

I swallow hard, biting back a rush of something I can’t name. “You mean Konstantin?” I say softly.

He nods against my chest. “He looked at me like he knew me. And Mila talked to him like she knew him too. Is he…a doctor?”

My throat tightens. I wish I could say yes. I wish I could give him a clean, simple answer. But there’s nothing simple about Konstantin.

“No, sweetheart. He’s not a doctor.”

“Then who is he?”

I hesitate, stroking his hair, my mind scrambling for a truth that won’t fracture him. A truth I can live with.

“Is he nice?”

The question stabs deeper than it should. I close my eyes.

“I think he’s trying to be,” I say honestly.

Nikolai is quiet for a long moment, his small fingers still curled around the edge of my shirt.

“Is he going to come back?” he asks, voice featherlight.

I press a kiss to the top of his head. “Maybe. Do you want him to?”

Another pause. A tiny nod.

“Okay,” I whisper, holding him tighter. “Then he will.”

But even as I say it, something twists low in my gut.

Because I don’t know.

I don’t know if Konstantin’s presence will bring healing—or more damage we can’t afford. But as my son breathes soft and warm against me, and the machines tick steadily on, I know this much: I have to find a way to make all of this right.

I don’t realize I’ve drifted off until I feel a light touch on my shoulder.

My eyes blink open slowly. The room is dim, the overhead lights switched off, the heart monitor pulsing steadily beside me. I must have fallen asleep curled beside Nikolai, one arm still draped over his small body.

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice, low and quiet.

I jerk slightly, sitting up. Konstantin is standing beside the bed, wearing a clean shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the first few buttons undone.

“What time is it?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes.

“Just after five.” He crouches slightly, careful not to wake Nikolai. “You should go home. Get a real night’s sleep.”

I blink at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll stay here,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’ll watch him.”

I let out a short laugh. “You? Sit by a hospital bed all night? What, are you going to break kneecaps if the IV beeps wrong?”

He gives me a dry look. “You really can’t picture it?”