Chapter 28 Svetlana
SVETLANA
The clinic is sterile and quiet, clearly the type of place that doesn’t ask questions.
I sit on the examination table while a doctor checks my vitals and listens to the baby's heartbeat.
Kazimir stands against the wall, his injured hand cradled against his chest, his eyes never leaving me.
The bandage is soaked through now, dark red spreading across the white gauze.
He needs medical attention, but he's refused to leave my side even when the doctor suggested it.
"The baby's heartbeat is strong, from what I can tell," the doctor says, moving the wand carefully inside of me. "No signs of distress. But you should rest. No strenuous activity for at least a week. And if you experience any cramping, bleeding, or—"
"She'll rest," Kazimir says. His voice is rough, exhausted. "I'll make sure of it."
The doctor nods, making notes on a tablet. "I'll prescribe something for the pain and inflammation. And prenatal vitamins. You're malnourished—not severely, but enough that I'm concerned. You need to eat regularly. Small meals, high protein."
I nod, barely processing the words. The baby is okay. That's all that matters. Everything else—the bruises, the exhaustion—can wait.
The doctor leaves, and Kazimir moves to my side immediately. His good hand cups my face, tilting my head up so he can look at me.
"You're sure you're okay?" he asks. "Tell me the truth, Svetlana. If something's wrong—"
"I'm okay." I cover his hand with mine, holding it against my cheek. "We're okay."
He exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Then he leans down and presses his forehead to mine, his eyes closing. "I thought I'd lost you. When I realized they'd taken you—"
"But you found me." My voice cracks. "You came for me."
"Always." He pulls back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes fierce. "I will always come for you. No matter what. No matter where. You understand that?"
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and then it opens. Ilya steps inside, his expression unreadable. He looks at me, then at Kazimir, then back to me.
I stiffen. Kazimir betrayed him. He should have killed Kazimir for what he did. And yet here Kazimir stands, alive. Injured, but alive.
"The doctor says you're cleared to leave," Ilya says. His voice is neutral, giving nothing away. "Kazimir will take you home."
Home. I don't even know where that is anymore. Kazimir's apartment? Somewhere new?
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For helping. For—"
"Don't." Ilya's voice is sharp, cutting me off. "Don't thank me. I didn't do this for you."
He looks at Kazimir then, something passing between them that I can't read. Then he turns and leaves without another word.
I stare at the closed door, my mind racing. "He knows," I say. "About us. About the baby."
"Yes."
"And he didn't kill you."
"No." Kazimir's jaw tightens. "He didn't."
"Why?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he lifts his right hand—the bandaged one—and holds it up between us. "Because I paid for it."
I look at the bandage, at the blood seeping through, and something cold settles in my stomach. "What do you mean?"
"Svetlana—"
"What did he do?" My voice rises, panic threading through it. "Kazimir, what did he do to you?"
He hesitates, then slowly begins unwrapping the bandage. The gauze is stuck to his skin with dried blood, and he has to peel it away carefully. When he finally reveals his hand, I stop breathing.
His index finger is gone. Not broken, not injured—gone. Cut off cleanly—the wound stitched closed and the flesh reddened around it.
"Oh my God." The words come out as barely a whisper. "Oh my God, Kazimir—"
"It's fine." He says it like it's nothing, like he hasn't just shown me a part of himself that's missing. "It's a small price to pay."
"A small price?" I'm shaking now, my hands reaching for his, cradling the injured hand as gently as I can. "He cut off your finger. He—"
"I told him everything." Kazimir's voice is steady, matter-of-fact. "About us. About the baby. About how I'd been lying to him. I told him I deserved to die for it, and I meant it. But he gave me a choice instead. My life for my finger. My life so I could save you."
Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and fast. "You told him. You knew he might kill you, and you told him anyway."
"I had to." He uses his good hand to wipe my tears away, his touch gentle. "You were gone. They'd taken you. I needed his help to get you back."
I can't speak. Can't breathe. All I can do is stare at his hand, at the place where his finger should be, and feel the weight of what he sacrificed crushing down on me.
"I would have given more," he says quietly. "If he'd asked for my whole hand, I would have given it. If he'd asked for both hands, I would have given them. My head. My life. Whatever it took to get you back and keep you safe."
"Kazimir—"
"I love you." The words come out raw and startling, stripped completely bare. "I love you, Svetlana. I love you and our baby, and I would burn the whole world down before I let anyone hurt you again. Do you understand that? Do you understand what you mean to me?"
I'm sobbing now, my whole body shaking with it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I made you work so hard. I made you prove yourself over and over, and you lost your finger because of me, and—"
"No." He pulls me against his chest, his good arm wrapping around me and holding me tight.
"No, Svetlana. Don't apologize. Don't you dare apologize.
I deserved it. I deserved every second of doubt, every wall you put up, every time you pushed me away.
I hurt you. I hurt you so badly, and I needed to prove that I would never do it again.
That I would spend the rest of my life making sure you never felt that pain again. "
"But your finger—"
“—is nothing." He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes fierce.
"It's nothing compared to losing you. It's nothing compared to what I put you through.
If this is what it took to prove to you that I love you, that I choose you, that I will always choose you—then it was worth it a thousand times over. "
I can't stop crying or shaking. All I can do is hold onto him and let the weight of everything—the fear, the relief, the love, the guilt—wash over me in waves.
"Is this enough?" he asks, and there's something in his voice that makes my heart crack open. "Have I proven it to you? That I love you? That I want you? That I'm yours?"
"Yes." The word comes out broken, barely audible. "Yes. God, yes. You didn't have to—you shouldn't have had to—"
"But I did." He kisses my forehead, my temple, my tear-stained cheeks.
"And I would do it again. I would do worse.
Because you're mine, Svetlana. You're mine, and I'm yours, and I will never let you go.
But I don't want you to stay just because I won't let you leave. I want you to stay because you want to. Because you choose me the way I choose you.”
I look up at him, at the man who has hurt me and saved me and loved me and sacrificed for me. This man who gave up a piece of himself to prove what I mean to him. This man who is looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
"I already have," I whisper. "I chose you when you kissed me and we ended up in bed again. I choose you, Kazimir. I choose you and I love you and I won’t ever try to run away again."
He leans in and kisses me, gently, but it feels as desperate as any other kiss we’ve ever shared. His good hand cups my cheek, holding me there, and when he pulls back, his eyes are wet.
"Let's go home," he says quietly.
We go back to his apartment. There’s no sign of what happened to Artem—Ilya must have sent cleaners. Kazimir looks at me as we step inside.
“Is this okay?” he asks worriedly. “After what happened… I would understand if you don’t want to be back here.”
I shake my head. “You’re here with me. It’s fine. I want to be here. At least until we find a place of our own.”
I see his face brighten at that, at the casual mention of our future, proof that I’m not going anywhere. That I truly have chosen him.
"You should rest." His voice is soft and full of concern. "The doctor said—"
"I know what the doctor said." I turn in his arms, looking up at him. "But I don't want to rest yet."
His eyes darken, understanding flickering in them. "Svetlana—"
"I need you." The words come out raw, full of desire. "I need to feel you. I need to know this is real. That we're real. That we're safe."
He studies my face for a long moment, searching for something. Then he nods, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Okay. But we go slow. And if anything hurts, if you need to stop—"
"I'll tell you." I turn my head, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I promise."
He scoops me into his arms and I don’t protest, curling into his chest. He carries me into his bedroom this time, a room I haven’t been in, with a massive king platform bed in the center of the room and a huge window overlooking the city.
He sets me down and faces me, his hands gentle as they frame my face.
"Are you sure?" he asks. "We don't have to—"
I kiss him, cutting off his words. "I'm sure. I need this. I need you."
He kisses me again, deeper this time, his good hand sliding into my hair. His injured hand hangs at his side, and I'm careful not to jostle it as I press closer to him.
We undress each other slowly and carefully. Every piece of clothing that falls away reveals new bruises, new marks from what I've been through. Kazimir's jaw tightens each time he sees one, his eyes going dark with rage and guilt.
"Don't," I whisper, placing my hand over his heart. "Don't blame yourself. I'm here. I'm alive. That's what matters."
He nods, but I can see the need to protect me warring with the knowledge that he can't change what's already happened. What happened isn’t something we can heal from immediately, but in time, we’ll be okay. We both will.
When we're both naked, he guides me to the bed, laying me down carefully. He hovers over me, his weight supported on his good arm, his eyes searching mine.
"Tell me if anything hurts," he says again.
"I will."
He kisses me, slow and deep, pouring everything he feels into it. His good hand trails down my body, mapping every curve, every dip, every place that makes me gasp. He's careful, avoiding the bruises, the tender spots.
When his fingers slip into me, I arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips. He works me slowly, building the pleasure with patient, deliberate movements. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers thrust inside me, and I feel myself climbing higher.
"That's it," he murmurs against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck. "Let go for me, dorogoy. I've got you."
The orgasm crashes over me in waves, and I cry out, my hands fisting in the sheets. He works me through it, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until I'm boneless and gasping beneath him.
When I finally come back down, he's watching me with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you too." He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes never leaving mine as he pushes inside slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust. The stretch is perfect, filling me completely, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He moves with slow, deliberate thrusts, his good hand braced beside my head, his injured hand resting carefully on the bed. "More," I breathe, my hands sliding up his back. "Kazimir, please—"
He picks up the pace slightly, his hips snapping against mine with more force. The pleasure builds again, coiling tight in my belly, and I feel myself climbing toward another peak.
"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough. "I want to feel you come around me."
I slide my hand between us, my fingers finding my clit. The added stimulation sends me spiraling, and within seconds I'm coming again, my body clenching around him as I cry out his name.
He follows me over the edge, his body going rigid as he spills inside me. His good arm trembles with the effort of holding himself up, and then he carefully rolls to the side, pulling me with him so we're lying face to face.
We stay like that for a long time. His hand rests on my stomach, and I cover it with mine.
"We're going to be okay," I say softly. "All three of us."
"I know." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'm going to make sure of it."
And lying there in his arms, in our home, with our baby growing between us, I believe him.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I believe in the future.
I believe in us.