Chapter 27 #2
"You stayed with me at my worst. You risked everything to escape. You—" He paused. "You're carrying my child, and you're not asking me for anything in return."
"That makes you the best person I've ever known."
I couldn't stop crying.
"But I have nothing," I said. "I—"
"Ella, just answer me one question."
His hand tightened slightly.
"Will you marry me?"
I looked into his eyes.
Those gray eyes that right now held only me.
"Yes," I said. "Sergei, yes."
He smiled.
Weak, but real.
"Then it's settled," he said. "When I get out of here."
"Okay."
The nurse pushed the door open.
"Time's up," she said.
I stood, took one last look at him.
"Rest," I said. "I'll come see you tomorrow."
"Yeah," he said. "Take care of yourself. And the baby."
"I will."
Walking out of the ICU, I slumped in the wheelchair, feeling lighter somehow.
He was alive.
He was awake.
He proposed.
Sasha wheeled me back to my room without saying a word, but I could feel her holding back a smile.
"Go ahead," I said. "Say it."
"I told you he'd be fine," she finally laughed. "And, God, Ella, he just came back from death's door and proposed! That's—that's so romantic!"
"Not romantic at all," I said, but my mouth was curving up too. "He didn't even have a ring."
"Doesn't matter," Sasha said. "What matters is he wants to marry you."
Back in my room, Bogdan was already waiting.
"Miss Collins," he said, handing me an envelope. "The Pakhan asked me to give you this."
I took it and opened it.
A stack of documents inside.
The top one—
Debt settlement certificate.
All loans taken out in Ella Collins' name by Dmitri Volkov—paid in full.
My hands started shaking.
"This..."
"The Pakhan arranged it before surgery," Bogdan said. "He said, regardless of whether he survived, this debt shouldn't weigh on you anymore."
Tears fell again.
I flipped to the next document.
Second one—
Volkov Group Architecture Department, Senior Designer appointment letter.
Third—
A passbook for an account.
Two hundred thirty million dollars inside.
"This is for you and the child from the Pakhan," Bogdan said. "He said if he—if he didn't make it, this money would be enough for you and the baby for a long time."
I hugged those documents, sobbing uncontrollably.
"He also said," Bogdan continued, his voice catching, "if he didn't make it, you should take the child and leave New York. Go somewhere safe. Start a new life."
"He said don't remember what he was. Just remember—"
Bogdan paused.
"Just remember that he loved you."
I buried my face in the blankets, shaking all over.
Sasha sat beside me, hand rubbing my back gently.
"He's okay now," she said. "Ella, he's okay. You won't need any of this."
"I know," I said, voice muffled. "I know..."
I couldn't go on.
This man.
This cold, ruthless mafia kingpin.
Before going to face death, he wasn't thinking about himself—he was thinking about me and the baby.
He'd arranged every backup plan for me.
So I could survive without him.
But he didn't know—
Without him, I didn't want to survive at all.
Over the next week, I visited him in the ICU every day.
Five minutes, then ten, then half an hour.
Watching him get better day by day.
Color returning from deathly pale to faintly flushed.
Voice strengthening from weak to solid.
By day five, he could sit up.
By day seven, they moved him out of ICU into a regular room.
The baby was fine too.
Daily checks showed normal fetal development, strong heartbeat.
"Tough little thing," the doctor said. "After everything that happened, still hanging in there."
I touched my stomach, warmth flooding through me.
Thank you.
Thank you for being so strong.
I took a deep breath, pushed open the door, walked to the next room.
Knocked.
"Come in."
Sergei's voice from inside.
I pushed the door open.
He sat in bed, propped against pillows, wearing a hospital gown.
Silver hair still a bit messy, scrapes on his face scabbed over, but those gray eyes—
The moment he saw me, they lit up.
"Ella," he said. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah," I walked over, sat on the edge of the bed. "Doctor says I'm recovering well."
He reached out, took my hand.
"Let me see."
I held out my hand. He carefully unwrapped the gauze.
The wound on my palm had scabbed, a deep red scar running from the base of my thumb to my pinky.
His fingers traced that scar lightly, touch feather-soft like he was afraid of hurting me.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Not your fault."
"It is," he said. "If I'd protected you, you wouldn't have—"
"Sergei," I cut him off, cupping his face with my other hand, making him look at me. "Listen. Everything that happened that night—none of it was your fault. It was Viktor. It was Dmitri. But not you."
"But—"
"And," I said, "we're both still here, aren't we?"
He looked at me, something complicated moving through those eyes.
"Yes," he finally said. "We're both still here."
"That's enough," I said, placing his hand on my stomach. "And we have this."
His palm pressed against my belly through the sweater fabric.
"Can't feel it yet," he said.
"Around eleven more weeks," I said. "Doctor says around four months I'll feel movement."
"Four months," he repeated. "That's—"
"April," I said. "Spring."
His mouth curved slightly.
"Ella," he said. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being alive," he said. "For protecting our baby so well."
My throat tightened.
"It's what I should do."
He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "You protected yourself and the baby."
"You're the one who protected us," I said. "Sergei, if it weren't for you—"
"If it weren't for me, you never would've been in danger in the first place," he said, self-reproach in his tone. "Ella, being with me means you'll—"
"Be happy," I interrupted. "Sergei, being with you means I'll be happy."
He looked at me for a long time.
"You sure about that?"
"Sure," I said. "Never been more sure of anything."
He pulled me close, let me rest against his chest.
Gentle, because of his wound.
But that embrace—
That embrace was more real than any before.
"I love you," he said, voice resonating from his chest, low and rumbling. "Ella, I love you."
"I love you too," I said, closing my eyes. "Sergei."
Evening sunlight turned the hospital room golden.
We held each other like that, neither speaking.
Just quietly feeling each other's heartbeats.
Feeling that we were both still alive.