ARTUR
I watch Emma waddle around the dining table, her hand reaching out to snag a slice of freshly baked bread as she passes by.
She hates when I use that word, “waddle,” always swatting at me when I tease her about it, but fuck if it isn’t accurate.
Her belly is massive now, round and tight, stretching the fabric of her dress.
She’s due any day now, and I can see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she rubs her lower back when she thinks no one’s watching.
But Christ, she’s beautiful. My heart swells every damn time I look at her, every time I see her carrying our child. Our daughter. The ultrasound confirmed it months ago, and I’ve been walking on air ever since.
“The damn baby needs to be born already,” Emma mutters, lowering herself carefully into a chair. “I’m so fucking done with being pregnant.”
Eduard chuckles from across the table. “You’ve been saying that for weeks.”
“And I’ll keep saying it until this kid decides to make an appearance.” She tears off a piece of bread and pops it into her mouth, chewing with more aggression than necessary.
Rurik slides a plate of food in front of her. “Eat something more substantial than bread.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps, but she picks up her fork anyway.
I grin. She’s been grouchy as hell lately, restless and uncomfortable, snapping at all of us over the smallest things.
We take it in stride. She’s carrying our child, dealing with the physical toll of that, and still managing to oversee the transition of power in the city.
She’s earned the right to be a little bitchy.
The house feels different now without Krystal.
She moved out a couple of months ago, finally ready to stand on her own two feet.
Eduard’s still funding her underground operation, helping women escape situations like the one she was in.
Rurik bought her a nice cottage-type house on the outskirts of the city, something cozy and safe.
I provided the security, making sure the place is locked down tight.
She deserves that much after everything she’s been through.
The bride auction is thoroughly shut down now.
We made sure of that. A couple of families tried to start another one a few weeks back, thinking they could slip under the radar.
They were wrong. Eduard, Rurik, and I shut it down quickly, making an example of the bastards who thought they could continue that sick tradition. No one’s tried since.
The corruption in the FBI and among the politicians has been decimated.
The investigation Emma helped facilitate tore through the city like wildfire, burning out the rot that had festered for years.
Those positions are slowly being filled now with people who actually give a shit about the law.
That’s good for Emma and her vision for a cleaner city, but for the Bratva?
Not so much. We don’t have as many law enforcement officers on our payrolls anymore, which makes certain operations more complicated.
Langford committed suicide. Or so the official report claims. I know better. We all do. But Emma didn’t blink an eye when she heard the news. She just nodded, her expression neutral, and continued with her business. Whatever she felt about his death, she kept it locked away.
I’m about to reach for my own plate when the first shot rings out.
The window shatters, glass exploding inward. I duck instinctively, my hand already reaching for my gun. More shots follow, rapid-fire, tearing through the walls and furniture.
“Emma!” I shout, my heart lurching into my throat.
But Rurik’s already moving. He’s closest to her, and he covers her body with his own, carefully but quickly taking her to the ground. His hand cradles her head, protecting her from the falling debris.
Eduard and I have our guns drawn, scanning the room for the source of the attack. My pulse pounds in my ears, adrenaline flooding my system. Someone’s shooting into our fucking home. Someone has the balls to attack us here, where Emma is.
“Stay down!” I bark at Emma, though I know Rurik won’t let her move.
More shots pepper the walls. I move toward the window, keeping low, trying to get a visual on the shooter. Eduard mirrors my movements on the opposite side of the room, his expression cold and focused.
Rurik gets Emma to the hallway, out of the direct line of fire, then returns to us. His jaw is tight, his eyes blazing with fury. “She’s safe for now.”
“How many?” Eduard asks, his voice clipped.
“Can’t tell yet,” I reply, peering carefully around the edge of the broken window.
Then the front door bursts open, wood splintering as it’s kicked in. Volkov storms through, his gun raised, bullets flying in all directions. His cronies follow behind him, at least four of them, all armed and firing wildly.
Fuck. Volkov.
I return fire, my shots precise and controlled. One of Volkov’s men drops, a hole in his chest. Eduard takes out another, his aim just as deadly. Rurik moves with lethal efficiency, his gun barking as he advances on the intruders.
Volkov ducks behind the overturned table, still firing. “You think you can just take over this city?” he shouts. “You think there won’t be consequences?”
“You’re the consequence?” I shout back, almost laughing. “You’re a fucking joke, Volkov.”
I move strategically, using the furniture for cover, flanking him. Eduard does the same from the other side. Rurik advances straight down the middle, fearless and brutal.
Volkov’s men are dropping one by one. They’re sloppy, undisciplined. They might have numbers, but we have skill and experience. This is what we do. This is who we are.
I get a clear shot at Volkov and take it. The bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around. He stumbles, his gun clattering to the floor. Rurik’s on him in seconds, his gun pressed to Volkov’s temple.
“Any last words?” Rurik asks, his voice cold.
Volkov spits blood. “Fuck you.”
Rurik pulls the trigger. Volkov’s body crumples to the floor, lifeless.
The room falls silent except for the ringing in my ears. I scan the space, counting bodies. Volkov and four of his men. All dead.
“Clear,” Eduard says, lowering his gun.
I nod, my chest heaving. “Check the perimeter. Make sure there aren’t more.”
Rurik’s already moving toward the hallway where he left Emma. I follow, my heart still racing. I need to see her, need to make sure she’s okay.
But before we reach her, she emerges from the room, her hand pressed to her lower back, her face pale.
“Emma, get back inside,” Rurik says firmly. “We need to make sure there aren’t any more shooters.”
She shakes her head, her breathing labored. “My water broke.”
The words hit me like a freight train. I stare at her, my brain struggling to process. “What?”
“My water broke,” she repeats, her voice strained. “I’m in labor.”
“Fuck,” Eduard mutters, running a hand through his hair.
Rurik’s already at her side, his arm around her waist, supporting her. “How far apart are the contractions?”
“I don’t know,” she says, wincing. “They just started. But my water definitely broke.”
I holster my gun, my mind shifting gears. The threat is neutralized. Now we need to get her to the hospital. “I’ll get the car.”
“I’ll call ahead,” Eduard says, pulling out his phone.
Rurik lifts Emma carefully, cradling her against his chest. She doesn’t protest, which tells me she’s in more pain than she’s letting on.
The drive to the hospital is a blur. I’m behind the wheel, pushing the speed limit, weaving through traffic. Eduard’s in the passenger seat, still on the phone, making sure everything’s ready for us. Rurik’s in the back with Emma, holding her hand, murmuring reassurances.
She curses through a contraction, her grip on Rurik’s hand tightening. “This fucking hurts.”
“I know,” he says softly. “We’re almost there.”
We screech into the hospital parking lot, and I’m out of the car before it’s fully stopped. A team of nurses is waiting with a wheelchair and they help Emma into it. We follow them inside, refusing to leave her side.
The labor goes quickly. Faster than I expected. The nurses try to object to all three of us being in the delivery room, citing hospital policy, but Emma shuts that down immediately.
“They’re all staying,” she says, her voice brooking no argument. “I don’t give a fuck about your policy.”
The nurses exchange glances but don’t push the issue. Smart.
Emma cusses us all out during the labor.
She calls Eduard a bastard for getting her pregnant.
She tells Rurik his hand-holding is useless.
She informs me that I’m never touching her again.
We take it in stride, letting her vent her pain and frustration.
She’s bringing our child into the world.
She can say whatever the hell she wants.
And then, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, the baby is born.
A healthy baby girl.
The doctor places her on Emma’s chest, and I feel something crack open inside me. She’s tiny, perfect, with a tuft of dark hair and Emma’s nose. Her cries fill the room, strong and insistent.
“She’s beautiful,” Emma whispers, tears streaming down her face.
I can’t speak. My throat is too tight, my eyes burning. I reach out, my hand trembling, and touch my daughter’s tiny fingers. She wraps her hand around my finger, her grip surprisingly strong.
“She’s perfect,” Eduard says, his voice rough with emotion.
Rurik’s eyes are wet, though he’d never admit it. “Our daughter.”
After the nurses clean her up and check her vitals, they hand her to me. I hold her carefully, terrified I’ll break her, but she settles against my chest, her cries quieting. I look down at her, at this tiny life we created, and I’m overwhelmed.
Eduard takes his turn next, holding her with a gentleness I’ve rarely seen from him. He murmurs to her in Russian, his voice soft. Then Rurik, who cradles her like she’s made of glass, his expression tender.
Emma watches us from the bed, exhausted but smiling. The nurses have cleaned her up, and she’s resting now, her eyes heavy.
I sit down beside her, once again holding our daughter. “You did amazing.”
She reaches out, her hand covering mine. “We did amazing.”
I look around the room. At Emma, tired but radiant. At Eduard and Rurik, both of them staring at our daughter with wonder. At the baby in my arms, so small and fragile and ours.
For the first time in my life, I truly understand what a family is. Not the Bratva, not the brotherhood forged in blood and violence. This. This right here. The people I love and the child we created together.
This is family.
And I’ll protect it with everything I have.