Page 100 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

“She belongs here,” I whisper.

“Of course she does. We made it for her.”

Kion crosses the room and lowers Liliana into her bassinet. His movements are smooth, practiced. He adjusts the blanket around her tiny body and brushes a knuckle lightly over her cheek. She sighs, eyes fluttering closed again. He watches her for a long moment before turning to me.

“You need to lie down.”

I don’t argue.

He helps me into bed—carefully, always careful. His hands are warm against my back as I ease beneath the sheets, the softness of them unfamiliar after the hospital’s sharp corners. I melt into the mattress with a long breath, letting my muscles sink, every ache dulled by the comfort of home.

Kion tucks the blanket around my waist, smoothing it gently, then pulls the duvet higher. He brushes a hand through my hair, untangling the strands near my face.

“I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“I know,” I murmur, eyes already closing. “You always do.”

He stays a moment longer, his hand lingering against my temple. Then he straightens, circles to the other side of the bed, and crawls in beside me.

The monitor is set on the nightstand. Faint static hums through it, broken only by the tiny rhythmic breaths of our daughter. Kion lies close but doesn’t crowd me, one arm resting above my head, the other tucked under the pillow. I can feel his warmth behind me, a constant, quiet presence.

“Rest,” he says softly. “I’ve got you. If you so much as think about getting up, I’ll call in an army of nurses. I mean it.”

***

I wake to the soft crackle of firelight and the gentle hum of something familiar. Not the monitor, though that still whispers quietly on the nightstand. It’s the sound of him—Kion—moving across the room in that way he does when he’s trying not to be noticed. Quiet, but never invisible.

The bed beside me is empty.

I blink the sleep from my eyes and push up slowly. My body still aches, but not in the sharp, unbearable way it did before. Just a dull pull beneath the ribs. A tiredness that makes sense now. I glance toward the fire.

He’s there.

Sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of it, one arm bracing Liliana gently against his chest. She’s half swaddled, nestled in a pale blanket. Her eyes are open, wide and alert, her small hand curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Kion is murmuring something to her—soft, rhythmic, almost like a lullaby, but lower. I can’t make out the words.

“Your mum’s the boss, but don’t tell her I said that.”

He doesn’t notice I’m awake until I move closer.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, his voice quiet and apologetic. “She was fussing.”

“You should’ve brought her to me.”

“You need sleep. She just wanted to be held.”

I ease myself down beside him on the rug, careful with my movements. The fire throws soft light across his face, catching the tiredness in his eyes; but there’s peace there too. A calm I’ve never seen in him like this. Not this real. Not this simple.

He shifts slightly to make room for me, and I tuck myself under his arm, resting my head against his shoulder. Liliana gurgles, her tiny fingers still grasping his shirt like she’s claimed him completely. She’s already won him over.

We sit like that for a while, side by side, watching the fire and the little girl between us who’s made everything feel different.

“Did you mean it?” I ask softly, not looking away from Liliana. “What you said about giving me another child.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Yes.”

“When?”