Chapter 35Valerian （5.5 Months Later）
35
Valerian (5.5 Months Later)
M y stomach clenches with nerves as a nurse directs me to change into scrubs. My hands shake slightly while I strip off my sweats and T-shirt. They’ve become practically a uniform during the past two weeks Claire has been in the hospital. Through the wall, I hear Claire speaking with Dr. Leven.
“Your blood pressure is too high,” says Dr. Leven. “We need to do the C-section now.”
I finish changing and stride back to Claire’s room. She lies propped up in the hospital bed, her dirty blonde hair spread across the pillow. The past two weeks of bed rest have left her pale, though her eyes brighten when I enter. “Ready to meet our babies?” She reaches for my hand.
I intertwine our fingers, studying the monitors displaying her vitals. “More than ready.”
Dr. Leve nods at me. “Time to head to the OR. We’ll take good care of both of you.”
The orderlies transfer Claire to a gurney. I walk beside her through the sterile hallways, memorizing every detail. The squeak of wheels on linoleum, the steady beep of monitors, and the murmur of voices behind closed doors.
At the OR doors, a nurse stops me. “Wait here while we get her prepped. We’ll call you in shortly.”
Reluctantly, I backtrack to the small waiting area, pacing anxiously. The past five and a half months replay in my mind—Claire’s rescue, her recovery, along with my fear and happiness at learning we were having quadruplets. Now, we are about to meet our children.
My phone buzzes with a text from Dmitri: “Jay’s doing great in the rehabilitation program. My inside contact says he’s a model inmate. Could be out in six years with good behavior.”
I smile, typing back: “Good. Keep me updated. Just not today. Dr. L decided the babies need to come out now.”
Dmitri’s reply is quick: “Best of luck to both of you. I’ll hold down the fort.”
I know he will. He’s been doing more and more of that over the past several months as I’ve distanced myself from the bratva side of my business and focused more on the legitimate side. The Steele merger went through a couple of months ago, but I’ve let Alexei take the lead on that to preserve my time for what counts. My current and future priority is and will be my family.
I continue pacing while hearing muffled voices discussing blood pressure readings and medication dosages through the OR doors. Movement at the end of the hallway draws my attention. Linda and Robert approach, their faces etched with concern. They must have gotten the text I sent earlier, when Dr. L was debating if today was the day for the C-section. Linda’s silver-streaked hair is pulled back in a neat bun, while Robert’s usually pristine button-down shows signs of being hastily tucked in.
I stop pacing and meet them halfway. “Everything’s going smoothly,” I say, keeping my voice steady. No need to mention Claire’s elevated blood pressure right now. They’ve worried enough these past months, especially since her early admission two weeks ago.
Linda steps forward, placing her hand on my arm. Her eyes shine with warmth and trust I’ve earned through proving my devotion to their daughter and their family. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
Robert nods, his hostility from the early days now replaced by grudging acceptance. “The nurses said we can wait here?”
“Yes. Dr. Leven will update you soon. I’ll be joining her when th?—”
A nurse emerges from the OR, interrupting me. “Mr. Rostova? We’re ready for you.”
With a nod to her parents, I follow the nurse. Inside, Claire is on the operating table, a blue surgical drape obscuring everything below her chest. Her face is pale but calm when she reaches for my hand.
“Hi,” she whispers.
I interlace our fingers, positioning myself by her head. The anesthesiologist adjusts something on his monitor while Dr. Leven makes the first incision.
“Baby A is coming,” Dr. Leven announces minutes later.
A sharp cry pierces the air. My grip on Claire’s hand tightens as our first daughter emerges, red-faced and angry. The process repeats for Babies B, C, and D before a nurse gestures me over.
After kissing Claire’s cheek, I move to stand by the incubators, examining our four tiny miracles. The steady beep of monitors and hum of medical equipment fills the air while I take in every detail of our children.
We’ve already picked the names, but we anticipated Claire wouldn’t be in position to assign which one to which baby, so she’s ceded that to me. Deciding our blonde-haired daughter will be Natalia, I say, “Natalia’s doing well.” Claire, who lies exhausted but radiant on the exam table, beams. “Three pounds, two ounces. The nurses say her lungs are strong for her size. She has blonde hair and blue eyes.”
I move to the next incubator. “Simone is the smallest at two pounds, fourteen ounces. She has curly brown hair and blue eyes. Oh, and look at how she’s gripping that tube. She’s a fighter.”
Claire smiles weakly. “Just like her papa.”
I chuckle softly. My gaze shifts to our sons, the pair of identical twins. “Nikolai and Andrew have dark hair and brown eyes. Kolya is three pounds even.”
“And Andrew?” Claire asks, her voice tinged with concern.
“The biggest of the bunch at three pounds, four ounces.” I place my hand on the incubator, marveling at his tiny fingers and toes. “The neonatologist says his oxygen levels are excellent.” I impart that after overhearing the conversation between him and the nurses.
A nurse approaches, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. “We need to take them to the NICU now, Mr. Rostova.”
I nod, reluctantly stepping back. Dr. Fields, the neonatologist, and his colleagues begin disconnecting monitors and preparing the incubators for transport.
“Wait,” Claire calls out, her voice cracking. “Can I... Can we hold them? Just for a moment?”
Dr. Leven looks up from finishing the surgery, her face sympathetic but firm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rostova, but it’s crucial we get them to the NICU immediately. Their immune systems are very fragile right now.”
Claire’s eyes fill with tears. I move to her side, taking her hand in mine. “Soon, lyubov moya . We’ll be able to hold them soon.”
Dr. Fields pauses by the bed, and he speaks in a soothing tone. “They’re all doing remarkably well for thirty-week preemies. Barring any complications, you should be able to take them home in four to eight weeks.”
I watch as our children are wheeled away, myriad emotions swirling within me, including pride, fear, love, and a fierce protectiveness I’ve never experienced before.
“Four to eight weeks,” says Claire with a hint of sadness, squeezing my hand. “That’s not so bad, right?”
I bring her hand to my lips, kissing it gently. “We’ve waited this long. A few more weeks won’t kill us.”
She laughs softly, then winces. “Speak for yourself. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
I brush a strand of hair from her forehead. “You were incredible. I’ve never seen anyone so strong.”
She looks up at me with a small smile. “We did it, Valerian. We’re parents.”
The reality of her words hits me. We’re parents. To four tiny, perfect human beings, who will depend on us for everything. The responsibility settles on me, but instead of feeling burdened, I feel...complete.
“Yes,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “We are.”
“Why don’t you go to NICU with the babies, Mr. Rostova, and I’ll finish here with Claire and get her into the recovery room?” says Dr. Leven.
At Claire’s nod of agreement, I follow the procession of incubators out but stop at the waiting room to speak to Linda and Robert.
“How are they?” asks Linda. “How is Claire?”
I quickly relay what I know, conscious of the babies getting farther away. I know where they’re heading, but it makes me nervous to have them out of my sight.
Robert clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Congratulations, Valerian. You must be proud.”
I nod, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Our relationship has been strained, to say the least, but right now, we’re united by our love for Claire and the babies. “Thank you, Robert. I am... more than I can express.”
Linda’s eyes brim with tears. “Tell us about them, Valerian. What do they look like?”
I describe our children in detail—Natalia’s shock of dark hair, Simone’s delicate features, Nikolai’s strong grip, and Andrew’s alert eyes. With each word, the tension in Linda and Robert’s faces eases, replaced by joy and wonder.
As I speak, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, focusing on this moment with my family. Whatever it is, it can wait. Right now, nothing is more important. After hugs and promises to return with Claire’s favorite pajamas and some home-cooked food, Linda and Robert leave. I check in with the babies in the NICU until a nurse notifies me about an hour later that Claire is back in her room after recovery.
I return and settle into the chair beside Claire’s bed, taking her hand once more. I tell her about the babies again, though they didn’t do much during the hour I watched them. She’s yawning and clearly not fully ready for conversation. “Sleep, lyubov moya .”
Claire’s eyes flutter closed, and there’s a small smile on her lips. As her breathing evens out, I allow myself a moment of vulnerability. Tears prick at my eyes when I think of our children, so small and fragile, fighting for their lives in the NICU.
I’ve faced down rival crime bosses, navigated treacherous business deals, and survived attempts on my life. Yet nothing has ever terrified me as much as the thought of failing these four tiny humans, who now depend on me.
My phone buzzes again, more insistently this time. With a sigh, I pull it out, careful not to disturb Claire. It’s a message from Dmitri: “News about Petrov Synd. Call when you can.”
I glance at Claire’s sleeping form, torn between my duty to my family and the responsibilities of my other life. For now, family comes first. I silence my phone and settle back in the chair, prepared to stand guard over the woman I love and our newborn children for as long as necessary.
The steady rhythm of Claire’s breathing and the distant beep of monitors lull me into a state of calm alertness.
Hours pass, marked only by the occasional nurse checking Claire’s vitals and the occasional buzz of my silenced phone. My phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with another message from Dmitri. I glance at it and Claire, who is still sleeping. With a sigh, I pick up the device and read the text:
“FBI finished arresting last of Petrov’s men. All will be charged by DOJ thanks to Lev’s information. First trials, including Bruno’s, are still scheduled for next week. Sneaky lawyers might try to get more time, but eventually, they’ll all be in prison.”
Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting. The world I’ve known for so long feels distant now, overshadowed by the tiny lives in the NICU. I type out a quick response:
“Good. I’m turning off my phone. Don’t contact me unless it’s an emergency.”
I power down the device and slip it into my pocket, returning my attention to Claire. She sleeps peacefully, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The harsh hospital lighting softens the lines of fatigue on her face, making her look younger and more vulnerable.
I lean forward, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips. For a moment, I’m overwhelmed by the depth of my feelings for this woman, who has changed my life so profoundly.
The quiet beep of monitors and the occasional squeak of rubber-soled shoes in the hallway create a soothing backdrop. I allow myself to relax, taking in the sight of Claire at rest. Her lips curve slightly, as if she’s dreaming of something pleasant. I wonder if she’s thinking of our children, imagining the life we’ll build together.
After a while, restlessness sets in. I stand, stretching muscles stiff from hours of sitting. My gaze lingers on Claire for a moment longer before I make my way out of the room and toward the NICU.
The hospital corridors are a maze of identical hallways, but I navigate them with purpose. I pause outside the door to their private NICU room, occupied by all four. With a deep breath, I push open the door and step inside. Despite having already visited, the sight of our tiny, fragile children hooked up to various machines unsettles me.
I approach the first incubator, where Natalia lies. Her tiny chest rises and falls rapidly, and her skin is still tinged with a faint bluish hue. I place my hand on the clear plastic, wishing I could touch her, hold her close, and protect her from the world. “Hello, malyshka ,” I whisper. “Papa’s here.”
Moving to the next incubator, I find Simone. She’s the smallest of our children, but her grip on life is fierce. Even now, her tiny fists are clenched as if she’s ready to fight whatever challenges come her way. “You’re a fighter, just like your mama,” I tell her, my voice low and filled with pride.
Kolya and Andrew occupy the last two incubators. Kolya sleeps peacefully, his face a miniature version of Claire’s. Andrew, who has an identical face, is awake, his gaze seemingly focused on me despite the nurses’ assurances that he can’t see clearly yet.
I pull up a chair, positioning myself so I can see all four of our children. The reality of fatherhood hits me anew as I sit there, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft whoosh of ventilators.
“I never thought I’d be here,” I say to them quietly. “I never thought I’d have a family of my own, but your mama changed everything.”
I lean closer to Andrew’s incubator, watching as his tiny fingers flex and curl. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” I whisper. “Things I hope you’ll never have to know about, but I promise you, all of you, that I’ll do whatever it takes to give you a better life.”
The words feel inadequate, but I press on, driven by a need to connect with these tiny beings, who have already claimed my heart. “I don’t know how to be a father,” I confess. “My own wasn’t really paternal, but I’ll learn. For you, I’ll learn.”
A nurse approaches, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Rostova? I need to check their vitals now.”
I nod, standing to give her room to work. Watching her gentle, practiced movements, a thought strikes me. “Can you... Would it be possible for me to help? To learn how to care for them?”
The nurse—her nametag reads “Sandra”—looks surprised for a moment before smiling. “Of course. It’s good for the babies to have as much contact with their parents as possible. I can show you how to change their diapers and take their temperature.”
For the next hour, Sandra patiently guides me through the basics of caring for premature infants. My hands, more accustomed to handling weapons and signing contracts, feel clumsy and oversized when I attempt to fasten a diaper smaller than my palm, but with each try, I grow more confident.
As I finish changing Andrew’s diaper, a task that would have seemed impossible just an hour ago, I feel a sense of accomplishment that rivals any business deal I’ve ever closed. Sandra nods approvingly.
“You’re a natural, Mr. Rostova. These little ones are lucky to have you.”
Her words catch me off guard, stirring emotions I’m not used to feeling. Pride, yes, but also a deep-seated fear of failing these innocent lives who depend on me so completely. I clear my throat, pushing aside the fear. “Thank you. I... I want to be here for them as much as possible. Is there anything else I can do?”
She nods. “Kangaroo care is very beneficial for preemies. It’s skin-to-skin contact. Would you like to try it with one of them?”
My heart races at the prospect of holding one of our children. “Yes,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
“Nikolai’s vitals are strong enough to start kangaroo care. It might be a few days before the others are ready for it.” Sandra helps me prepare, telling me to remove my shirt and sit in a recliner. Then, with infinite care, she lifts Kolya from his incubator and places him on my bare chest. She covers us both with a warm blanket, leaving only Nikolai’s head exposed.
The feeling of his tiny body against mine is indescribable. His warmth, the flutter of his heartbeat, and the soft puffs of breath against my skin are overwhelming. I cradle him gently, marveling at how something so small can hold so much of my heart.
“Talk to him,” Sandra encourages. “Let him hear your voice.”
I swallow hard, searching for words. What do you say to a child who’s barely begun to exist in the world? How do you express the depth of love you feel for someone you’ve just met?
“Nikolai, I’m your papa. I... I don’t know much about being a father, but I promise I’ll always be here for you. Your mother, and your sisters, and your brother are the most important people in my life now. I’ll protect you, provide for you, and love you more than you can imagine.”
As I speak, Kolya relaxes against me, his tiny body molding to my chest. It’s as if he knows he’s safe and exactly where he belongs. The realization brings a lump to my throat.
“You’re so strong,” I continue, running a finger gently along his arm. “All of you are. You’ve fought so hard to be here, and I’m so proud of you. Your mama and I, we’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”
I lose track of time while I sit there, holding my son and talking softly to him while watching my other children, longing for the moment I can hold them too. The world outside this room ceases to exist.
Eventually, Sandra returns. “It’s time to put him back in the incubator,” she says gently, “But you did wonderfully, Mr. Rostova. Nikolai’s vitals improved significantly during the kangaroo care.”
As she lifts Kolya from my chest, I feel a profound sense of loss. She settles him back into his incubator, checking his tubes and monitors with practiced efficiency.
“Can I do this again?” I ask. “With all of them?”
Sandra smiles. “Absolutely. The more, the better once they’re all stable enough. If they continue at this pace and don’t backslide, I’d expect you can be holding all of them within the next couple of days. It’s good for them, and for you too. As soon as Ms. Bennett is up for it, she can join you.”
I nod, already looking forward to the next opportunity to hold my children, and to see Claire experience it for the first time too. As I put my shirt back on, I glance at the clock and realize I’ve been in the NICU for hours. Claire will be waking soon, and I want to be there when she does.
“Thank you,” I say to Sandra.
“Of course.” She pats my arm. “You’re doing great, Mr. Rostova. Your little ones are lucky to have you.”
I take one last look at our children before leaving the NICU. The fear and uncertainty I felt earlier have been replaced by fierce determination. I don’t know everything about being a father, but I’m ready to learn. For Natalia, Simone, Kolya, and Andrew, I’ll become the man they need me to be.
As I make my way back to Claire’s room, I feel brighter than I have in years. My past and the responsibilities of my empire all seem insignificant compared to the four tiny lives in the NICU, and the woman waiting for me.
Six weeks later, the car glides to a stop in front of our mansion, and I let out a long breath. The moment we’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. I glance at Claire in the passenger seat, and she’s clearly excited. So am I.
“Ready?” I ask, reaching for her hand.
She nods, squeezing my fingers. “Let’s bring our baby girl home.”
We step out of the car, and I move to the back door, carefully extracting the car seat. Simone sleeps peacefully, her tiny face relaxed in slumber. She’s gained weight over the past few weeks, and her cheeks now have some roundness. She and the others still have catching up to do, but they’re all thriving.
As we walk up the path to our front door, memories of the past six weeks flood my mind. The endless nights at the NICU, the worry on Claire’s face, and the small victories we celebrated with each milestone our children reached seem to blur together for a moment. Finally, our family is complete and all home.
Claire opens the door, and we’re greeted by the soft sounds of a lullaby playing from the nursery. Linda appears in the hallway, a gentle smile on her face. “How is she?” she asks, peering at the car seat.
“Perfect,” says Claire in a voice thick with emotion. “She’s absolutely perfect.”
We make our way to the nursery, the room we’ve spent countless hours preparing and has been used for almost three weeks, since Kolya came home. He was the first, followed by Natalia three days later, and Andrew a week after. Then we just had to wait for our sweet, tiny Simone to catch up with the rest.
The walls are a soothing sage green, adorned with whimsical animal prints. Four cribs line the walls, three of them already occupied by our other children.
I set down Simone’s car seat gently and begin the process of unbuckling her. As I lift her out, her eyes flutter open, unfocused but alert. I cradle her close, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. “Welcome home, malyshka ,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Claire moves to check on the other babies. Natalia and Andrew sleep soundly, but Kolya is awake, waving his tiny fists in the air. She lifts him out of his crib, cradling him close.
“Look who’s here, Kolya,” she says softly, moving closer so he can see his sister. “Simone’s finally home.”
Claire reintroduces the siblings, her voice soft and full of love. The sight of her holding our son and talking to our daughter fills me with an emotion I never knew existed before becoming a father. Love seems inadequate to describe it.
Linda quietly excuses herself, likely sensing our need for privacy for this special moment. As the door closes behind her, Claire turns to me, her eyes brimming with tears.
“We did it, Valerian,” she says in a wet voice. “All four of them, home and healthy.”
I cross the room to her, Simone still nestled in my arms. Carefully, we maneuver so that each of us is holding two babies. Their weight, solid and real in our arms, humbles and pleases me in a way nothing else ever has.
“We did,” I say, leaning in to kiss Claire’s forehead.
For a moment, we stand there in silence, the only sounds the soft breathing of our children and the gentle lullaby still playing in the background. The world outside this room ceases to exist. There’s only this—our family, whole and together at last.
I think back to the man I was before Claire entered my life. The hardened crime boss and ruthless businessman. That version of me seems like a distant memory now, replaced by this new identity of father, husband, and protector of something far more precious than any empire I’ve built.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, searching my face.
I look down at Andrew and Simone in my arms, then at Kolya and Natalia in Claire’s. “I’m thinking about how different my life is now,” I admit. “How much better.”
Her smile is radiant. “I never imagined this either, you know. Four babies, a reformed crime boss for a partner...” She chuckles softly. “Life has a way of surprising you.”
“That it does.” I think of all the twists and turns that led us here. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
We fall into a comfortable silence again, each lost in our own thoughts while we hold our children. The enormity of the moment settles over me—this is real, and this is my life now. The challenges we’ve faced and obstacles we’ve overcome have all led to this perfect moment.
Andrew starts to fuss in my arms, his little face scrunching up in displeasure. I shift him slightly, patting his back in a soothing rhythm.
“Shh, malenkiy ,” I murmur. “Papa’s got you.”
Claire watches me with a soft expression. “You’re a natural.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I’ve had some practice these past few weeks.”
She laughs quietly. “True, but it’s more than that. You were meant for this, Valerian. To be their father.”
Her words warm me, chasing away the lingering doubts that sometimes plague me in the quiet moments. Can a man with my past truly be a good father? Looking at my children, feeling the unconditional love that flows through me, I know Claire is right. This is who I was always meant to be.
“We should put them down,” she says after a while. “While they’re all calm.” She glances at the wall. “It’ll be feeding time again soon enough.”
We’ve discovered a schedule is the only way to maintain sanity with multiple babies. I nod, moving to place Andrew and Simone in their cribs. Claire does the same with Kolya and Natalia. We stand back, arms around each other, admiring our handiwork.
“They’re so beautiful,” she whispers, leaning her head on my shoulder.
I press a kiss to her temple. “Just like their mother.”
She turns in my arms, her eyes meeting mine. “I love you, Valerian .”
“And I love you, Claire,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “You and our children are everything to me.”
I savor the moment. This is what I’ve been searching for all my life, even when I didn’t know it. A family. A home. A love so deep and true, it transforms everything it touches.
I pull Claire closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Thank you,” I murmur.
She looks up at me, a question in her eyes. “For what?”
“For giving me this,” I gesture to our sleeping children. “For loving me despite everything.”
Claire’s eyes shine with unshed tears. “Oh, Valerian. You’ve given me just as much. More, even. You’ve given me a family, a home, and a love I never thought I’d find.”
We stand there, holding each other, watching over our sleeping children. The world outside may still be chaotic and unpredictable, but in here, everything is perfect.
My new mission and purpose is to be the husband and father my family deserves. To create a life filled with love, laughter, and security for these four tiny humans who have claimed my heart so completely, and the woman who makes my life complete.