Page 97 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

I reach for his hand, and he gives it to me without hesitation. His fingers are cold. He squeezes mine tight.

“Are we sticking with Liliana?” he asks, glancing at the baby.

I pause.

There are names we discussed. There were ideas. But only one has stayed with me. One I said once, long ago, almost in passing.

“Liliana” I say softly.

His gaze flicks to mine. “Yeah, it sounds perfect.”

I nod.

He doesn’t smile often, but now he does. Just slightly. Just enough to change the shape of his whole face.

“Liliana Sharov,” he says aloud, testing it. “It suits her.”

I press a kiss to her forehead. “Liliana,” I repeat, the name catching on a fresh wave of tears.

Kion shifts closer and rests his hand gently over both of ours.

“She’s going to be fine,” he says.

“So are we,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, but he stays right there, his hand covering mine, his eyes on her.

The world outside fades.

It doesn’t matter if the city burns or the empire shakes. Right now, in this small white room that smells like antiseptic and warm cotton, nothing exists but the three of us. Time slows. Breath softens. All I hear is the quiet rhythm of her tiny breaths and the steady murmur of the monitor beside me.

Liliana sleeps against my chest, curled in close like she’s always belonged there. Her skin is impossibly soft, her weight barely there—but to me, she feels like the whole world. I shift the blanket gently, brushing one thumb across her cheek. She stirs again, a little sigh escaping her lips, but doesn’t wake.

Kion sits beside me, one hand resting on the edge of the bed, the other curled loosely beneath his chin. He’s still in the same black shirt from last night, creased and faintly stained from where he held me. His hair is damp around the edges, like he ran his hands through it too many times. He hasn’t shaved.

He looks… different.

There’s no sharpness in his face now, no edge to his stare. His eyes follow every shift of Liliana’s body like he’s watching something fragile and holy, something that could slip away if helooks the wrong way. It’s the same way he looked at me in the hallway before the doors closed. Like the earth had tilted and left him behind.

This time, he isn’t alone.

I turn to him, watching the way the firelight flickers in his eyes, and he must feel me looking. His gaze meets mine.

Neither of us speaks.

There’s nothing to say when the moment is already full.

Eventually, I lay Liliana in the bassinet beside the bed. She whimpers once but settles easily, one tiny fist near her mouth, her breathing slow and even. I tuck the blanket around her and smooth the edge down gently, fingers lingering.

When I sit back, Kion’s eyes are still on me.

“She’s really ours,” I whisper.

His voice is low, almost reverent. “Yeah.”

I reach for his hand, and he doesn’t hesitate to give it. His fingers curl around mine, rough and warm and certain.

For a while, we just sit like that.