Chapter 37 Sera
Sera
I’m so tired. From the blood loss, pain, terror, and the drugs the doctors had pumped me full of as they prepped me for a C-Section.
Yet I do my best to stay awake. I want to be there for my son.
My poor baby who I’ve failed over and over.
But my eyes are heavy, and I can barely focus on the sounds around me.
I take in the beeping of machines and the muffle of voices. Everything feels far away, and the more I try to grab onto things, the less I’m able to take hold of them.
"—vitals are stable—"
"—blood pressure normalizing—"
"—prepare the NICU—"
NICU.
I panic and try to move. To speak.
But my body won't cooperate.
I want to scream but I can't find my voice.
Then nothing.
Just darkness pulling me back under.
I feel a tear slip down my cheek. I’m missing the birth of my son, and I hate myself for it.
When I wake again, it's different.
The beeping is still there, but it’s quieter, and things feel less frantic.
My eyes feel heavy. Sticky. I force them open.
White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. Hospital room.
I turn my head slowly. Everything hurts. My stomach. My back. My—
The baby.
My hands move instinctively to my stomach.
Flat.
Empty.
Bandaged.
Panic floods through me. "No—"
"Sera."
Adrian's voice is warm and call. He’s immediately beside me.
He looks absolutely exhausted, and I feel that grip of panic tighten my chest. The machine monitoring me is going haywire.
"The baby—" My voice comes out hoarse. Broken. "Where's my baby—"
"He's alive." Adrian takes my hand. His grip is firm. "He's okay. You're both okay." He says it as though he needs to remind himself.
I sob. "I want to see him." I'm trying to sit up. Pain shoots through my abdomen and I gasp.
"Easy." Adrian's hands are on my shoulders, gently pushing me back down. "You just had major surgery. You need to rest."
"I need to see my son." Tears are already streaming down my face. "Please. I need to know he's real. That he's—"
"He's real." Adrian's voice is gentle. Gentler than I've ever heard it. "He's in the NICU. He's small, but he's strong. A fighter. Just like his mother."
"Can I—"
"Yes. But you can't walk yet. I'll take you." He's already moving, carefully helping me sit up, maneuvering the IV lines and monitors. There’s a wheelchair beside me.
“The nurses suspected the first thing you’d want to do is see him,” he says, maneuvering me. “So, they showed me how to move things.”
My entire body feels like it's been torn apart and put back together wrong.
But I don't care.
I need to see him.
Adrian helps me into a wheelchair. Pushes me out of my room, down the hall, toward the NICU.
The nurses nod at us as we pass. Respectful. No one stops us. I’m grateful. If they did, I’d probably rip myself apart to get to him. There’s no feeling like waking up with your womb empty, and your child nowhere to be found.
And even though Adrian has assured me our son is fine, I need to see him.
To know for myself.
We go through two sets of doors. Into a room filled with incubators and monitors and tiny, impossibly small babies.
And there he is.
In an incubator near the back. A tiny hat on his head. His eyes closed. His chest rising and falling with each breath. There’s a tag “Baby Boy Nero.”
My son. I’d know him anywhere.
"Angelo," I whisper. The name comes from nowhere and everywhere at once. We never discussed it, but it feels right. "My angel."
"Angelo," Adrian repeats softly. "I like that."
I press my hand against the incubator glass. Wishing I could touch him. Hold him. Feel his weight in my arms.
"Why can't I hold him?" My voice breaks.
"He needs to stay warm. And you—" Adrian crouches beside my wheelchair. "You can't lift anything heavy yet. Doctor's orders. Your body needs time to heal."
I want to point out that I’m his mother.
He needs me. And he’s so small, I don’t imagine he’d be classified as heavy.
But something in the way Adrian looks at me tells me arguing won’t help.
My breast ache—my milk—and it’s only because I know it’s for the best, that I’m able to stop myself from ripping my son out of the incubator.
"How long?"
"A few days. Maybe a week. Then you can hold him as much as you want."
It's not fair. I carried him for thirty-three weeks. Went through hell, and now I can't even hold him.
But he's alive.
We're both alive.
That's what matters.
I try my best to focus on that instead of the ache in my arms.
"What happened?" I ask, still watching Angelo breathe. "During the surgery?"
"Placental abruption." Adrian's voice is clinical.
Controlled. This is hard for him. I can tell.
"The doctors think it happened during the explosion at the mansion.
The fall. The trauma. It ruptured fully when you went into labor.
" He pauses, taking a deep breath. I know him well enough to sense the shakiness in it.
"You were bleeding internally. If we'd gotten there even ten minutes later—"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Doesn't need to. I remember the pain. The blood. It’s a memory that will never leave me.
"But you didn't," I say softly. "You found me. You saved us."
"Barely." His hand finds mine. "I've never been that scared in my life."
I look at him. Really look at him.
He's changed clothes. Clean shirt. No blood. But there are shadows under his eyes. Tension in his jaw. His hand is bandaged.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I punched a wall. While you were in surgery."
"Adrian—"
"I couldn't do anything else." His voice is rough. "I couldn't control it. Couldn't fix it. Couldn't help you. So, I punched a wall."
I squeeze his hand. "I'm okay. We're okay."
"I know." But I can hear the strain in his voice. The barely controlled emotion. "You scared the hell out of me, Seraphina."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He stands, kissing my forehead. "Just don't do it again."
"I'll try."
We sit there in silence for a moment. Watching our son. Our miracle. I smile as I take in his little tuft of dark hair. “He’s going to look like you,” I say.
Adrian snorts. “Right now, he looks like a potato.”
His words make me laugh, but then, pain spikes through my stomach and reality creeps back in.”
"Gabe," I say quietly. "What happened to him?"
Adrian's expression hardens. "He's alive."
I can’t help it—I’m surprised. I assumed my brother would be dead the moment Adrian caught sight of him.
"Did he escape again?” I feel weary just asking the question. Gabe is like a cat. Apparently, he has nine lives.
But Adrian shakes his head.
"I’ve got him. He’s being held. In a secure location."
"Adrian—"
"He hurt you, Sera. He kidnapped you. He cut you." His voice is ice. I lift my hand, surprised to find it bandaged. I’d forgotten all about my ear in the midst of everything. "He doesn't get to walk away from that."
"He helped me at the end." The words come out fast. Desperate. "He was going to let me go. To get me to a hospital. If you hadn't blown the door—"
"If I hadn't blown the door, he might have changed his mind. Again." Adrian's jaw is tight. "He's unstable. Dangerous. He can't be trusted."
"He's my brother." Reminding Gabe of our childhood didn’t just affect him, it reminded me of my duty to him. He’s family. Despite everything.
"He stopped being your brother when he drugged you and took you from our home."
"Please." I look up at him. "Don't kill him."
"Sera—"
"Please, Adrian. I know what he did. I know he deserves it. But I can't—" My voice breaks. "He's the only family I have left. Besides you. Besides Angelo. I don’t think I could live with myself. "
Adrian is quiet for a long moment. Studying me.
"He told me where to find you," he finally says. "When I had my gun on him. He could have stayed silent. Let me waste time. But he told me you were hurt. That you needed help." His voice is carefully neutral. "That's the only reason he's still alive."
Relief floods through me. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." He crouches beside me again. "I'm not letting him go. But I'm not killing him either. I'm turning him over to the feds."
My breath catches. "The feds?"
"He's been informing on the Morozovs. Stealing from them. Working with mercenaries. The federal government wants him almost as much as Alexei does. He fucked them. Used them. They aren’t happy, and he’s got nothing more to trade.
" His eyes meet mine. "He'll go to prison.
Probably for a long time. But he'll be alive. And away from you. Away from our son."
It's not perfect.
But it's better than dead.
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."
"And Sera?" His voice drops. "If he ever comes near you again. If he ever threatens you or Angelo or anyone in this family—I won't hesitate. Understand?"
"I understand."
He kisses my forehead again. Then stands, pushing my wheelchair closer to Angelo's incubator.
"What about Leo?" I ask. "Is he—"
"He's fine. Recovering. The surgery went well." Adrian's voice softens slightly. "He's been asking about you. About the baby."
"I want to see him."
He sighs. I know he doesn’t like that I’m asking about another man, but he’s going to have to get over it. Leo was gravely injured protecting me, and it’s not something I’ll soon forget.
"You will. When you're stronger."
I nod. Still watching Angelo breathe.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "For trying to save Leo. For putting myself at risk. I should have run. I should have—"
"Stop." Adrian's hand touches my shoulder. "You saved his life. You're a protector, Sera. That's who you are. I love that about you." He pauses. "But from now on? Your priority is Angelo. And yourself. Let me handle the rest."
"I've learned my lesson," I admit. "I protect what's mine. My son. My family. But I'm yours to protect. I understand that now."
And I did. Sure, it might chafe at times, but I can’t focus on everyone. One everything.
That’s Adrian’s job.
I look at my son’s little body. He needs my focus. And he’ll have it. Always.
"Good."
We're quiet for another moment. Then I remember.
"Your mother," I say softly. "Bianca. Is she—"
"Dead." The word is flat. Final. "She died during surgery. Internal bleeding. They couldn't save her. She was at the front of the house when the explosion occurred. It was a miracle she even survived that.”
"Adrian—" I reach for his hand. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." His voice is carefully controlled. "She lived the life she chose. Died the way she probably would have wanted. In power until the end."
I nod because he’s probably right. But still…
"Are you okay?"
He's quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. I should feel something. Grief. Relief. Anger. But I just feel—" He stops. "Empty."
"You're allowed to feel however you feel," I tell him gently. "She was complicated. Your relationship was complicated."
"Her death makes me Don.” His voice is hollow. "It’s everything I've been fighting for. And now that I have it—"
"It doesn't feel how you thought it would."
"No."
I squeeze his hand. "You're a good man, Adrian. Better than you think. You'll be a good Don. A good father. A good husband."
"Perhaps.”
"I know it." I lean my head against his arm. "I won’t let you be anything else.”
We sit there, watching our son. Our miracle baby who came too early but fought anyway. Who survived explosions and kidnapping and emergency surgery.
Who's here.
Alive.
With us.
"We're going to be okay," I say quietly. "All of us. We're going to be okay."
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I actually believe it.
We're broken. Bruised. Traumatized.
But we're alive.
We're together.
We're a family.
And that's enough.
That's more than enough.
I look at Angelo through the glass. At his tiny chest rising and falling. At his perfect little face.
My angel.
Our son.
Our future.
And I smile.
Because despite everything—the violence, the fear, the pain—we made it.
We survived.
And we're going to build something beautiful from the ashes.
A life. A family. A future.
Together.