Chapter Twenty - Makar
The meeting room hums with tension, the voices of Bratva leaders exchanging updates and strategies blending into the background. I sit at the head of the table, listening, though my focus drifts more than it should. Normally, these meetings command my full attention—discussing territory disputes, securing alliances, stamping out threats.
Not today.
Today, my thoughts are elsewhere. On her.
Hannah.
I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles whitening as her face flickers into my mind. The way her brown eyes darken when she’s frustrated. The way her lips curve into a faint smile when she thinks no one’s looking. The way her hand instinctively rests on her growing belly, as though shielding the life we created together.
She’s beautiful.
It’s maddening. I’ve built my life on control, on making calculated decisions without emotion clouding my judgment. Even so, she’s unraveling that. Bit by bit, she’s pulling me into her world, making me question things I’ve never dared to before.
The meeting drags on, but I feel disconnected, restless. When it finally concludes, the others begin gathering their papers, exchanging low murmurs. I rise from my chair, ready to retreat to my office for a moment to clear my head.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration sharp against my leg. I pull it out, frowning as I see Vera’s name on the screen.
“Vera,” I answer curtly. “What is it?”
Her voice is calm but tinged with concern. “Sir, I wanted to inform you about Hannah. She mentioned having some unusual pain earlier today. It happened again this evening, and she seemed… unsettled.”
The words hit me like a blow, and I freeze, my hand tightening around the phone.
“What kind of pain?” I demand, my voice sharp.
“She didn’t specify,” Vera replies. “It seemed enough to worry her, so we called an ambulance. I thought you should know.”
I don’t respond, my mind already racing. Without a word, I end the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket as I turn toward the door.
“Makar?” one of the men at the table calls after me, his tone laced with confusion.
I don’t bother explaining. My steps are quick, purposeful, my thoughts consumed by a single goal: getting to her.
***
The hospital looms ahead, its sterile facade a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside me. I park haphazardly, not caring about protocol or rules as I stride toward the entrance.
The receptionist barely has time to glance up before I demand Hannah’s room number. My tone leaves no room for argument, and within moments, I’m moving through the halls, my pulse pounding in my ears.
When I find her, my steps falter.
She’s sitting on the examination table, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her head is bowed slightly, dark hair falling around her face. She looks up when she hears me, and the tears glistening in her eyes hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Makar,” she says, her voice trembling.
I’m by her side in an instant, lowering myself into the chair next to her. My hand moves to her arm instinctively, my grip firm but gentle. “What happened?” I ask, my voice low but steady, though the fear simmering beneath the surface threatens to break through.
The doctor clears his throat, stepping forward with a clipboard in hand. He’s middle-aged, his expression serious but professional.
“Mr. Sharov,” he begins, nodding briefly. “We’ve been monitoring your wife’s condition. She’s experiencing symptoms consistent with preeclampsia.”
My brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
The doctor’s gaze shifts between us, his tone measured. “Preeclampsia is a condition that can develop during pregnancy. It’s marked by high blood pressure and other complications, which can be dangerous for both the mother and the baby if not managed carefully.”
Dangerous . The word echoes in my mind, a cold knot tightening in my chest.
“What kind of complications?” I ask, my voice sharp.
“Hannah’s blood pressure is elevated, which is our primary concern. Left untreated, it can lead to serious issues, including damage to the organs or premature delivery. However,” he continues, his tone softening, “we’ve caught it early. With proper monitoring and medication, we can manage it.”
Hannah shifts beside me, her hands clenching tightly in her lap. I glance at her, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her lower lip trembles despite her efforts to remain composed.
“What happens now?” I ask, my gaze locked on the doctor.
“We’ll prescribe medication to help control her blood pressure,” he explains. “Regular check-ups will be essential, and we’ll be keeping a close eye on the baby’s development.”
I nod, my mind already calculating the next steps. “She’ll have everything she needs,” I say firmly. “You’ll make sure of that.”
The doctor nods, sensing the finality in my tone. “Of course, Mr. Sharov. I’ll have the prescriptions ready shortly.”
As he steps away, I turn my attention back to Hannah. She’s staring down at her hands, her breath uneven.
“Hannah,” I say softly, leaning closer.
She doesn’t look up immediately, but when she does, the vulnerability in her eyes threatens to undo me.
“I’m scared,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
My hand moves to hers, covering it completely. “You don’t have to be,” I say, my voice steady. “I’ll handle this. I’ll handle everything.”
Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, the tension between us fades, replaced by something deeper. Trust, maybe. Or the beginnings of it.
“Okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling but resolute.
Hannah’s fingers tremble faintly beneath mine as she glances toward the doctor, who’s speaking with a nurse just outside the door. She pulls in a shaky breath, her shoulders stiff, before turning her gaze back to me.
“They’re keeping me here for a few days,” she says softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion.
The words hit me like a slap. My jaw tightens, and a sharp sense of unease ripples through me. I don’t like it—not one bit.
“For what?” I ask, my voice clipped.
“Observation, I guess.” she explains. “Make sure the medication is working and that the baby is okay.”
Her focus shifts momentarily to her stomach, her hand brushing over the slight curve there. She doesn’t have to say it outright for me to understand what she’s feeling. She’s willing to endure anything if it means keeping the baby safe.
It grates at me, the selflessness she doesn’t even try to hide. “And you’re fine with this?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend.
“As long as the baby’s okay,” she replies, her voice firm.
Something dark and unrelenting stirs in my chest, a frustration I can’t shake. “What about you?” I demand, my voice lowering as I lean closer.
She flinches slightly, her gaze flickering away. “I’m fine,” she says, but the tension in her voice betrays her.
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. The idea of her here, out of my sight, where I can’t protect her—it’s unbearable. I’ve spent my life building control, ensuring that nothing and no one slips through the cracks. And now? Now I’m being asked to trust that someone else will keep her and the baby safe.
Damn it.
“You’re not fine, Hannah,” I say, my voice hardening. “Don’t act like you don’t matter. You’re just as important as that child.”
Her eyes snap back to mine, and for a moment, there’s fire in them. “I’m doing this for the baby,” she says through clenched teeth. “That’s all that matters.”
Her stubbornness should infuriate me, and maybe it does, but it also… captivates me. The sheer force of her will, her determination, her selflessness—it’s maddening and magnetic all at once.
Before she can respond, I close the space between us, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss is fierce, hungry, a collision of emotions neither of us is willing to admit aloud.
Her breath hitches, her fingers curling into the front of my shirt as she pulls me closer. I feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the faint curve of her stomach reminding me of everything that’s changed—and everything that’s tying her to me.
She sighs against my mouth, and I deepen the kiss, my hand slipping behind her neck to hold her in place. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of defiance and vulnerability that I can’t resist.
When I finally pull back, her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes dark with something that matches the hunger I feel.
“Makar,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
I press my forehead against hers, trying to rein in the chaos she stirs in me. “You’re mine, Hannah,” I murmur, my voice rough. “You and the baby. And I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment, I see something shift in her expression—something softer, unguarded. Before she can respond, the door creaks open, breaking the moment.
Andrei steps inside, his expression neutral but his timing deliberate. “She needs to rest,” he says, his tone calm but firm.
I glare at him briefly, but I know he’s right. Still, it takes everything in me to step away, to release her hand and rise to my feet.
“I’ll be back,” I tell her, my voice softening slightly as I meet her gaze.
She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line as she watches me.
As I move toward the door, Andrei falls into step beside me, his usual stoic demeanor firmly in place.
“You seemed… concerned,” he says after a moment, his tone carefully measured.
I glance at him, my expression hardening. “Of course I’m concerned,” I snap. “She’s carrying my child.”
Andrei smirks faintly but doesn’t comment further.
As we leave the hospital, the cold night air hits me like a slap, but it does little to cool the fire still burning inside me.
Andrei walks alongside me as we step out into the crisp night air, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence. I take a deep breath, trying to tamp down the lingering frustration gnawing at me.
“You’re on edge,” Andrei says, his tone calm but probing.
I shoot him a sharp look. “Wouldn’t you be?”
He shrugs, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Maybe. It’s not like you to let it show. This”—he gestures toward the hospital behind us—“it’s different for you.”
I don’t respond immediately, my jaw tightening as I reach the car. Andrei leans casually against the passenger door, waiting.
“Say whatever it is you’re dying to say,” I bite out, my voice low.
Andrei smirks faintly, always toeing the line of what he can get away with. “You’re not the type to get distracted, Makar. She’s a distraction. A dangerous one.”
“Watch yourself,” I warn, my tone cutting.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, undeterred. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. Meetings, alliances, enemies… now a wife and a baby. That’s a lot of vulnerabilities for a man like you.”
My fingers tighten around the keys in my hand, but I don’t lash out. “It’s not a vulnerability,” I say finally, my voice cold and even. “It’s my responsibility. My legacy.”
Andrei raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Legacy, huh? From where I’m standing, it looks like it’s more than that.”
I step closer, my gaze narrowing. “If you have a problem with how I handle my family, speak now. Otherwise, shut up and do your job.”
Andrei chuckles lightly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No problem, Boss. Just making sure you’ve got your priorities straight.”
I glare at him, but the tension between us dissipates as quickly as it formed. Andrei has a way of pushing buttons, but he’s loyal. He knows better than to cross a line.
“Get the men on rotation at the mansion,” I say, my tone curt. “I don’t want a single crack in our security while she’s not there.”
“Already done,” Andrei replies smoothly. “I’ll tighten things up. You know me—I’m nothing if not thorough.”
“Good,” I mutter, opening the car door.
As I settle into the driver’s seat, Andrei leans down, his smirk still in place. “You might want to bring her flowers next time, Boss. Women like that kind of thing.”