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Scarlett

Viktor's hands grip the steering wheel with a fierceness that matches the storm brewing in his eyes. His jaw is clenched, a muscle twitching as he navigates through the streets with unerring focus. The normally confident smirk he wears is absent, replaced by something I’ve never seen in him—worry.

He stretches one hand and places it gently over my abdomen. I glance down, and my hand instinctively joins his. He rubs the small swell that carries our future. “I’m fine,” I whisper, but my words barely reach him. His attention remains fixed on the road, the speedometer inching higher with every passing second. I know he is in a hurry to get me to the hospital.

Beside him, I feel small yet oddly safe. Despite everything—the chaos, and the danger—Viktor’s presence is a constant fortress. I steal another glance at him, his tattoos peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves. The wound has stopped bleeding but still looks raw and angry. For the first time, I see a vulnerability in him, and it makes my heart ache.

“Viktor,” I try again, my voice firmer this time. He flicks his eyes toward me briefly, the intensity in them softening just enough to reassure me.

“You should have let Lev or Zasha drive.” I gesture to his wounds. “You didn’t have to aggravate these cuts.”

“You and the babies come first,” he says, his voice a low growl of resolve. “I will never allow another man to take care of my family.”

The weight of his words settles over me, and I lean back into the seat. As the hospital comes into focus, I find myself whispering a silent prayer—not for me, but for the man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. For the man who has made me his family.

The car screeches to a halt in front of the hospital. Before I can unbuckle myself, Viktor is already at my door, scooping me into his arms as though I weigh nothing. His movements are swift and deliberate, his body radiating tension. I want to protest, to tell him I can walk, but his expression brooks no argument.

The cool, sterile air of the hospital hits me as we step inside. Nurses and orderlies freeze mid-step, their eyes darting between Viktor’s towering figure and me, cradled in his arms.

“Get me Dr. Damien! Now!” Viktor barks, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

I bury my face against his chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat grounding me. I feel vulnerable, but there’s also relief knowing I’m not alone. His arms tighten around me as if sensing my thoughts, and for a moment the world feels bearable.

“ Moy Pakhan ,” a calm, authoritative voice greets us. I glance up and see the tall doctor, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed and I understand why Mobs have men from every walk of life.

“Dr. Damien,” Viktor says with a curt nod.

The doctor’s gaze shifts to me, his expression softening. He greets me in Russian, and I manage a nervous smile in return. My hand drifts to my stomach as though shielding our children from the harsh realities of this world.

“It must feel great to have any door open for you?” I whisper to Viktor, half-joking.

His lips twitch a shadow of his usual smirk. “Yes,” he replies simply, his confidence as unshakable as ever.

The doctor gestures toward an examination room, and Viktor carries me forward. The stark walls and bright lights are a sharp contrast with the turmoil in my mind, but Viktor’s steady presence anchors me.

The cold gel against my stomach makes me shiver, but Viktor’s warm hand clasping mine steadies me. The ultrasound machine hums to life, and the room falls silent as the doctor begins his examination.

My heart pounds, each beat echoing in my ears as we wait. Viktor doesn’t say a word, his eyes glued to the screen. His grip on my hand is firm but not painful, a silent reminder that he’s here with me.

“There they are,” Dr. Damien announces, pointing to the screen. Two tiny figures come into view, their movements are faint but undeniable.

“Their heartbeats are strong and they are measuring quite well. The pregnancy is coming along just fine.” He tells us. I breathe a sigh of relief, and so does Viktor.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Would you like to know the sex of the babies?”

My heart rate increases and my eyes find Viktor’s, and we reach an unspoken agreement.

“ Da. ” He confirms.

The doctor presses the prob a little firmer as the device slides across my cold stomach.

“Twins,” he confirms, a small smile gracing his otherwise professional demeanor. “A boy and a girl.”

Tears blur my vision as I look at the screen and then at Viktor. His usual stoic look falters, replaced by an expression of awe. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

“A boy and a girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. For the first time, I see him not as the fearsome Pakhan but as a mere man, vulnerable and filled with wonder.

As the doctor cleans up, I turn to Viktor, my gaze sharp. “Your turn,” I say, gesturing to the bloodstains on his shirt.

“My turn?” he asks, looking confused. “You expect me to get an ultrasound too?”

His words and genuine confusion have me in stitches with laughter.

“To get those wounds looked at.” I shake my head, unsurprised that he isn’t even thinking about himself.

“I’m fine,” he replies, brushing me off.

I narrow my eyes. “No, you’re not. Sit down and let them take care of you, or so help me, Viktor Makarov, I’ll make you sit myself.”

His lips quirk upward, but he relents, settling onto the examination table. The doctor tends to him with efficient movements, cleaning and stitching the cuts that he had acquired rescuing me.

I watch with satisfaction, my heart swelling at the sight of him letting his guard down for me. For us.

It's already morning before the doctor approved to let me leave. As we pull into the driveway, Yelena and Alina burst out of the house, their faces etched with worry.

“Scarlett!”

“Damn!”

They both say simultaneously as they see my swollen eyes and bruises.

“I’m fine,” I assure them, but Viktor’s protective arm around my waist speaks volumes.

“I’m sorry, Scarlett,” Yelena’s voice sounds so unsure, her sharp gaze scanning my injuries.

“I’m fine,” I assure her, though Viktor’s protective arm around my waist tells a different story.

Alina’s eyes soften as they land on my stomach. “And the babies?”

“Healthy,” Viktor replies, his voice filled with quiet pride.

Relief washes over them, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe that we’ll be okay.

“You look like you’ve been through a war zone,” she says bluntly, nodding toward Viktor’s bandaged arm.

“Feels like it,” Viktor replies dryly, his arm sliding protectively around my waist as he guides me toward the mansion’s steps.

“I can walk,” I insist, attempting to free myself from his grasp.

“Not a chance,” he mutters, tightening his hold.

“Viktor,” I say, exasperated but secretly touched by his concern. “You can’t keep carrying me. What if this becomes a habit?”

His lips quirk into a rare smirk. “Then you’ll have to get used to it.”

Alina giggles, following closely behind us. “You’re like a grumpy knight in shining armor, Viktor. All that’s missing is the horse.”

Yelena scoffs. “More like a tank. Subtlety was never his strong suit.”

“Ladies,” Viktor growls in warning, though there’s no real edge to his tone.

As we step into the mansion, I can’t help but tease him. “You know, if you keep this up, I might start thinking you care.”

He stops abruptly, his intense gaze locking onto mine. “I do.”

The weight of his words settles over me, silencing any further quips. For a moment, it’s just the two of us in the world, the air charged with unspoken emotions.

In the privacy of our bedroom, Viktor refuses to let me lift a finger. He draws a warm bath, his movements purposeful yet tender.

“Sit,” he instructs, gesturing toward the edge of the tub as he kneels before me. His fingers work the buttons of my shirt with surprising gentleness, his touch lingering as if memorizing every curve.

“You don’t have to—”

“Let me,” he interrupts, his voice soft but commanding.

As he helps me into the bath, the tension in my body begins to melt away. The warmth of the water soothes my aching muscles, but it’s Viktor’s presence that truly grounds me. He kneels beside the tub, his hand trailing lazily through the water as he watches me with a mix of adoration and protectiveness.

“You’re too good at this,” I tease, attempting to lighten the mood. “Should I be worried?”

A rare smile graces his lips. “Let’s just say I’m practicing before the babies arrive.”

Wrapped in one of Viktor’s oversized shirts, I sink into the plush mattress, exhaustion pulling at my eyelids. Viktor tucks the blankets around me with care that seems almost out of character for someone so fierce.

“Get some rest,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead. An action I’ve come to realize is a habit of endearment for him.

His scent lingers on the shirt, a mix of cedarwood and something uniquely him. It’s comforting, like a shield against the world’s chaos. As sleep claims me, I feel the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me, a silent promise that I’m not alone.

When I wake, the room is bathed in a soft golden glow from the setting sun. Viktor sits by the window with a laptop on his legs, his profile silhouetted against the light. Before I can call out to him, there’s a knock at the door, and Alina and Yelena enter, each balancing trays laden with food.

“We thought you might be hungry,” Alina says, setting a tray on the coffee table.

“Starving,” I admit, my stomach growling in agreement.

Yelena smirks. “You’re eating for three now, remember?”

“Of course, thanks to your brother.”

The four of us settle around the table, the tension from earlier replaced by a warm camaraderie. Viktor remains quiet but attentive, his presence a constant anchor.

As we eat, Yelena surprises me with a rare compliment. “You are brave, Scarlett. Most people wouldn’t have handled that kind of chaos as well as you did.”

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I just did what I had to. For the babies.”

Yelena’s eyes soften, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in her otherwise guarded expression. “Still, it’s not easy stepping into this world. But you did, and you held your own.”

Her words carry more weight than she likely realizes, a tacit acknowledgment that I’m becoming part of their family—whether I’m ready for it or not.

“Thank you,” I say, meeting Yelena’s gaze. “But I’m not brave. I’m just trying to keep up with all of you.”

Alina smiles warmly. “You’re doing more than keeping up. You’re proving that you belong here.”

Their words stir something inside me—a determination to rise to the challenges ahead. For the Bratva, for Viktor, for our children, for myself.

After the twins leave, Viktor pulls me into his arms, his warmth enveloping me. “You were incredible and brave today,” he murmurs against my hair.

I shake my head, leaning into his chest. “I don’t feel incredible neither do I feel brave.”

“You don’t have to. I see it in you.” His voice is steady, a quiet strength that bolsters my own.

As we lie in bed, a sudden movement startles me. I gasp, grabbing Viktor’s hand and placing it on my stomach.

“They’re kicking,” I whisper, awe lacing my voice.

His eyes widen as he feels the tiny flutters beneath his palm. The world stands still for a moment, the weight of everything replaced by the pure, unadulterated joy of this shared moment.

“Did you feel that?” I whisper, enthralled.

He nods, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and joy. “I did.”

I close my eyes, letting the moment wash over me. There’s so much ahead of us, so many unknowns. But at this moment, with Viktor beside me and our children moving inside me, everything feels right.

We drift into sleep, the sound of each other’s breath the only thing filling the silence, content in the knowledge that we’ve built something beautiful together.