Chapter 25 Mila
Mila
Alexei looks like hell.
He’s sitting in a plastic hospital chair beside my bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His hair is messed up, and his shirt is wrinkled. I’ve never seen him look anything less than perfectly composed.
“Hey,” I whisper.
His head snaps up, and relief floods his face. “Thank God. How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” I try to sit up, but my head starts spinning. “What happened?”
“You collapsed. You’ve been unconscious for more than an hour.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Scared the hell out of me.”
The memories come flooding back. Papa’s kidnapping. The rescue planning. The argument about me staying behind. Then everything went black.
“Is the baby okay?”
“Dr. Orlov is on his way. He’ll tell us for sure, but your vitals are stable.”
I look around the sterile hospital room. White walls. Beeping machines. The smell of disinfectant that makes my stomach turn. “Where are we?”
“A private medical facility. Same place they treated you after the university incident.”
“You mean after you beat up my ex-boyfriend.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “Yeah, that place.”
The door opens, and Dr. Orlov enters carrying his medical bag. His face is serious as he approaches the bed.
“How are you feeling, Mila?”
“Dizzy. Tired. Like my head is full of cotton.”
He pulls out a blood pressure cuff and wraps it around my arm. The squeeze is uncomfortable as it inflates.
“When did you last eat?”
“A few hours ago. The borscht Alexei made.”
“Anything since then?”
“I’ve been too worried about Papa to think about food.”
Dr. Orlov frowns at the reading and takes it again.
“What is it?” Alexei asks.
“Your blood pressure’s dangerously high—one-sixty over one-ten. We need to bring it down fast.”
My stomach drops. “What does that mean?”
“It means your body’s under too much stress,” he says quietly. “If we don’t calm it, you and the baby are at risk.”
“Easier said than done,” I mutter.
“Mila, I need you to understand how serious this is. Your body is responding to emotional trauma in ways that could harm you and your baby.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Immediate stress reduction. Bed rest. Monitoring. No emotional triggers or situations that could elevate your anxiety.”
Alexei leans forward. “What counts as emotional triggers?”
“Anything that causes her heart rate to spike. Arguments. Frightening news. Situations where she feels helpless or out of control.”
I laugh bitterly. “So basically, everything about my life right now.”
“This isn’t a joke, Mila. Your blood pressure is high enough to cause serious complications. If it doesn’t come down soon, we might need to consider hospitalization. Until delivery, if necessary.”
The thought of spending the next seven months in a hospital bed makes panic rise in my throat. “That’s not going to happen.”
“It might not be your choice,” Dr. Orlov gently replies. “Your health and the baby’s health have to come first.”
“What about my father? He’s being tortured by Novikov’s men while we sit here talking about bed rest.”
Alexei and Dr. Orlov look at each other.
“That’s the kind of stress we need to eliminate,” the doctor says.
“Eliminate? He’s my father. I can’t just stop caring about whether he lives or dies.”
“You can stop participating in the rescue planning,” Alexei suggests. “Stop listening to intelligence reports. Stop putting yourself in situations where you feel responsible for outcomes you can’t control.”
“But I am responsible. If I hadn’t gotten involved with you, Papa wouldn’t be a target.”
“That’s not true,” Alexei states firmly. “Your father was already involved in this world and making enemies. You didn’t cause this.”
“But Novikov took him to get to you. To get to us.”
Dr. Orlov stands and packs his equipment. “This conversation is what I’m talking about. Guilt. Blame. Feeling responsible for things beyond your control. All of it elevates stress hormones that are dangerous for pregnancy.”
“So, what am I supposed to do? Pretend my father isn’t in danger?”
The doctor pats my knee in a placating gesture. “You’re supposed to trust that the people who care about you are handling the situation while you focus on taking care of yourself and your baby.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
“It’s necessary whether or not it’s easy.” Dr. Orlov looks at Alexei. “She needs rest. No discussions about rescue operations. No updates on threats or security issues. Nothing that could trigger anxiety.”
“I’ll handle it,” Alexei says.
“Your lifestyle involves constant danger and stress. That’s not compatible with a healthy pregnancy.”
“We’ll make it compatible.”
Dr. Orlov doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll be back in the morning to check her blood pressure. If it hasn’t improved significantly, we’ll need to discuss more aggressive interventions.”
After he leaves, Alexei and I sit in the quiet for several minutes. The only sound is the beeping of the monitor attached to my arm.
His phone goes off with a text from the nightstand. Alexei reaches for it, glances at the screen, and starts typing a response.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Boris. The tactical meeting for your father’s rescue was supposed to start twenty minutes ago.” He finishes typing and sets the phone aside. “I told them to proceed without me.”
“Alexei, you should go. This is about Papa—”
“No.” His voice carries finality. “You’re more important than any meeting. They have the intelligence reports. They know the plan. They can coordinate without me for now.”
“What if they need you to make decisions?”
“Then they’ll call. But I’m not going to leave you alone in a hospital bed to sit in a room and discuss strategy I already know. Your health comes first.”
He leans back in his chair and rubs his temples. The weight of competing priorities shows in the way his shoulders slump.
“This is my fault,” he finally blurts out.
“What?”
“Your stress. The high blood pressure. All of it. If I hadn’t gotten you involved in this world, you’d be safe at the university and writing your dissertation.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That’s not helpful right now.”
“Maybe not, but it’s true.”
I study his face. The guilt there is real.
“Do you regret getting involved with me?”
He whips his head from side to side. “No. Never. But I regret what it’s cost you. You’re in a hospital bed with dangerously high blood pressure because of choices I made.”
“Choices we made. Together. Everything else is just consequence.”
Alexei reaches for my hand again. “Maybe some consequences are too high a price.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? If being with me puts you and our baby at risk—”
“Then we figure out how to minimize the risk. We don’t just give up.”
“How? Dr. Orlov is right about my lifestyle and this world I live in. It’s not compatible with a peaceful pregnancy.”
“Then we change what we can and adapt to what we can’t.”
He throws his hands in the air and asks, “And if that’s not enough?”
Neither of us knows the answer. Neither of us can guarantee that love is enough to overcome the reality of who we are and where we come from.
His phone rings from the nightstand. Alexei reaches for it.
“Don’t answer,” I say. “Dr. Orlov said no stress.”
“It’s Sasha.”
“Who?”
“My sister. She’s calling from London.”
I remember the brief mention of her during family conversations. The youngest Kozlov. The one they’re all trying to protect from this world.
“You’re talking to her,” he states, not asking for my opinion. “She’s not involved in any of the business, not intimately, anyway. You need to hear from someone who exists outside all this darkness.”
“Alexei—”
“This isn’t negotiable. You need normal conversation with normal people, and Sasha is the most normal person in my family.”
“Answer it,” I encourage after a moment of thought. “You’re right. Maybe talking to someone normal will help.”
Alexei puts the call on speaker. “Sasha.”
“Alexei! I’ve been worried sick. Dmitri told me about Mila’s father and the pregnancy and everything that’s happening. Is she okay?”
Her voice is warm and genuinely concerned, not the detached tone I’ve come to expect from people in this world.
“She’s here. In the hospital. High blood pressure from stress.”
“Oh, honey. That’s terrible. Can I talk to her?”
Alexei looks at me questioningly. I nod.
“Hi Sasha. I’m Mila.”
“I’m so sorry about everything you’re going through. Pregnancy is hard enough without all this drama.”
“Drama is one word for it.”
She laughs. “Trust me, I know how overwhelming this family can be. They mean well, but they have zero concept of stress management.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Are you getting proper medical care, at least?”
“Dr. Orlov seems competent. He just wants me to eliminate stress from my life.”
“Good luck with that while dating a Kozlov. It’s like trying to eliminate water from the ocean.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Exactly.”
“Can I give you some advice? From someone who’s spent her entire life managing anxiety in this family?”
“Please.”
“Control what you can control and let go of everything else. I know that sounds simplistic, but it’s the only way to survive in this world without losing your mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can control whether you eat regularly, get enough sleep, and take your vitamins. You can control whether you listen to news updates or remove yourself from stressful conversations. You can’t control whether your father gets rescued or whether your boyfriend makes smart tactical decisions.”
“How do you just stop caring about the things you can’t control?”
“You don’t stop caring; you just stop trying to manage outcomes that aren’t yours to manage.”
I think about what she’s saying. It makes sense, but putting it into practice feels impossible.
“I have anxiety attacks,” Sasha continues. “They started when I was sixteen and figured out what my family does for a living. The panic attacks were so bad, I couldn’t breathe.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Therapy. Medication when needed. And boundaries. Lots and lots of boundaries.”
“What kind of boundaries?”
“I don’t listen to details. I don’t get updates on threats or security issues. I love my brothers, but I don’t involve myself in their business decisions.”
“That seems easier when you’re in London.”
“Geography helps, but it’s about mental discipline. Training yourself not to engage with information that causes anxiety.”
“Dr. Orlov said something similar. No discussions about rescue operations or threat assessments.”
“That’s why he’s been the family doctor for so long. Your stress doesn’t help anyone. Worrying about your father doesn’t make his rescue more likely; it just makes you sick.”
“I know that intellectually. But emotionally—”
“Emotionally, you feel responsible for outcomes you can’t control. I get it. But responsibility and guilt are different things. You can feel responsible for supporting the people you love without feeling guilty about things that aren’t your fault.”
Alexei has been listening to our conversation with growing interest. Like he’s hearing strategies he’s never considered.
“Will you visit?” I ask Sasha. “When things calm down?”
“I’m already looking at flights. Someone needs to teach you proper stress management before my brother drives you insane.”
“Hey,” Alexei protests. “I’m trying to protect her.”
“Well, you’re doing a terrible job if she’s in the hospital with high blood pressure in her first trimester.”
“Point taken.”
“I’ll call tomorrow to check on you,” Sasha tells me. “In the meantime, try to sleep. Turn off your phone. Don’t think about anything except taking care of yourself and that baby.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do it. This family has survived for generations without your help. They’ll manage one rescue operation without you monitoring every detail.”
After the call ends, Alexei stands and walks to my bedside. He adjusts the pillow behind my head, then reaches for the water pitcher on the side table. “You need to drink something.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Doesn’t matter. Dehydration makes everything worse.” He fills a plastic cup and holds it out to me. When I take it, he brushes a strand of hair away from my face with gentle fingers. “Better?”
I nod, surprised by how such a simple touch can make me feel more grounded.
The conversation with Sasha has left me feeling calmer than I’ve been in weeks.
Control what you can control and let go of everything else.
Right now, the only thing I can control is whether I rest or continue to spiral into an anxious state that helps no one.
I close my eyes and try to let go of everything except the steady rhythm of my heartbeat and the knowledge that I’m growing a life that needs me to be healthy.
Everything else will have to wait.