Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ella
The hospital corridor stretched forever.
Harsh fluorescent lights, the stench of disinfectant, and that suffocating, waiting silence.
I sat on the bench outside the operating room, hands wrapped in gauze like two white cocoons.
Bogdan stood beside me, motionless as a statue.
The operating room doors stayed shut.
The red light still glowed.
Three hours now.
I stared at that light until my eyes burned, but I didn't dare blink.
Like if I kept watching, the light would never go out and he'd still be alive.
"Miss Collins," Bogdan said quietly. "You should get your wounds treated."
"No," I croaked, my voice unrecognizable. "I'm staying here. Waiting for him."
"But your hands—"
"No!"
My voice bounced off the empty corridor.
A few passing nurses turned to look.
Bogdan didn't push. He just shrugged off his coat and draped it over my shoulders.
I still wore that sweater ruined with blood and filth, soaked pants clinging to my legs. Hair a tangled mess, face streaked with God knows what—tears or blood.
I didn't care.
I just needed to know if he was okay.
If he'd survive.
If our baby would ever meet him.
The operating room doors finally opened.
I shot to my feet, legs buckling. Nearly went down.
Bogdan caught me.
The doctor emerged, pulling down his mask. His expression gave nothing away.
"Family?"
"I am," I rushed forward. "How is he?"
The doctor glanced at me. That look made my heart drop.
"The bullet grazed his seventh rib, causing internal bleeding," he said. "We stopped the bleeding and repaired the damaged tissue. But he lost a lot of blood. The next twenty-four hours are critical."
"Will he... will he make it?"
The doctor paused.
"We've done everything we can," he said. "The rest is up to him."
My legs gave out completely.
Bogdan held me up, or I would've collapsed.
The ICU was at the end of the hall.
Glass doors. Through them I could see rows of beds.
Sergei was in the farthest one.
He lay there, pale as paper.
Oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, chest wrapped in bandages. Tubes and wires everywhere, monitors beeping steadily.
I walked to his bedside, legs completely useless.
Dropped to my knees, grabbed his hand.
His hand was cold.
That hand that had always been warm, strong, able to hold me completely—now cold as ice.
"Sergei," I whispered. "It's me. Ella."
No response.
"You promised," I said, tears splashing onto his hand. "You promised you'd protect us."
"Our baby's still here," I pressed his hand to my stomach. "Can you feel it? It's waiting for you to wake up."
The monitor kept beeping, steady and unchanged.
"Please," I begged, my voice shattering. "Please wake up, Sergei."
"Time's up," a nurse approached, gentle but firm. "Miss, you have to leave now."
"One more minute—"
"I'm sorry," she said. "Hospital policy."
Bogdan came over and touched my shoulder lightly.
"Miss Collins, we need to go."
I took one last look at Sergei.
He just lay there, motionless.
Like he was already...
No.
I couldn't think it.
Bogdan led me out of the ICU to another room.
"You need to treat those wounds," he said. "Or they'll get infected."
I nodded mechanically.
The doctor cleaned my hand wounds again and restitched them.
Eighteen stitches.
I counted each one, trying not to think about anything else.
When he finished, he gave me a tetanus shot and prescribed antibiotics.
"You've lost significant blood too," he said. "You need an IV. And—"
He glanced at my chart.
"You're pregnant. You need to stay for observation to make sure the fetus wasn't affected."
"I'm not staying."
"Miss—"
"I need to be here when he wakes up," I said.
The doctor looked at Bogdan.
Bogdan nodded.
"Get her a room," he said. "Next to the ICU."
Half an hour later, I lay in a hospital bed.
IV needle in my hand, cold fluid dripping into my veins.
Outside the window, dawn was breaking.
New York winter morning, sky gray-blue.
I stared at the ceiling, unmoving.
The doctor's words played on repeat in my head.
The next twenty-four hours are critical.
Twenty-four hours.
Meaning he could still...
No.
I shoved the thought down.
He wouldn't die.
He promised.
My eyelids grew heavier.
I tried to stay awake, but my body had hit its limit.
The past two days—running, getting hurt, fear—
All of it piled up, draining every last bit of strength.
My eyes closed.
When they opened again, evening light filled the window.
Orange-red glow seeping through the curtain cracks, falling across the white sheets.
I stared for a few seconds before realizing I'd been asleep.
How long had it been?
I bolted upright.
Dizzy. Vision went black.
"Don't move."
A voice beside me.
I turned.
Sasha sat in the chair by my bed, hair disheveled, eyes red and swollen, clutching a cup of stone-cold coffee.
"Sasha." My voice rasped. "When did you—"
"Bogdan called me," she said, setting down the coffee and grabbing my hand. "Jesus, Ella, you scared the hell out of me."
"Sergei!" I gripped her hand. "How is he?"
Sasha's expression shifted.
"Still in ICU," she said. "But he's stable. The doctor said he passed the most dangerous phase."
Tears flooded my eyes again.
"Really?"
"Really," she said, wiping my face with the back of her hand. "He's going to be okay, Ella."
I leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed, breathing out slowly.
"How long was I out?"
"Two days," Sasha said.
"What?!"
"You were too weak. The doctor said you lost too much blood, plus severe mental stress. Your body went into protective mode," she explained. "You've been sleeping for two days straight. You'd wake up for a few minutes here and there, then pass out again."
Two days.
I'd been unconscious for two days.
"The baby—" My hand flew to my stomach.
"The baby's fine," Sasha said. "They've been monitoring daily. Everything's normal. Your kid's a fighter."
I exhaled in relief.
"What about Misha?"
"Also in this hospital, veterinary wing," Sasha said. "Surgery went well, she's recovering. Bogdan said the first thing she did when she woke up was look for you."
My throat tightened.
"I need to see Sergei."
"The doctor said you can't get out of bed."
"Sasha," I looked at her. "Please."
She met my eyes, then sighed.
"Fine," she said. "But you're taking a wheelchair."
Ten minutes later, Sasha wheeled me toward the ICU.
Bogdan was still there, leaning against the wall, eyes closed. But he opened them the instant he heard the wheelchair.
"Miss Collins," he straightened. "You're awake."
"Sergei..."
"He's awake," Bogdan said, and for the first time, a real smile touched his mouth. "Woke up this morning. Doctor says he's recovering well."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Can I see him?"
Bogdan glanced at the ICU doors.
"It's not visiting hours, but—" He paused. "I'll ask."
He went inside and spoke briefly with a nurse.
She looked at me, then nodded.
"Five minutes," she said.
Sasha wheeled me in.
Sergei was still in that bed.
But he was awake.
Those gray eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.
He heard the wheelchair and turned his head.
The moment he saw me, something lit up in those eyes.
"Ella..."
His voice was weak, but it was his.
"Sergei!"
Sasha parked me beside the bed, then slipped out tactfully.
Just the two of us now.
And the steady beeping of the monitors.
"You're awake," he said, voice hoarse. "I had Bogdan watching, waiting for you."
"You bastard," tears streamed down my face. "You almost died."
"But I didn't," he said, mouth pulling into a weak smile. "I promised you."
I grabbed his hand and pressed it to my cheek.
His hand was still a bit cold, but warmer than two days ago.
"Misha," he said.
"Misha's fine, recovering," I said. "Bogdan said she woke up looking for me."
"Good," he said, eyes closing briefly, like he was relieved.
Then he opened them again, looking at me.
"The baby," he said. "The doctor told me."
I nodded.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"Ella," he cut me off, fingers squeezing mine weakly, but the gesture was full of tenderness. "Don't apologize."
"But—"
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said. "I didn't do enough. I made you scared. Made you afraid to tell me."
"It's not your fault."
"It is," he said, voice dropping lower. "Ella, all this time, I kept you locked in that apartment. I monitored you, made decisions for you—I didn't give you enough trust."
I shook my head, tears falling onto his hand.
"Sergei."
"But I'll change," he said, those gray eyes locked on mine. "I'll learn to trust you. Let you into my world. I won't lock you away anymore."
"I don't care about any of that," I said. "I only care that you're alive."
He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my fingertips gently.
"I'm alive," he said. "For you. For our child."
The monitor beeped steadily in the quiet room.
"Ella," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Marry me."
I froze.
"What?"
"Marry me," he repeated, those gray eyes holding something firm and unshakable. "I know this isn't the most romantic moment. I don't even have a ring. But I don't want to wait anymore."
"Sergei..."
"I kept thinking these past two days," he said, "if I really had died in that warehouse, what would happen to you? You'd be alone with the baby, no legal standing, no protection. Dmitri—or the next person who wants to come after me—they could all come for you."
"I won't let that happen," he said. "So, Ella Collins, marry me. Become my wife. The mother of my child."
I looked at him.
This man lying in a hospital bed, pale as death, tubes everywhere, so weak he couldn't even sit up.
But his eyes were dead serious.
"Are you sure?" I asked, voice shaking. "Sergei, your world, your family, will they accept me?"
"They'll have to," he said. "Because I'm the Pakhan. What I say goes."
"But I—"
"Ella," he said. "I don't care who you are or where you came from. I only care that you're you."