Chapter 31
CINDY
Iattempt to reach for one of the Lego pieces, but my giant belly gets in the way.
Leo and I are building what he insists is going to be the most epic Lego castle ever created in the history of the world.
We’ve combined several sets. I’m pretty sure the kid should own stock in Lego.
Luka spares no expense when it comes to buying Leo toys he thinks will further his education.
"And this is where the princess lives," Leo explains seriously, placing a tiny Lego figure on the highest tower. "She's got magical powers and can defeat any dragon."
"Sounds like my kind of princess," I say, reaching for another block. The movement sends a sharp pain across my lower back. I pause, breathing through it.
"You okay, Mom?" Leo looks at me with concern.
He’s my little protector. And his papa is my giant protector. This poor girl is never going to have a boyfriend. Between her big brother and Papa, she’s going to feel like she’s living in one of those towers.
Mac lifts his head from his luxurious bed in the corner. His ears are up and his head tilted as he stares at me. He senses my discomfort.
"Just the baby being active," I tell him with a smile, though this movement feels different. Deeper. "She's running out of room in there."
It's true. At thirty-eight weeks, our daughter has been increasingly restless. But these aren't the usual kicks and rolls I've grown used to. She feels lower, heavier. Like she's burrowing down, preparing.
I've been having Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks—practice rounds, the doctor called them.
But yesterday they changed. More regular.
More... purposeful. I haven't mentioned it to Luka yet.
He's already a walking ball of anxiety, checking on me every hour, watching for signs like I might spontaneously combust.
The pressure in my pelvis has been building for days. That bowling ball feeling everyone talks about. When I walked Leo to his lessons this morning, I had to stop twice, pretending to admire the garden while actually waiting for the pressure to ease.
She's dropped. I know she has. That thing everyone kept telling me would happen—suddenly I can breathe easier, but I have to pee every twenty minutes. And the backache that started three days ago hasn't let up.
My body is preparing for battle, and soon, very soon, I'll have to tell Luka. But for now, I'll let him think everything is normal. Let us have this quiet morning before our world changes forever.
The doctor assured me last week that everything was progressing normally, but first babies usually come late, so we probably have at least another week or two.
I’m so ready to meet her. I want my body back.
I reach for another castle wall piece, and suddenly the pain is back—sharper this time, radiating from my lower back around to my belly like a vise tightening. I gasp, my hand automatically going to my stomach.
"Whoa," I breathe, waiting for it to pass.
Leo scrambles closer, his castle forgotten. "What's wrong?"
The contraction—because that's definitely what it was—eases after what feels like forever but was probably only thirty seconds. I check my watch. If this is what I think it is, I need to start timing them.
"I think your little sister might be ready to meet us."
Leo's eyes go wide with excitement and a touch of worry. "Right now? Like, today?"
"Maybe. We'll see." I try to sound calmer than I feel. "Can you help me get to the couch?"
He springs into action, offering his small hand to help me up with the kind of careful concern that makes my heart squeeze.
I've barely settled onto the cushions when another wave hits, stronger than the first. I check my watch again. Five minutes apart. Mac hops up and comes to rest his head on my knee. It’s his way of offering comfort.
"Leo, sweetie, I need you to go find your papa, okay? Tell him the baby is coming."
"Should I call 911?" he asks, already heading toward the door.
"No, just get Luka. He'll know what to do."
Leo disappears down the hall, his sneakers slapping against the marble floors as he runs toward Luka's office. “Papa! The baby's coming!"
Mac chases behind him, barking and sounding the alarm.
Within thirty seconds, heavy footsteps are thundering back down the hallway. Luka bursts into the living room, looking like he's expecting to find me unconscious on the floor. When he sees me sitting upright and relatively calm, some of the panic leaves his face.
"How far apart?" His voice is steady, but I see his hands clench and unclench—his tell when he's fighting for control.
"Started about twenty minutes ago. First two were eight minutes apart. Then seven. The last three..." I check my phone, where I've been tracking them. "Five minutes. Maybe four and a half."
The words are barely out when I feel it building—that deep, primal tightening that starts in my lower back and wraps around to my belly like a fist squeezing.
"Oh," I breathe, grabbing the couch arm.
The leather creaks under my grip. "Oh, fuck.
This one's—" I can't finish. The contraction crashes over me like a wave, stealing my words and breath.
It's different from the others—deeper, more purposeful.
This isn't my body practicing anymore. This is business.
Leo hovers anxiously while Luka kneels beside me, his hand finding mine. I crush his fingers as I ride out the pain, dimly aware I might be breaking something but unable to care.
"Breathe, dikaya," he murmurs. "Just like we practiced."
We never practiced. We meant to take classes, but between mob wars and morning sickness, we never got around to it. I want to laugh at the absurdity, but another wave is already building.
"Luka," I pant when I can speak again. "I think she changed her mind about waiting."
All of Luka's legendary composure evaporates in an instant. The man who can stare down a rival pakhan and negotiate million-dollar deals without blinking takes one look at me breathing through a contraction and goes completely to pieces.
"Five minutes? Dammit, Cindy, why didn't you call me sooner? We need to get you to the hospital right now. Where's your bag? Did you pack a bag? Of course, you packed a bag. I packed it. Where is it? Shit, should I call the doctor first? No, we should just go. Can you walk? Should I carry you?"
I would laugh if I weren't concentrating on breathing. "Luka. Baby. Take a breath."
"Don't tell me to breathe; you're the one having contractions!" He's already pulling out his phone, barking orders to someone. "Viktor, bring the car around. Now. Get Tony. He’ll be taking Leo.”
The contraction peaks and slowly ebbs. When I can speak again, I reach for his hand. "The bag is in our bedroom closet. And yes, I can walk. This is normal, remember? Women have been doing this for thousands of years."
"Not my woman," he mutters, but he's already moving toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Leo is bouncing on his toes with nervous energy. "Is it happening? Is the baby really coming?"
"She really is," I confirm. "Are you excited to meet your little sister?"
"So excited! Can I come to the hospital? Please?"
"Of course you can come. Remember, Tony is going to take you. You’ll stay with him in the special room."
Luka returns with my bag and what appears to be half the contents of our bedroom. "I grabbed the bag and some extra clothes and your pillow and those socks you like and—"
"Luka." I catch his hand as another contraction starts building. "We have time. First babies take hours. I'm not going to give birth in the hallway."
He doesn't look convinced, especially when I have to stop talking to breathe through the pain. By the time it passes, Grigori has appeared in the doorway, car keys in hand and the same expression of grim determination he wore the day he carried us to safety during the attack.
He’s been my constant shadow so much that I consider him more of a friend than a bodyguard. He says he owes me his life.
I have tried to explain that he saved my life. We’re even.
He disagrees.
"Car's ready, boss," he reports. "Hospital's been notified."
The next few minutes are a controlled chaos of gathering last-minute items and getting everyone to the car. Luka hovers beside me like I'm made of glass, one hand on my elbow, the other on my back, guiding me toward the front entrance with exaggerated care.
"I can walk," I remind him as another contraction hits halfway to the car.
"Just let me help," he says. Something in his voice makes me look up at him. Beneath all the panic and overprotectiveness, I see something else: wonder. Fear. Pure, overwhelming love.
This strong, dangerous man who commands respect from everyone around him is terrified because the most important thing in his world is about to change forever. And there's nothing he can control about it.
I squeeze his hand as the pain subsides. "We're going to be okay. All of us."
He nods, but I can see he won't really believe it until he's holding our daughter in his arms.
Leo and Tony load up into the SUV behind us.
Although there have been no attacks since that night at the warehouse, there is always the threat of danger.
Behind Tony is another SUV full of bodyguards.
We have gone over the plan several times.
There will be guards outside my delivery room and the hospital.
I’m trying to stay calm while Luka alternates between barking directions at Grigori—who definitely knows how to get to the hospital without GPS guidance—and asking me approximately every thirty seconds if I'm okay.
"Four minutes apart now," I report after another wave passes.
"Four minutes?" Luka twists around in the passenger seat to stare at me. "That's faster, right? That means we need to go faster."
"Luka, I love you, but you need to calm down before you give yourself a heart attack."
Grigori snorts. Luka levels him with a deadly glare.
The hospital staff is waiting for us—Luka's phone calls apparently carried some weight—and within minutes, I'm settled in a labor and delivery room that's nicer than most hotel suites. Leo has claimed the visitor's chair by the window, and Grigori has positioned himself by the door like a sentinel.
"Sir," one of the nurses says gently to Grigori, "family only in the delivery room."
"He is family," Luka says before Grigori can respond. "He stays. For now."
The nurse doesn't argue. Something about Luka's tone suggests this isn't a negotiation.
The doctor arrives twenty minutes later, all smiles and professional competence. "So, we're having a baby today after all," she says, washing her hands at the sink. "Let's see how we're progressing."
The examination confirms what I already suspected: I'm definitely in active labor, and our daughter is eager to make her appearance. What I don't expect is how quickly things move from there.
"Oh," I gasp as the strongest contraction yet grips me like a vise. "That was different."
"Cindy, honey, I need you to listen to me. This baby is coming fast. We're going to have you start pushing with the next contraction."
"What?" Luka goes pale. "But she just got here. Aren't first babies supposed to take forever?"
"Every baby writes their own timeline," the doctor says calmly. "And your daughter has apparently decided she's ready to meet her parents."
“Get out!” Luka barks at Tony and Grigori.
Tony grabs Leo and carries him out of the room. I smile and wave through the pain.
The next hour passes in a blur of intensity and pain. Luka holds my hand. For a man who has zero qualms about taking a life, he looks like he might pass out at the sight of a life coming into the world.
I definitely plan on teasing him about this later.
He coaches me through each push, wipes my forehead with a cool cloth, tells me how amazing I am, and how proud he is. The dangerous mafia boss disappears, leaving only a man who loves me more than life itself.
"I can see her head," the doctor announces. "One more big push, Cindy."
I bear down with everything I have, Luka's voice in my ear telling me I can do this, I'm almost there, and she's almost here. And then suddenly, miraculously, she is.
A slippery, perfect, screaming bundle of life slides into the doctor’s waiting hands. Our daughter. Our miracle.
"She's beautiful," the doctor says, placing her on my chest. "Absolutely perfect."
She is. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, a shock of dark hair, and lungs that work perfectly if her indignant cries are any indication. She's pink and wrinkled and the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.
"Hi, baby girl," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. "We've been waiting for you."
Luka is crying too, though he'd probably deny it if anyone asked. His hand hovers over our daughter like he's afraid to touch her. My powerful man is rendered speechless by seven pounds of newborn perfection.
"She's so small," he whispers.
"She's perfect," I correct, guiding his finger to her tiny fist. Immediately, she grips it with surprising strength. The look on Luka's face is worth every moment of pain and every sleepless night.
Thirty minutes later, Luka brings Leo into the room.
"Look, Leo," I call softly. "Come meet your sister."
He approaches with reverent awe, his eyes wide as saucers. "She's so little. And she's really loud."
"Most babies are when they first arrive," I explain. "She's just letting us know she's here."
"What's her name?" he asks.
Luka and I look at each other. We've discussed names for months, but suddenly, looking at her, there's only one that fits.
"Sofia," Luka says quietly. "Sofia Rose Markovic."
"Sofia means wisdom," I tell Leo. "And she's going to need lots of that, growing up in this family."
Leo grins and gently touches her tiny hand. "Hi, Sofia. I'm your big brother. I'm going to teach you everything."
From his position by the door, Grigori clears his throat roughly. When I look over, his usually stoic expression has softened considerably. "She's beautiful. A perfect little princess."
"Thank you, Grigori. For everything."
He nods once, then steps into the hallway to give us privacy.
The world has narrowed to just the four of us. Luka, Leo, me, and Sofia. Our family, complete at last.
Sofia's cries have quieted to small snuffles as she settles against my chest, already recognizing the sound of my heartbeat that kept her company for nine months. Luka's arm comes around both of us, protective and tender. I lean into his strength.
"She's going to be trouble," he murmurs against my hair. "I can already tell."
I laugh softly. "She's your daughter. Of course, she's going to be trouble."
"Our daughter," he corrects, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Our perfect, beautiful, wonderful daughter."