Chapter 49 Sophia
SOPHIA
The hospital room feels smaller when Tony walks through the door.
His green eyes scan the monitors and IV lines before landing on my face.
I see the fear there, the same terror that’s been clawing at my chest since the bleeding started.
“Soph.” His voice cracks on my name, and suddenly we’re not adults anymore. We’re kids again, and he’s my big brother who used to chase away my nightmares.
“Hey.” I try to smile, but another contraction hits, stealing my breath. Mikhail’s hand tightens on mine, and I squeeze back, riding out the wave of pain.
Tony moves to the other side of the bed, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on my shoulder. “The baby?”
“Heartbeat is strong,” Mikhail says, his voice rough. “But the placenta is partially detached. They’re monitoring both of them.”
My brother nods, his jaw clenching in that way that means he’s fighting to keep his emotions in check. I know that look. I’ve seen it before, in the hospital after he was shot, when he thought he might lose me too.
“Can you give us a minute?” I ask Mikhail softly.
He hesitates, his green eyes searching my face.
I see the reluctance there, the fear of leaving me even for a moment. But he nods and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be right outside.”
After the door closes, Tony sinks into the chair Mikhail vacated. He looks exhausted, his dark hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he threw it on in a hurry.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he says quietly. “When Mikhail called, when he said you were bleeding again…”
“I know.” I reach for his hand, and he takes it, his grip gentle despite the calluses I feel there. Evidence of his new life, his new role. “I’m scared too.”
We sit in silence for a moment, just holding hands like we used to when we were kids and Dad was on one of his rampages.
Tony was always my protector then, the one who stood between me and the worst of our father’s anger.
“I missed so much,” he says suddenly. “Six years, Sophia. Six years of your life that I can never get back.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” I squeeze his hand. “Lorenzo took that from both of us.”
“I should have fought harder. Shouldn’t have let myself get brainwashed. You’re my family.” His voice is thick with guilt. “Instead, I let you think I was dead. Let you grieve for me while I was living a lie.”
“You were brainwashed. Conditioned. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
He looks at me, and I see tears gathering in his eyes. “When I heard you were in the hospital, all I could think was that I might lose you again. For real this time. And I haven’t even told you how proud I am of you.”
The words catch me off guard. “Proud?”
“You survived being kidnapped by a mafia boss. You turned that situation into something real, something good. You’re helping Mikhail go legitimate, using your brain to solve problems that used to be solved with bullets.
” He shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips.
“You’re incredible, little sister. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you become this strong. ”
Tears blur my vision. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. “I’m going to help you and Mikhail build something better. The legitimate businesses, the strategic planning, all of it. I believe in what you’re trying to do.”
“But you’re still overseeing some of the mafia operations.” It’s not a question. Mikhail and I agreed that going completely legitimate would leave us too vulnerable, too exposed to enemies who would see it as weakness.
“For now,” Tony confirms. “Until the transition is complete. Until Mikhail’s position is secure enough that walking away won’t trigger a war.
” He leans forward. “But I promise you, Sophia, I’m working toward the day when we can all leave that life behind.
When your daughter can grow up without looking over her shoulder. ”
“Daughter?” I place my free hand on my belly, feeling the flutter of movement. “How do you know it’s a girl?”
“Just a feeling.” His smile widens. “And she’s going to be just as stubborn and brilliant as her mother.”
We talk about everything then.
About our childhood, the good memories mixed with the bad.
About Dad, and how we’re both still processing the truth of what happened to him.
About Mom, who died when I was so young I barely remember her face.
“Do you think about them?” I ask. “Our parents?”
“All the time.” Tony’s expression grows distant.
“I think about what Dad could have been if he hadn’t gotten mixed up with the wrong people.
If he’d gotten help for his drinking instead of drowning in it.
And Mom…” He swallows hard. “I wish you could have known her better. She was kind, Sophia. So kind it hurt her to see the world as it really was.”
“Tell me about her.” I need this, need to hear about the mother I lost too soon.
So he does.
He tells me about her laugh, how it sounded like music. About the way she used to sing while cooking, old Italian songs her grandmother taught her.
About how she’d read to us every night, even when Dad was raging in the other room, her voice steady and calm like she could create a bubble of safety with just her words.
“She would have loved you so much,” Tony says, his voice breaking. “She would have been so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
Another contraction hits, stronger this time, and I gasp. Tony’s on his feet instantly, his hand on the call button.
“I’m okay,” I manage. “It’s just…they’re getting closer together.”
The door opens and Mikhail rushes in, his face pale. “What’s wrong?”
“Contractions,” I tell him. “They’re getting stronger.”
A nurse follows him in, checking the monitors with practiced efficiency. Her expression grows serious as she studies the readouts.
“I’m going to get the doctor,” she says, her voice carefully neutral in that way medical professionals have when they’re trying not to alarm you.
Mikhail takes my hand, and Tony moves to stand at the foot of the bed.
My brother and my husband, the two most important men in my life, both looking at me with identical expressions of fear and determination.
“Whatever happens,” I tell them both, “we face it together. No more secrets. No more trying to protect each other by hiding the truth. We’re family, and family sticks together.”
“Always,” Tony promises.
“Forever,” Mikhail adds, his thumb stroking across my knuckles.
Dr. Chen enters, her expression grave as she reviews my chart. “Mrs. Artyomov, your contractions are increasing in frequency and intensity. The baby is showing signs of distress. We need to prepare for the possibility of an emergency delivery.”
“But it’s too early.” My voice sounds small, frightened. “She’s only seven months.”
“I know. But if we don’t deliver soon, we risk losing both of you.
” Dr. Chen moves closer, her brown eyes kind but serious.
“I need to be very clear about something. Given the complications, given the placental abruption and the baby’s premature status, there’s a possibility we may have to make a choice. ”
The words hang in the air, heavy and terrible.
“What kind of choice?” Mikhail’s voice is deadly quiet.
Dr. Chen looks between us, and I see the weight of what she’s about to say in her expression. “If complications arise during delivery, if we can’t save both of you, we need to know your wishes. Do we prioritize the mother or the baby?”
The question steals the air from my lungs.
I look at Mikhail, see the horror in his eyes, the absolute refusal to accept this reality.
Then I look at Tony, who’s gone pale, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“There has to be another option,” Mikhail says, his voice rising. “There has to be a way to save them both.”
“We’ll do everything in our power,” Dr. Chen assures him. “But I need to know, if it comes down to it, what do you want us to do?”
I already know my answer.
I made Mikhail promise earlier, made him swear he’d save our baby if it came to that.
But looking at his face now, seeing the devastation there, I realize what I’m asking of him.
I’m asking him to choose between us.
And there’s no right answer.