Chapter 36 Sima
SIMA
Hours later, the chaos is over.
The machines hum softly and the hallway beyond the door remains quiet. It’s just the three of us now.
I cradle our daughter against my chest, her tiny body wrapped in a hospital blanket. Her breathing is soft and even, her face relaxed in sleep. A little sigh escapes her every few seconds, like she’s already dreaming.
I hope she is. That she’s having the best dream she can.
Petyr sits in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her. He hasn’t looked away for more than a few seconds since she arrived. Every time she stirs, he leans forward a little, like he’s afraid she might disappear if he blinks.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I whisper.
“She’s perfect,” he says quietly.
I study our daughter’s face. Her tiny nose, her faint lashes. Her tiny fist curled like a new rose near her cheek. “She looks like you.”
Petyr shakes his head. “She’s you all over. Same mouth. Same nose.” His lips curve. “Same stubborn chin.”
“Oh, she’s stubborn, alright. You weren’t there for the first part. She was practically stabbing her way out.”
“Then maybe she takes more after me.”
I laugh softly, careful not to wake her. “I can’t believe she’s real.”
Petyr’s hand brushes the baby’s blanket. “I’ve seen a lot of things,” he says. “But nothing like this.”
Me neither. It’s right there on my lips, but I don’t say it. I don’t need to. It’s obvious to both of us: this little girl right here? She’s the best thing we’ve ever made.
She’s everything.
The quiet stretches between us, comfortable in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. I let myself be lulled by it. The painkillers are in full swing, and I plan to take full advantage of it to stay conscious. I’d rather pass out later.
Petyr reaches out again. This time, he traces a fingertip along our daughter’s tiny arm. His movements are slow, careful, almost reverent.
“She’s so small,” he says. “I didn’t think…” He trails off and shakes his head. “I didn’t think I could feel this much.”
I look at him then, really look. The sharpness in his expression is gone. All the hardness, the anger—it’s still there somewhere, but buried under something else. Awe.
He loves her.
There’s no doubt in my mind. Petyr loves our daughter with all his heart. The way he’s looking at her is unmistakable.
Another knot in my chest—the one I didn’t want to think about, that kept whispering Petyr would be the same kind of father mine was to me—slowly comes loose all the way.
I don’t have to fear that anymore.
“Petyr,” I say quietly. “She’s safe now. We both are.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “She’s safe.”
I fall back against the pillow and, for one greedy moment, I let myself believe it. The war, the fear, all the walls between us—they fade into the background. It’s just us, sitting in the soft hospital light, watching the tiny miracle that somehow survived everything.
I press my lips to our daughter’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, little one.”
Petyr’s hand finds mine again, warm and steady. For now, that’s all we need.
Then he glances at me. “What do you want to name her?”
I look down at the tiny bundle in my arms. I’ve said a hundred names in my head over the past few months, but now that she’s here, none of them feel right.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I can’t decide.”
“What were you going to call her? Back in Florida. Before I found you.”
My throat tightens. I hesitate. We’re finally in a good place, and I don’t want to drag us back with ugly memories.
But then I turn, and he’s looking at me with that calm, patient focus that always cuts right through me.
I can’t lie to him. Not about this.
“Lilia,” I confess. “After your mother.”
His brow furrows, like he isn’t sure he heard me right. “My mother?”
I nod. “So that she’d always have a piece of you with her. Even if… even if you weren’t there.” My voice catches. “It just felt right.”
For a long time, he doesn’t say anything. Then he swallows hard, and when he finally speaks, his voice is husky with emotion. “I never told you my mother’s name.”
“You didn’t have to.” I offer a small smile. “I have my ways of finding things out. When they matter.”
For once, I’m not worried that he’s mad at me. I know the overwhelmed look on his face. He isn’t used to this. Feeling so much.
I give him space. Then, a minute later, his eyes meet mine again. “Lilia.” He tries it out softly, like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. “It’s perfect.”
His eyes are damp, though he tries to hide it. He reaches out and brushes a finger along our daughter’s cheek.
“Lilia,” he whispers again. “Welcome home.”
And just like that, the name feels right. Completely, absolutely right.
We stay curled up close for a while longer. I’m not sure how much time passes. I’m blind to everything that isn’t this. Me, Petyr, and our daughter snuggled between us.
But eventually, Petyr stands and leans down to kiss my forehead. “I need to make a call,” he murmurs. “I won’t be long.”
I nod, even though I don’t want him to go. This bubble we’re in feels too fragile, too precious. I don’t want it to pop yet.
But the world doesn’t stop just because your daughter takes her first breath. If it did, it would be a kinder place. Much kinder than the world that birthed us.
Petyr, me—we haven’t known kindness the way other people have. To us, it was always scarce. A myth, a fairytale.
But when I look at our daughter Lilia, I want her to exist in a better world. I intend to make it better with my own two hands just for her.
And I know Petyr feels the same.
The moment the door closes behind him, though, the quiet feels heavier. I can’t help wishing him back by my side.
Lilia shifts in my arms, soft and warm. Her tiny mouth parts in sleep. God, she’s so freaking cute.
“Knock-knock?”
I lift my gaze and meet Luka’s sheepish eyes. “Who’s there?” I grin.
“Someone who was wondering if you needed anything.”
“Nice cover story.” I shift just enough for him to glimpse the baby. “But I don’t think I’m the girl you’re here for.”
Luka’s face is so transparent that I almost burst out laughing.
He hesitates at the doorway, but eventually steps inside. His usual stiffness is gone. He looks tired, though. Unsure of himself in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Hey,” he coos quietly to the baby. He’s shoving down the biggest grin, I can just tell. “I heard she’s doing well,” he says to me.
“She’s perfect.” I lift her a little higher. “Come see.”
He moves closer and stops at the edge of the bed. When he sees her, his expression softens. “Wow.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“She’s beautiful,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
“Thank you,” I preen. “I made her myself. Not bad for my first baking project, hm?”
Luka covers his face with both hands. He’s blushing furiously. “Please, never refer to a human child as a baking product again. I won’t ever be able to get the image out of my head.”
I bite my cheek and make no promises.
Luka exhales slowly. “I need to say something. It’s overdue.”
I look up, uncertain. “What is it?”
He shifts his weight, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry. For how I’ve treated you since you came back. I was… cruel. And I shouldn’t have been.”
“Luka… You don’t need to apologize again. We already—”
“Let me finish. I wasn’t angry at you, Sima. Not really.” He pauses. “Well, I was kind of pissed at you, too. But just because it’s not every day you get your nose punched in by your boss.”
“Or get locked in a closet with a belt.”
“That, too.” He inhales deeply. “I acted out towards you, but it was never you I felt hurt by.”
I’d always suspected that, deep down, Luka’s anger wasn’t anger at all. He’s way too gentle for that. His temperament is barely Bratva material. I bet giving me the silent treatment stressed him out more than it stressed me.
“I told you the Danilos wiped out my family, but I never told you what happened. Not specifically.”
“You don’t have to,” I hurry to say.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I blamed you. I made it your business. You deserve to know what went down and how.”
My heart clenches. I hate how pained he looks. Most of all, I hate that I know exactly who’s behind that pain.
My family.
He draws in a breath. “Your father murdered mine.” He says it so matter-of-factly, it takes me a few extra seconds to process the true meaning of the words.
“I was twelve. He ordered the hit over a stupid territorial dispute. My father was Bratva, loyal to his faction, but your father…” His jaw clenches.
“He made it personal.” His gaze drops. “Later on, my mother hanged herself from grief, and I was left alone.”
My throat tightens. Twelve. The same age I was when I lost Lara and ran.
But Luka didn’t just see his sister get married off. He didn’t just run away from home. He saw his father die, and then his mother, and then there was no one else for him to turn to.
We’re not the same. Not by a long shot.
“Luka… I’m so sorry,” I whisper uselessly. I can’t look away. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” he replies. “I hated the Danilos for years. Every one of them. When I found out who you were, I thought you were just more of the same. I saw your father in you. It made me angry in ways I didn’t even understand.”
I glance down at Lilia. She’s still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the heavy air around her. Of the guilt that follows us through our blood.
I wonder if it always will. If it’ll stay with us until every single person the Danilos hurt is no longer alive to remember it. Or maybe even beyond that.
I hate the thought that Lilia will have to carry this too, one day. Things her grandfather did shouldn’t affect something so pure.
I don’t want that for her. She’s innocent of everything, and I’ll keep it that way. Whatever it takes.
Which means I’m going to have to shoulder the blame myself.
It’s the least Luka deserves. Someone to carry his pain for him, even if that someone is not the one who hurt him.
Maybe, then, we can all begin to heal.
“My father… he was a bad person,” I say softly. “He liked hurting people. It wasn’t just business for him. He wanted people to suffer. I hate that he took your family from you.”
Luka shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize for what he did. You were a kid. So was I. Neither of us had any control over what they did to each other.”
I nod, but my eyes sting. “I still wish it hadn’t happened.”
“Me, too.” He lets out a small breath, and some of the tension between us finally eases. “But I see who you are now. You’re not him. You’re a kind person, Sima. And if you still mean that, about us being friends… then I’d like that.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’d like that, too.”
Silence fills the room. But this time, it isn’t the cold silence of the mansion. It’s a silence filled with warmth. A new beginning.
For all of us.
“You should rest,” Luka says with a touch of my shoulder. “You’ve earned it.”
“You, too.” I give him a faint smile. “Sorry for all the nightmare fuel.”
“It’s okay. That’s what sleeping pills are for.”
We share a laugh. Then he turns to leave and pauses at the door. “She really is perfect, Sima.”
“Yeah,” I whisper with a glance down at Lilia. “She is.”