Chapter 55 Petyr
PETYR
As I make my way through the winding hallways of the hospital, I pass by the maternity ward.
Specifically, the nursery.
I don’t usually stop on the way to my brother’s room. Ever. But tonight, something tugs me in the direction of those bundled up babies. So fragile-looking, so small.
My mind shifts to Sima. To the way her eyes widened when she told me she was pregnant, fear and hope tangled in the same breath.
I didn’t expect the rush I felt. Like something in me cracked open and light got in.
She’s carrying my child. My heir. And for the first time since taking the pakhan’s seat, I feel like there’s someone standing beside me.
I drag a hand down my face and catch my reflection in the glass. Eyes hard. Mouth tight, no upward curl.
I don’t look like a man on the verge of joy, even though that’s exactly what I am. I look like my father, the miserable bastard who never trusted anyone, not even his own blood.
Maybe that’s my fate, too. But when I think of Sima, warm in my bed, whispering sharp little jokes wrapped in nothing but sheets and the scent of me, I want to believe I can be more than that.
When I finally tear myself away and step into Dimitri’s hospital room, the antiseptic smell slaps me in the face. Machines beep, steady and merciless, as they keep my brother tethered to this world.
He hasn’t stirred. Hasn’t opened his eyes. The doctors said he won’t.
Still, I visit. I talk to him, because he’s my brother, and if there’s even one small chance he hears me, he’ll know he’s not alone.
I move closer to Dimitri’s bedside, pull up the chair that’s been worn down by too many visits, and sit.
“Things are finally looking up, Mitya,” I murmur. My fingers drum on the armrest before I still them. “Shipment’s sorted. And…” I pause. My lips melt into a smile before I can stop them. “Sima’s pregnant. You’re going to be an uncle.”
The words feel strange in my mouth, but good. Solid.
I rub a hand over my jaw and exhale. “You’d probably laugh if you could hear me. Me, talking about family like it’s something separate from all this.” I gesture briefly to us, two Bratva brothers shackled by duty. “But it feels different with her.”
I glance at the machines, the tubes. He’s so pale, he barely looks like himself anymore. I hate seeing him like this.
But I still force myself to continue.
“I know it’s stupid. None of us ever really get out. But when I’m with her…”
I can almost pretend.
I almost say it, but then I don’t. It’s not what we do, my brother and me. Even this little speech I just gave him was only possible because he couldn’t tell me to shut up.
Still, if he were here, he’d be happy for me. I know he would. He’d clap a hand on my shoulder and congratulate me in his gruff way. Maybe laugh and say that it was about damn time.
I’m lost in those thoughts when I walk out for a cup of coffee. Not that whatever sewer water the automatic machine serves here can be called that, but I’ll take it. It’s certainly late enough.
When I return and push open the door, the light above Dimitri’s bed throws long shadows across the room. And there, at his bedside, is a man dressed in scrubs, a syringe poised over my brother’s IV line.
For half a second, I think he’s a nurse. He’s got the right look. The scrubs, the gloves.
But then I see his eyes.
Wide. Terrified. Like he knows who I am and has reason to fear it.
His hands tremble so badly the syringe wobbles. No steady professionalism, no calm focus. None of the detached precision you expect from someone used to needles and IVs. Just raw, naked panic.
That’s when I realize.
That’s not a nurse.
“Get the fuck away from my brother!”