Page 32 of Forced & Pregnant Bratva Bride (Tarasov Bratva #13)

“Don’t let her fall asleep!” the doctor warned. “Just one more will do!”

“You can do this, Leona, I know you can,” I encouraged her, tapping her face. “Look at me. Look at me.”

She did, exhaustion etched in her gaze.

“This baby needs you—please…one more.”

She drew a deep breath, shut her eyes, and pushed harder than she had since the labor began. Her body trembled, her face contorted in pain—unimaginable pain that shattered my stone-cold heart into pieces.

Her voice echoed through the walls, followed by a cry—sharp and loud. It filled the room and tore through my chest wide open.

“Good job, Leona,” the doctor said, rising to her feet with the most adorable little thing I’d ever seen. She chuckled lightly and lifted her head, her gaze shifting across my wife and me. “It’s a boy.”

My brows arched, a wide smile spreading across my face. I felt her grip loosen, tension slipping away. And when I turned to check on her, her head had already fallen back on the pillow.

Her eyes were shut, lashes resting softly against her flushed cheeks. She’d passed out—completely spent, her chest rising and falling in exhausted rhythm.

***

By the next morning, the storm had passed, as had the troubles of childbirth. I’d always heard stories about how women went through unimaginable pain during childbirth. I never considered the tales as anything more than just “stories” meant to exaggerate the process. I was wrong. I was so wrong.

Watching my wife give birth opened my eyes to a new perspective—one that involved a tremendous amount of respect for women, especially mothers.

What Leona went through in that delivery room was more painful than all the pain I’d ever felt in my whole life.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.

But to be honest, that kind of pain was enough to end someone’s life.

I stood at a corner of the room, cradling my bundle of joy, eyes down at the infant in my arms. Something cracked open inside me—something vulnerable. The baby’s tiny features were adorable, and he looked so fragile—so delicate.

This child was my future—my heir. He was the best gift I’d ever been given, and I knew in that moment that I’d burn the fucking world down to keep him alive.

He was the center of my world now—he and his mother. There was nothing that I wouldn’t do for them. No mountain too high, no valley too low.

“Can I hold him?” Leona asked, sitting up on her bed, her voice weak and tired.

I raised my head, a small grin playing on my lips as I headed toward the bed and gently placed the infant in her arms. I sat on the edge, watching her closely, my heart filled with gratitude.

“He’s so beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes glassy, her tone tinged with pride.

“He has your eyes,” I said, leaning in to wipe the tears of joy trickling down her cheeks.

She looked up at me with a soft expression. “Thank you for not leaving me last night,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “I was afraid what happened to my mother would happen to me.”

I brushed the back of my palm over her skin. “But it didn’t.” My eyes bore into hers. “You survived, and that’s all that matters.”

She tilted her head sideways, as if seeking to rest it on my hand.

An awkward silence stretched between us for a while until she broke it. “Now, what?” She looked right at me.

I squinted, a little bit confused.

“You uh…” she began, her voice low and uncertain. “You once said that after the baby’s born….” She paused, her gaze unwavering.

I remembered what she was driving at—she needed clarity on where we stood. It was understandable since I had told her months ago that after the baby was born, she would mean nothing to me.

“I said that a long time ago,” I answered, my tone as low as hers. “A lot has changed since then.”

“Like what?”

I was silent for a moment. “Like how I feel about you.”

Her breath hitched, jaw locked in anticipation. “And how do you feel about me?”

Again, I went silent.

“Tell me,” she insisted, her eyes never leaving my face.

“I feel like I cannot live without you, Leona,” I began, holding her gaze. “I feel so attached to you, and I cannot go one whole hour without thinking about you.”

By now, her expression was starting to soften, her eyes glassy.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that….” I paused, organizing my next words. “I love you, Leona.”

Tears streamed down her face. “Don’t lie to me, Egor. Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Her voice cracked under the emotions that overwhelmed her.

“I’m telling the truth,” I answered, pushing her hair behind her ear. “And I mean every single word.” I wiped her tears, beaming a genuine smile at her.

“I love you, too, Egor Tarasov,” she confessed.

Those words melted my heart, and I felt a kind of peace that I hadn’t felt before.

I edged closer, sealing her lips with a soft kiss.

The door opened, and Emmy ran inside, holding up a handmade card, her vibrant spirit lighting up the mood. “Leo, Leo…!” She hopped up and down, delighted to meet her nephew. “We heard it’s a boy!” She jumped onto the bed, smiling wildly.

Leona laughed. “Yes, it is. Wait….” She pushed her head back, suspicion flickering in her gaze. “…what do you mean we ?”

Just then, the rest of her siblings walked in—the twins, Micah and Zara, Noah, and a little someone extra. Her friend, Liam.

The look on her face was priceless—the shock, joy, and happiness. I could spend a whole day watching those emotions play across her face.

The room was filled with bliss and smiley faces. Her siblings made jokes about the baby, how it looked more like me than it looked like her.

Laughter filled the air, and in the midst of all that, she caught my gaze and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

My lips curled into a smile, and I nodded, my eyes crinkling at the corners.