Page 34 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)
Chapter thirty
The Recovery
A lexei
Three weeks after Roman Volkov's arrest, Viktor takes his first breath without mechanical assistance.
I'm sitting beside his incubator at 6 AM, having spent another sleepless night dividing my time between the NICU and coordinating the final cleanup of Roman's remaining network, when the respiratory therapist removes the ventilator tube and my son breathes on his own for the first time.
"Excellent," Dr. Petrov says, monitoring Viktor's oxygen levels. "Strong, steady breathing. This is exactly what we hoped to see."
"And Katya?" I ask, glancing at my daughter's incubator where she's been breathing independently since her second week.
"Katya is thriving. She's gained six ounces since birth and is showing excellent neurological development."
Six ounces. In the normal world, it would be nothing. In the NICU, it's a milestone worth celebrating.
"When can they come home?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Several more weeks, possibly months. Premature babies typically can't leave the hospital until they reach thirty-six to thirty-seven weeks gestational age, which would put us around Christmas."
Christmas. Viktor and Katya will spend their first months surrounded by machines and medical monitors, but they'll be home for their first Christmas. It's not the homecoming we planned, but it's something to look forward to.
"How's Mrs. Morozov adjusting?" Dr. Petrov asks.
"Better each day. Physically, she's fully healed from the surgery. Emotionally, she's still processing everything that's happened."
"The confrontation with Roman was traumatic, especially so soon after giving birth. Has she shown any signs of postpartum depression or anxiety?"
"Some anxiety, especially around the babies' medical needs. She checks on them obsessively, wants to be here eighteen hours a day."
"That's normal for NICU parents, particularly after a traumatic event. The need to maintain constant vigilance is a natural response."
"Is there anything I should watch for?"
"Excessive guilt, withdrawal from the babies, inability to sleep or eat. If those symptoms develop, we can discuss support options."
I nod and return my attention to Viktor, who's sleeping peacefully in his incubator. Three weeks old and already showing the stubborn determination that runs in our family. Katya is awake in her own isolette, dark eyes tracking the colorful mobile someone hung above her bed.
My children. Born too early, smaller than they should be, but absolutely perfect in every way that matters.
"Good morning, little ones," I whisper to them. "Papa's here, and Mama will be up soon to read you more stories."
Viktor's hand twitches at the sound of my voice, and Katya turns her head toward me with the kind of focused attention that suggests she already knows her father.
"Sir?" Boris appears beside me, moving quietly to avoid disturbing the other NICU families. "Mrs. Morozov is awake and asking for you."
"How does she seem?"
"Focused. She's been asking about the babies' night, reviewing their medical charts, planning their feeding schedule."
"That's good. When she's focused on practical things, she's not dwelling on what happened with Roman."
I reluctantly leave Viktor and Katya with the NICU staff and head to Mila's recovery room, where she's sitting by the window in a hospital gown and robe, reading pregnancy and newborn care books with the same intensity she once brought to hacking computer systems.
"Good morning, beautiful," I say, settling into the chair beside her bed.
"How are they?" she asks immediately, setting aside her book.
"Viktor came off the ventilator an hour ago. He's breathing on his own."
Her face lights up with the first genuine smile I've seen in days. "Really?"
"Really. Strong, steady breathing. Dr. Petrov says it's excellent progress."
"And Katya?"
"Gaining weight, developing normally, charming all the nurses with her perfect behavior."
"Can I see them?"
"Of course. But first, have you eaten anything?"
"I had some fruit with breakfast. I'm not very hungry."
"Mila, you need to keep your strength up. The babies need you healthy, and you're still recovering from major surgery."
"I know. It's just... hard to think about food when they're so small and vulnerable."
"They're small but strong. And they're getting stronger every day."
"What if something goes wrong? What if Viktor's breathing problems come back? What if Katya develops complications?"
"Then we'll handle it, just like we've handled everything else."
"But what if we can't? What if Roman was right, and bringing children into our world was selfish?"
The question hits me like a physical blow. "Roman was a monster who threatened newborn babies. His opinion about anything is worthless."
"But the danger he represented—that's real. Other enemies, other threats, other people who might target our children."
"Mila, look at me."
She turns away from the window to meet my eyes, and I can see the fear and guilt she's been carrying since Roman's arrest.
"Roman Volkov was the last of his line," I tell her. "With him in federal custody, the Volkov threat is permanently eliminated. Elena's dead, Pavel's dead, and Roman will spend the rest of his life in prison."
"But other families—"
"Other families are transitioning to legitimate businesses, just like we are. The old ways are ending, and the new generation will grow up in a different world."
"You really believe that?"
"I know that. Because we're going to make sure of it."
"How?"
"By building something better. By showing other families that cooperation works better than conflict. By raising our children to be leaders instead of warriors."
She leans against me, and I can feel some of the tension leaving her body. "Sometimes I wonder what Viktor would think about all this."
"Viktor would be proud. Of you for protecting his niece and nephew. Of us for building a future where children don't inherit their parents' enemies."
"Do you think he's watching over them?"
"I think Viktor is exactly where he needs to be to make sure his family is safe."
The afternoon passes in the gentle rhythm we've established over the past weeks.
Mila pumps breast milk every three hours while I handle business calls and coordinate the ongoing transformation of our organization.
We take turns sitting beside the incubators, talking to Viktor and Katya, reading them stories, and marveling at every tiny sign of progress.
"Dr. Petrov wants to try bottle feeding with Katya tomorrow," Mila reports during one of our evening check-ins. "If she tolerates it well, Viktor can try next week."
"That's a big step."
"The biggest step toward coming home."
"Are you ready for them to come home?"
"I'm ready for them to be safe and healthy. Everything else we can figure out as we go."
"Even the sleepless nights and constant feedings?"
"Especially those. I can't wait to be exhausted by normal baby problems instead of worried about medical emergencies."
"Normal baby problems include diaper blowouts at 3 AM and teething and toddler tantrums."
"Bring it on. I'll take all the normal chaos in the world."
By evening, when the NICU settles into its nighttime routine, Mila seems more relaxed than she has since giving birth. Viktor's breathing milestone has given her hope that our children really are going to be okay.
"Bath time," the NICU nurse announces, wheeling a small basin toward Katya's incubator.
"Can I help?" Mila asks immediately.
"Of course. Parental involvement is encouraged."
The next twenty minutes are the most beautiful I've experienced since becoming a father. Watching Mila gently bathe our daughter, seeing Katya respond to her mother's touch, witnessing the bond that grows stronger every day between them—it's everything I hoped parenthood would be.
"She likes the warm water," Mila observes as Katya relaxes in the tiny basin.
"She likes her mama taking care of her," I correct.
"Think she'll remember this when she's older?"
"I think she'll always remember feeling safe and loved from her very first days."
"Even though those first days were spent in a hospital?"
"Especially because those first days were spent surrounded by people who would do anything to protect her."
When Viktor's turn comes for his bath, he's more fussy than his sister, making tiny protest sounds that are barely audible but clearly express his displeasure with the whole process.
"He's got your stubborn streak," Mila laughs.
"He's got your determination to make his opinions known."
"Poor kid. He's going to be impossible when he's older."
"He's going to be perfect when he's older."
By the time we settle into the family room for the night, Mila seems more at peace than she has since the twins were born.
The successful day—Viktor's breathing milestone, Katya's continued progress, the successful feeding and bathing—has given her confidence that we're all going to survive this experience.
"Alexei," she says as we lie together on the narrow hospital bed, her head on my chest and my arm around her shoulders.
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being patient with me while I work through all the fear and guilt. For not making me feel weak for being scared."
"You're not weak. You're a new mother who's been through trauma. Fear is normal."
"But you're not afraid."
"I'm terrified every minute of every day. I just hide it better."
"What are you afraid of?"
"Losing you. Losing them. Making a mistake that puts our family in danger. Being the kind of father my children need me to be."
"You're already the father they need."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because you love them unconditionally. Because you'd do anything to protect them. Because you're committed to building them a better world than the one we inherited."
"And that's enough?"
"That's everything."
We fall asleep holding each other, listening to the soft sounds of the NICU through the thin walls. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new milestones, new reasons to worry and celebrate in equal measure.
But tonight, our children are breathing and growing and surrounded by love. Tonight, we're a family healing together from everything we've survived.
Tonight, that's enough.