Page 30 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

Her face contorted in pain, eyes wide with arched brows as a painful sound escaped her mouth, half-whimper, half-gasp. She spread her legs apart with one reflexive move, her lips trembling.

Like lightning, I appeared by her side, worried and confused, my hands holding her by the elbow, steadying her weight. “Hey, hey, hey—what’s wrong—what is it?” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a rush.

She gripped my shoulder, gasping for breath, her face twisted in agony. “It’s happening,” she said, her shaky voice barely above a whisper.

For a second, I froze. Blank.

“Ian, the baby’s coming!” she snapped, smacking me across the face.

The slap reset my brain, and I blinked back to the present, muttering “Fuck.” My wife was going into labor. I straightened, glanced back at the door, and bellowed, “Olga!” My voice echoed loudly, thick with helplessness and urgency.

As though she were on standby outside the door, the housekeeper burst into the room. The moment she spotted Ester, she turned around and called out to the other maids.

Seconds later, three others rushed in and together, they helped my wife to her feet. While they offered words of encouragement to her, I rushed to the door and looked out the hallway.

“Maxim, get the car ready, now!” I ordered, my voice loud and clear.

I didn’t see him, but I heard his response from downstairs. “Yes, Boss!”

“Breathe, Ester,” Olga urged her. “Just breathe, okay?”

I threw my hands into my hair, completely disoriented as I watched Ester struggling to move her feet. I’d fought many battles in my life, but none of them had spooked me the way Ester’s labor did.

Truth be told, I was fuckin’ scared—for her life and the baby’s. My wife was clearly in so much pain, and watching her scream did more damage to me than I thought.

It took ten long minutes to get her downstairs, but from there, it was a lot easier to get her into the backseat of the car. I wanted to drive while Olga sat with her, but she wouldn’t let me.

I tossed the keys to Maxim, and he took the wheel. Seconds later, I slid into the vehicle, with Olga and I sitting on either end of the backseat and Ester in the middle.

“Maxim, drive. Now!” I barked.

He started the engine and drove out of the estate, tires screeching against the asphalt.

“Ian?” she called out, her voice weak and tired.

“I’m right here,” I said, my hand locking around hers, my voice almost like a vow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The delivery room was a blur of harsh lights, rapid voices, and sharp commands. Time seemed to stretch and fold in on itself.

I couldn’t possibly imagine the pain she was going through at the moment—couldn’t relate to it in any way at all.

Ester was sweating profusely, her face red—twisted in agony. She’d lost her voice from all that screaming, her weak body trembling, her breathing ragged. Her dampened hair was plastered to her forehead, her grip tightening around my fingers with a kind of strength I didn’t know she had.

Ironclad. Fierce. Unyielding.

She didn’t let go, didn’t loosen her grip, and I stood right there beside her, stone-faced but strung tight. Leaning in, I whispered the words that I could think of. “You’re almost there.” I brushed damp strands from her face. “You’ve got this, lyubimaya . I’m right here.”

The female doctor delivering the baby glanced over the hospital bed. “Ester, I’m gonna need you to push a little bit harder, okay?” she said, her voice steady and polite.

“I’m trying!” She squeezed my hand.

“Yes, you are, honey, you’re doing great,” the doctor replied. “I just need you to try a little harder. I can see the baby’s head already.”

“You hear that, lyubimaya ?” I tapped her hand encouragingly. “She can see our baby’s head. It’s almost over.”

She glanced up at me, tears in her eyes. “I’m tired…I’m so tired….” Her voice trailed off, eyelids fluttering close.

“Don’t let her fall asleep,” the doctor warned, shaking her head.

“Hey, hey, hey….” I tapped her face. “We have unfinished business. There’s a life that needs to be born, and you’re the gateway. We need you— I need you. So, please…push,” I encouraged.

She opened her eyes, met my gaze, and nodded, determination flickering in her features. Ester locked her jaw, her grip tightening around my hand. Her breaths came fast and shallow as she braced herself, her head nodding rapidly.

Ester pushed harder than before, veins lining her forehead, her muscles stiffening. She bit down on the folded piece of cloth a nurse had handed her. Her skin glistened with sweat, eyes widened in sheer agony.

“That’s it, Ester, you’re doing great!” the doctor declared.

Her jaw locked in, cloth clenched so hard her temples throbbed. She groaned deeply, squeezing her eyes shut.

My fingers were sore from the intensity of her grip, but it was a small price to pay for a safe delivery.

“One more push, Ester—just one more!” said the doctor.

“You’ve got this,” I whispered in her ear.

She threw her head backward and let out a guttural growl so primal it sent shivers down my spine. Her muscles burned, fingers squeezing the sheets, her grip tightening around my hand. Her face turned red, covered in sweat, with a strand of hair falling across her eyebrow.

Her legs trembled, and for a moment there, I was afraid she was going to explode or that the vein on her forehead would snap.

She strained hard, pushing even harder. I remained by her side, anchoring her to reality.

And then, in a heartbeat, a cry.

Small.

Beautiful.

“Wonderful job, Ester. You did it,” the doctor said, chuckling.

The cloth slipped from her mouth, and her head dropped back on the pillow, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“You did it, lyubimaya ,” I said, my lips curling into a smile. “You did it.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, a bright grin lighting up her face. Her heavy sigh of relief left her lips like a burden had been lifted off her chest.

The cry of our baby girl filled the room, cute and adorable.

Ester turned to face me, her hand on my cheek as I wiped the tears from her eyes. “Thank you,” she mouthed, her skin glowing under the soft light.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said, brushing the back of my fingers over her brows.

“Would you like to hold her?” the doctor asked, her voice drawing our attention to her.

She approached Ester with our girl wrapped in a clean white cloth. “She’s beautiful,” the doctor said, a small grin tugging at her lips.

Ester struggled to sit up with her back against the wall. She reached out, and the baby was carefully placed in her arms. “Hey, little one,” she murmured, sniffling with glassy eyes.

I leaned over them, watching this unbelievably tiny baby, perfect in every way. Her fingers curled, lashes barely visible as her mother cradled her with delicate caution.

She looked so fragile. So beautiful. And I knew the second I set eyes on her that I’d burn the world for her. This baby, born from so much pain and agony, would definitely change me in ways never thought possible.

Sergei was right when he said the arrival of my daughter would make me feel things I hadn’t felt before—an emotional attachment that was beyond reason.

I’d kill for this child—hell, I’d lay down my life for her if it ever came to that. That was how much love I already felt for this tiny human being.

How’s it even possible to feel so much joy, love, and peace at the same time?

I watched this baby, something ancient and raw swelling within me. “She’s…” I began, unable to find the right word to describe her.

“Perfect,” Ester completed my statement.

“Like her mother,” I said, my voice low and even.

She lifted her eyes and held my gaze, a beautiful smile playing on her lips.

The baby squirmed, an adorable whimper escaping those tiny lips as her head settled against her mother’s chest. We both stared down at our daughter, the moment seeming to stretch forever.

It was silent.

Peaceful.

“I want to name her Maria,” Ester said, glancing at me.

Something shifted inside me, and my expression softened when I held her gaze. “After my sister?” I asked, whispering.

She nodded, her smile broadening.

I looked down at the innocent baby again, lips parted—no words, no sound. Just awe. When I reached out to touch her delicate skin, her tiny fingers closed around mine. My brows yanked up in surprise, a choked laugh escaping my mouth.

“Welcome to the world, my little angel,” I whispered to the baby, her soft whimpers melting my heart.

I felt it growing inside me—that raw and unfiltered feeling of love. Entirely real.